He shrugged.
“Maybe the funeral cheered her up,” I said, brightening. “She chirped. Maybe that means a broken heart can’t kill you.”
“Maybe,” he muttered. “But, just in case, you’ll never catchmefalling in love.” He looked horrified by the mere idea.
“Me neither,” I agreed immediately.
He scrambled to his feet, brushed off his hands on his jeans, and stared down at me.
“See you around, little bird.”
His lips twisted in a smile as he grabbed his shovel, crossed the lawn, and hopped back over the fence… landing firmly in the flesh of my heart as soon as his sneakers hit the grass.
Chapter One
Some people brag about one night stands.
Whatever. I’ve got two night stands.
Either side of my bed.
Phoebe West, upon hearing her best
friend lost her v-card after prom.
My name is Phoebe West and I’ve been kidnapped.
I think. Maybe.
It’s kind of a long story.
See, it wasn’t supposed to happen this way.
For the record, itneverwould’ve happened this way if my life were a movie. (Preferably a rom-com of some sort with a kickass soundtrack and a happy ending, starring a fabulously-styled version of myself opposite Michiel Huisman. Or Liam Hemsworth. Or Henry Cavill. I could go on, but I won’t.)
Point is, I had a plan. A pretty good one — or so I thought until yesterday, before it all went to hell faster than you can sayPhoebe-you’re-a-nutcasein Pig-Latin.
Sigh.
This calamity began, as they usually do, because of a boy.
No, not a boy.
Aman.
A smoking hot, sexy as sin,olderman who just so happens to be my big brother Parker’s best friend — and has been since they were, like, ten and still thought girls were weird and covered in cooties.
Oh, how I wishthatphase had lasted.
It would’ve saved me the torture of watching my undying preteen crush work his way through half the girls at the private prep school he and my brother attended. He would’ve worked his way through the other half, too, but he and Parker had a strict rule against going after each other’s girls. (Part of their man-code or whatever.) For that, at least, I could be grateful.
Or, so I thought.
Because a few years later — by which point my binder-doodling, call-and-hang-up, harmless little crush had blossomed into full-on love (orlustdepending on the day) — I realized that same man-code which forbade boys from ever stealing each other’s girlfriends also extended to other things.
Specifically, to little sisters.