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“It’s like you two are in a to-the-death, enemies-to-lovers romance book. It’s kind of romantic, actually.”

“Which part? The part where he’s a jerk or the other part where he’s a jerk?” I shoot her the side-eye.

Enemies to lovers? Puh-lease.

“I was thinking the part where he carried you to the house, made you an ice pack, and now, he’s going to hunt you down to chauffeur you around,” she says, ticking the items off her fingers. “I might date a guy if they did that for me, especially the hunt-me-down part. It’s kind of hot.”

“Even if his name is Barry?” I ask.

“Barry could never. He’s too sweet. I want dark. I want mysterious. I want to be chased down in a forest and ravished under a meteor shower.”

“And you’re wrong about Gio. He wanted me to die a slow death by chicken cutlet. That’s not hot, that’s an insane reality show, and I don’t want any part of it.” I snap my fingers in front of her face as if to say snap out of it.

“He’s insane, yes, but insane for you.” She flips her hair over her shoulder. “Besides, it doesn’t sound like he technically had anything to do with the chicken, but it was well played.”

“Really? Don’t you see all the red flags waving all over the place? He’s a walking flagpole. No, he’s twenty flagpoles. He’s the United Nations of flagpoles.” I toss my hands in the air as we walk through the resort.

“If we’re getting technical, so are you. Look at all the things you’ve done to him.”

I stop in my tracks and stare at her. “Will you stop being a moody diva Libra for three seconds? There are not always two sides to every story.”

“I’m more Scorpio than Libra.”

Groaning, I say, “I like you better when you hate everyone.”

Amelia shrugs. “That’s the Scorpio. I don’t know why, but I kind of like this guy. There’s something about him. He’s naughty, he’s hot as balls, and he’s got a thing for you. But remember, if you go there, it can only be for the benefits. That’s it. Nothing else.”

“Can you please be serious for two seconds?” I walk faster, and Amelia matches my pace.

“You’re in denial. It’s fine.”

We successfully trek to the parking lot without the need for the umbrella.

Amelia peeks inside the truck’s windows, then opens the creaky passenger door and slips inside. “It’s empty. You sure you don’t want me to drive?” she asks as I slide behind the steering wheel.

“I’ll be fine.”

I test the tightness in my calf. It’s feeling better but still not one hundred percent. The thing that hurts most is my pride. I hate being bested by Gio, and I hate that I’m going to have to think of a slap-back more epic than killer chickens.

But later. For now, I’m on an Adam mission.

Staring at the console, I take in the next bad development. “Do you know how to drive a stick shift?” I ask Amelia with a frown.

“Never learned. You?” She studies the gear shift.

“A college friend’s vintage car. Once. They never let me drive it again.”

“We’re doomed.” Amelia smacks her head dramatically.

“We’ll be fine. Ish.” I hope.

My fear outweighs my need to carry out my goal, and I jab the key into the ignition. The motor roars to life with a spluttering blast that has us ducking in our seats, like we’re dodging gunfire.

“Just a backfire,” I say as we make eye contact.

Maybe because we’re so tense, we laugh. Everything’s been so terrible, it’s almost comical.

After I drive circles around the parking lot to refamiliarize myself with the rhythm of clutching, shifting, and pressing on the gas, we’re on our bumpy way.