I swear, all three of them laugh at me as soon as my back is turned — Boo included.
***
Seven hours later, I’m so bored I’ve skipped passed regular old stir-crazy and gone completely insane. Parker and Nate both left hours ago — Parker to check on his yacht, Nate to deal with some of his existing clients and continue the search for Cormack. Which means I’m sitting in the loft for the second day in a row, going totally out of my mind.
Within the first two hours, I finished every bit of work I had outstanding for WestTech, cleared out my junk folder of several dozen male enhancement emails, and watched four consecutive YouTube video compilations of people nailing their X Factor auditions. Hour three, I did the dishes and brushed out Boo’s coat, much to his chagrin. Hour four, I finally remembered Nate left me a phone for “emergencies only” and texted Lila.
Dying of boredom was technically an emergency. Right?
Phoebe: Hey! It’s me.
Lila: Darren?
Phoebe: No.
Lila: Oh. Tom?
Phoebe: No.
Lila: Well, this is awkward. Um… Martin?
Phoebe: How many dudes are you texting at once, Lila?
Lila: OH, it’s you. Hi Phee.
Phoebe: How’d you know it was me?
Lila: I’d recognize that semi-judgmental-but-loving tone anywhere. Even in text form.
Phoebe: Cute.
Lila: So, you’re still alive? I haven’t heard from you.
Phoebe: I saw you yesterday.
Lila: Yesterdaymorning. You could’ve called last night.
Phoebe: Phone was swallowed by the Atlantic, remember? That time mobsters kidnapped me?
Lila: Excuses, excuses.
Phoebe: If you’re free now, I can call.
Lila: K.
Oh no. She texted me the letterK.
That’s never good.
In BFF-code, there’s nothing quite as terrible as theKtext. It’s the DEFCON 1 of texting. The holy grail of passive aggressive communication.
She’s pissed.
I chew my lip as I dial her number and hit the call button.
“Well, well, well,” she snaps through the speaker. “If it isn’t my former best friend.”
“A little harsh, Lila.”