The driver, Jeff, who can’t be much older than the legal drinking age, must have slathered his body with cologne, so I crack open a window to air out the scent of eau de college bro.

Solange’s phone comes to life, a dozen or so pings signaling an energetic text conversation on the other end. She sighs heavily, her gaze flicking upward. “Yes, axe throwing is exactly what popped into my mind, okay? Kimberly and Nia showed zero interest in the typical touristy things, and I figured something out of the box would spark their interest. I’m sure you’d prefer a more refined excursion, but those women were bored out of their minds, and I couldn’t imagine another evening looking at Peter’s snooty face across a dinner table. It worked, didn’t it?”

The way she emphasized the word refined snags my attention. Reminds me of her offhand comment about not wanting to be Ella 2.0. “I don’t care about being refined or highbrow or whatever, if that’s what you’re implying. I think Peter’s an arrogant prick as much as you do.”

“Then what is the problem?” she says, throwing her hands up in frustration.

I collapse against the backseat. “It’s axe throwing, Solange. They’re going to ask us to sign waivers. I’ve never in my life read a waiver that I felt comfortable signing. In fact, I once got hired to redo a waiver because I kept arguing with a gym owner about the shoddiness of the version he was asking me to sign. And what if someone gets hurt? The partners would have our asses if something happened to Kimberly or Nia. Plus, the sight of blood makes my skin crawl. I passed out at a college blood drive when I saw the plastic thingy—”

“The plastic tube?” Solange asks.

“Yeah, when I saw the plastic tube filling up.” I blow out a slow breath and rake a hand through my hair. “So much could go wrong.”

I glance at Solange when I’m done. Her gaze darts to the rearview mirror, and I catch our driver mouthing, Wow, before his face goes blank.

Solange lightly squeezes my wrist. “Dean, relax.” Her tone is gentle, as if she’s trying to calm a skittish horse. “It’s going to be all right. Someone at the facility will give you safety tips and show you exactly what you need to do.”

“You’ve done this before?” I ask, enjoying her touch.

She lets go of my wrist and edges closer to her side of the backseat. “I’ve thrown an axe a few times, and I’m actually pretty good at it. I can even give you a few pointers. I’m telling you, Dean, you’re going to love it. The first time I experienced the adrenaline rush of gripping the shaft, I was hooked.”