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The thought came out of nowhere, and Phoebe felt her stomach flip as though she’d missed a step. But it was too late at night and she’d had too much wine to dig deeper into that thought right now. There were more pressing issues at hand.

“You’re too drunk to drive home,” Phoebe announced.

Jonathan gave a brisk, affirmative nod.

“You can sleep here.”

“Thanks. Couch is comfy.” Jonathan sank lower into the couch and stretched his legs. His feet draped well over the other end.

Right. Arden’s house was tiny, so her couch was, too.

“I mean…” Phoebe’s gaze flicked toward the roomy queen bed taking up most of the bedroom.

“It’s fine.” Jonathan placed his hands behind his head. His new—well, new to Phoebe—biceps bulged distractingly.

“Okay.” Phoebe retrieved her pajamas and toiletry kit, then paused in the doorway. “Want to borrow some toothpaste?”

Shoulder to shoulder in the little bathroom, Phoebe and Jonathan made eye contact in the mirror as she brushed her teeth and he brushed his with his finger. They spit into the sink at the same time, then looked at each other again.

“There was that time—” Jonathan started.

“I guess there was that end-of-the-year party—” Phoebe said at the same time.

She wiped her mouth on a towel and continued, “It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.”

“Yeah. We were fine.”

“Fine.” Phoebe repeated the word, remembering how the two of them had slept together in Jonathan’s bed after he and his roommates had thrown an epic party to celebrate the beginning of summer. Phoebe and Jonathan were both tipsy, high on the end of the school year and high on their friendship. The party had been a whirl of chatting with friends, playing drinking games like King’s Cup, and sneaking off into various corners to have private conversations with each other. Phoebe had gotten the feeling that it was annoying to her other friends, this intimate friendship she’d developed with some guy. But she and Jonathan were simply obsessed with each other. After a few drinks, she would sit on his lap and they’d whisper hilarious insights into each other’s ears. There was no one Phoebe would rather talk to. And she knew Jonathan felt the same. Their friendship had an addictive quality. At the end of that party, Jonathan offered to walk her home, but it was a drizzly night, and neither of them really wanted to walk the seven blocks back to her place. So they ended up having a sleepover. They got ready for bed together—he let her wear one of his T-shirts—then snuggled up in his bed—Phoebe remembered noticing that it smelled intensely of boy, as though she’d forgotten that Jonathan was, in fact, a boy—and then he read aloud to her from the book he was reading until she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder and her hands tucked under her cheek.

She wondered how he remembered that night.

“The French toast you made the next morning was unreal,” she said.

“Gotta have the cinnamon and whipped cream.”

“So, yeah, you’re welcome to…” Phoebe gestured toward the bed.

“Okay, but I’m putting a pillow wall between us.” Jonathan walked to the other side of the room and stepped casually out of his pants before climbing under the covers. “I saw you eyeing these guns.”

“Oh, shut up.” Phoebe threw a pillow at him. He caught it and wedged it in between them. In a way, it was a relief. Now Phoebe wouldn’t have to worry about spooning him in her sleep. Obviously, it would only insult him if she were suddenly attracted to him now that he’d bulked up. Plus, they had a new business to focus on, and anything romantic would ruin it.

“I believe it’s your turn to read to me,” Jonathan said, closing his eyes. Mittens jumped onto the bed and curled on top of his legs.

Phoebe smiled, picked up the thriller she’d chosen from Arden’s bookshelf, and began to read.

Chapter 10

Arden

Arden followed Sam down a dark cul-de-sac lined with some of the fanciest houses she had ever seen in real life. She was holding two boxes of doughnuts and had to crane her neck this way and that to take in the grandeur around her.

Sam, his face hidden behind the three boxes he was holding, gestured with one shoulder toward the last house on the right. “This is us.”

“Are you for real?” Arden’s mutter was quiet enough that Sam didn’t hear her over the sound of their shoes on the cobbled steps leading up to the—it had to be said—mansion that Sam’s parents apparently lived in. The darkness was almost too thick for Arden to see the landscaping, but she could feel the elegant good taste wafting toward her from the shrubs and flowers interspersed with stone walls terracing the steep garden. Sam stopped at the imposing double front doors, where light spilled out of beveled glass windows.

He struggled to reach the door handle under the towering doughnut boxes. “Could you…”

“Uh—sure.” Feeling like she should be using a servants’ entrance, Arden shifted her boxes and opened the door to the Keller home.