I moved to Boston eight years ago to become a famous ballerina. Everything had been going great. I had it all: the casting calls, the fans, and the newspaper interviews. I had everything I dreamed of until that fateful day five months ago when I broke my ankle during rehearsal. Now I was a washed-up ballerina with no job, no money, and no college diploma. To top off my misery, I run into my old arch-nemesis from Avonlea, Illinois during Fleet Week.

Davy Keith is not the scrawny and annoying boy I remember from our legendary prank wars back when we were wild kids running around our small town. Nope. Now he's a six-foot-tall sailor who seems to have more confidence in me than I do at the moment. I should know better than to get mixed up with him. People from home used to say we were nothing but trouble whenever we were together. But would it really hurt to join one last game of truth or dare with my archenemy, for old times' sake? What do I have to lose?