Page 109 of Hawaii Can Suck It

“Tellmethesurprise.Pleeease,“ Cam pleads for the thirtieth time, bouncing in the passenger seat.

“Nope.”

I smirk, adjusting my grip on the wheel as the Porsche hugs a curve along the shoreline highway. The early morning light glints off the ocean, casting sparkles across the water like it’s trying to seduce the coastline.

The engine growls beneath us—a mechanical purr that vibrates through the seats and up my spine. Nothing compared to the way Cam’s moans reverberate through my chest when she’s under me, but it’s a close fucking second.

“Just one hint? A single syllable? Morse code? I’ll take anything.”

“You know what I’m discovering, Morales? There are a lot of ways to make you squirm. I’m adding ‘surprises’ to my mental list, right after ‘shower water pressure’ and ‘that thing with my tongue that had you screaming in Spanish.’”

“You’re the worst.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

She smacks my arm, and her laugh is a shot of pure dopamine to my veins.

I’m thrilled to be behind the wheel of this car again—a replica ’58 Porsche 356 Speedster model like Tom Cruise drove inTop Gun—but I’m even more excited about what I’ve planned for today. For her.

The sun beats down, turning everything golden and warm, but the breeze rushing through the open top of the convertible keeps us cool—or it would if my blood wasn’t running hot whenever I look over at Cam.

I steal another glance at her. The wind whips through her hair, loose strands escape from the ponytail she tied up with a scrunchie. That damn scrunchie she didn’t have yesterday to fulfill my dirty fantasy. My hands grip the wheel tighter, knuckles white with the effort it takes tonotpull over and drag her into my lap right this second.

Christ, get it together. Your dick can wait. This is about her.

Never in my life have I felt anything like this before. Cam has suddenly become my whole world. This feeling clawing at my chest is…an epiphany? An addiction? A braingasm?

I want to be with her every second of every day. Not just inside her—though fuck yes, that too—but next to her. Watching her. Getting her to laugh. Making up for all the time I spent belittling her work instead of recognizing what was right in front of me.

But does she feel this too? Or am I only convenient? A vacation fling? I mean, she made that pretty clear yesterday by repeating that Aunt Deb lady’s life philosophy, “Why settle for one flavor when you can taste the whole buffet.” Maybe she’s not interested in anything serious, but imagining her with somebody else makes it hard to breathe.

“Pleeeease tell me,” she interrupts my spiral. “Is it a puppy? A new lens? A lifetime supply of patience for dealing with your grumpy ass?”

“It’s something you deserve. The least I could do to make amends.”

“That’s a long list, Dare.”

“I’m well aware.”

As I take the final turn, Cam’s rapid-fire chatter dies abruptly. I pull to a stop, the vintage engine purring a final time before I kill it. Before us…

Lahaina—charred remnants of a once-vibrant community. Burned-out storefronts. Blackened foundations. Condemned shells of homes. The air itself is different here—heavier, carrying the lingering scent of char despite the months that have passed since the fires.

The destruction is staggering, sobering, and suddenly my master plan feels woefully inadequate.

“Are we… livestreaming here?”

“No streaming today. We’re taking the day off.” I shift to face her. “Today you’re teaching me how to be a documentary filmmaker.”

“I’m sorry, what now?”

I take her hand in mine, craving that connection like a lifeline. “This isn’t some stunt. It’s not a PR move or content for the channel. This is for you, Cam. I’m trying to know everything about you—your dreams, your passions. I want to understand it. To understand you.”

Her face flickers—like a secret she didn’t mean to share—sharp and real enough to stop me cold. She blinks, and poof, it’s gone. Her smile slides back into place, but it’s shaky now, as if it has to work overtime to hide something.

“So… is that why we’re wearing matching cargo pants and white T-shirts?”

“The outfits were a last-minute addition,” I admit, kissing her knuckles. “Don’t be jealous if I look sexier than you in your filming uniform.”

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