“Yeah, a minor detail, Mika. Jesus. You told me he was into improv, not some, I’m assuming, millionaire who is into using humans as real-life chess pieces.” I take a sip of my drink. “He picked up bug spray today. Freaking bug spray. Oh, and sandals, because apparently, he’s never worn those before.”

Mika thinks on it for a second. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in sandals.”

“I’ll take a picture for you,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I know this is my fault. I understand that. I’m not blind to my shortcomings, but by God, how hard is it to follow instructions?”

“Did you give him instructions though?” Mika asks.

“Yes,” I shout and then think on it, because Wilder questioned the same thing. “I mean, I told him what differences we had.”

Mika lifts his brow.

“And I asked him what his pretend job would be.”

“Did you tell him that you were in there to break up?”

I tap my chin, trying to recount the moments before we went into the office for our first therapy session. It all seems like a blur now. “Uh…”

“I’m going to take that as a no.” Mika leans over and boops me on the nose with his finger. “Seems like you didn’t set the scene for him.”

I groan and rest my head on the bar counter. “I didn’t set the scene,” I mumble into the wood.

“So he was probably just going for it, feeding off the situation, and now you’re stuck going to an eight-day summer camp with him.”

I groan even louder. “Why am I like this?”

“Because you are,” Mika says. “But I love you anyway.”

I sit up and take a large gulp of my margarita. After a few seconds of silence, I say, “He likes Nerds Clusters.”

“He does.”

“I like Nerds Clusters.”

“You do.”

I look into Mika’s eyes. “He’s buying some for our trip.”

“Because that’s the kind of guy he is. He’s the most humble rich fuck you will ever meet.” Mika winks and takes off down the bar to help another customer.

Chapter Seven

WILDER

“Let me grab that for you,” I say as Scottie makes her way down her apartment steps and to the sidewalk.

“Thanks,” she says as she hands me her suitcase.

I open the gate to my Jeep and slip her bag in the back. “Do you want your backpack back here as well?”

“Sure,” she says, looking uncomfortable.

Don’t blame her. She’s about to spend eight days with a guy she doesn’t know in a cabin in the Catskills. Screams horror movie. Like everyone in the theater is telling her “No, don’t do it,” but she’s not listening and instead is taking every wrong step down the path of being murdered.

Lucky for her though, I’m not a murderer.