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“Of course it is,” I say with a sigh.

“Don’t hate the hustle,” he says.

“You have ten seconds before I kick you out.” With arms spread wide, I corral him toward the door. I’m done.

He talks as he walks backward. “I planned weeks of filming around this house. The kitchen, the deck, the views . . .”

His words drift as if this conversation is making him, what? Sad?

Oh no. Now I’m feeling bad for an entirely different reason. If I had let the rental-car thing go, we never would have gotten to the point where I’m ruining someone’s career, possibly their life.

Even though Gio annoys me to no end, I do admire he’s got things figured out.

And now I’ve thrown a wrench into someone’s dream. Can’t I be a bad bitch and be nice too? Is it possible? When is enough retaliation enough? Is there a limit on enemy strikes? This entire conversation is making me unsure.

And queasy.

As I consider if Gio and I could live under the same roof, I’m immediately excited at all the new ways I could torture him. Maybe in a less life-crushing way but more soul-crushing.

I like soul-crushing.

Another smile trembles on the edges of my lips, threatening to make an appearance.

Palm trees can still have fun, right? Am I having fun annoying Gio? Oh no. I think I am.

When Gio steps outside and turns to me with puppy-dog eyes, I study him with a horrifying new worry.

Has my hot, mortal enemy shifted into fun-enemy mode? I balk at the thought.

“So, are you in or out, Sparkles?” Gio asks.

15/

giovanni

Heat-Seeking Pants Missile

My first thought the next morning is I’m moving into the bungalow with Sophia. I got what I wanted. So, why do I feel like I’m stepping into a clusterfuck?

Per our deal, I have to help Sophia find Adam, while making damn sure she never actually finds him. Of course, she doesn’t know that last part. Who’s going to lead her on a wild adventure now? Not Tina. It’s me. I’m the big-ass problem.

I keep asking myself why the hell I care if assface-Adam ruins her life? If I knew, I’d shut off my newly acquired Sophia radar. It senses her every word, every movement, and every emotion. Not only do I see it all, but I also feel it. Then, like a maniac, I react to it all.

She moves. I move. She gets hurt. I play doctor. She frowns. All I want to do is make her smile. She wants to find a toxic ex-boyfriend. I want to save her. She kisses me in the pantry like she wants to murder me, and I present my jugular on a platter.

Here’s a pizza cutter. Have fun!

Literal scratch marks rake down my back like I’ve been attacked by a hell kitten with a knife and lost. I thought blue balls would be the worst injury of the evening. I was dead wrong.

Aches and bruises induce pain each time I bend or flex. Those don’t include the largest one you can’t see. That one is on my motherfucking brain. Because now, the things I’m thinking don’t make any sense. Sophia’s messed me up so bad, I need another round in the pantry so she can knock some sense into me.

Perhaps a toaster smashed into the cranium will do the trick?

I barely know this woman, and somehow she’s tied me into a thousand knots.

But what if you did know her?

I huff at my inside voice. It’s annoying.