Page 122 of Hawaii Can Suck It

“Girl, everyone does.” Her laugh is soft, almost pitying. “That’s how this industry rolls. We all use each other to get ahead. I used Reece to boost my cosmetics line. You’re using him to launch your channel. He’s using you to save his company. Different reasons, same outcome.”

She reaches out, patting my arm with faux sympathy. “Don’t feel bad about it. It’s smart. Actually, we should collaborate once this is all over. My followers love a good redemption arc.”

“Listen, you manipulative, two-faced snake,” I snap. “Go ahead and think I used his platform for views, but I never faked my feelings for him! There will not be a messy public breakup to boost my career. Reece is not a steppingstone. And when my channel launches, it’s gonna be huge and make a real difference. So if you think I’m another social climber chasing the money, you’re dead wrong.”

“Oh, sweetie, that’s cute. And slightly pathetic. Hit me up when you’re ready to collab.”

Then she struts off, grinning, leaving me to wonder if she’s right.

Am I truly no better than Astrid?

If I confess the truth to Reece, will he believe me? Or will he think I’m using him, shut me out, and close the door on us?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

REECE

Camilaisavoidingme.

She’s spoken maybe three words since we got off the boat, and she hasn’t looked at me once.

I don’t know what changed between snorkeling and now, but one minute we were wrapped around each other under the surface of the Pacific, and the next she’s treating me as if I’m invisible.

And I fucking hate it.

She didn’t join me in the shower, even though I left the water hot and my arms wide open. Instead, she retreated to the balcony, muttering something about needing to “get to work editing the video because Gordon will want it ASAP.”

Which, sure. Gordon is indeed a relentless content vulture. But the obvious distance Cam’s putting between us is making my skin crawl with uncertainty.

So here I am, alone on the beach while the sun bleeds into the horizon. The sand is cool beneath my ass, gritty against my palms as I lean back. The waves crash against the shore in a steady rhythm.

We’re leaving in less than forty-eight hours. The countdown is on, and I need to sort out where we stand—before we get on that plane, before reality bursts whatever bubble we’ve been living in.

Or maybe it already has?

What exactly do I hope for with Camila Morales? For her to be my… girlfriend? For real?

The word “girlfriend” crashes into me like a freight train of desire so powerful, my dick actually twitches in agreement. Yeah, I really fucking want that. The thought of her by my side—not only in bed but at breakfast, at events, in my everyday life—hell, I’d love that.But is it the right decision?Not just for me but for every other part of my life.

What about my employees—three hundred people whose mortgages and health insurance and kids’ braces depend on me keeping the Reece Dare brand relevant? What about the sponsors who pay obscene amounts of money for me to use their products while I jump off cliffs and eat ghost peppers and pretend my balls aren’t on fire?

Can I manage a real girlfriend while maintaining an empire? The constant pressure to be “on.” The unending content treadmill. The crushing awareness that my entire career is built on the modern equivalent of “watch this idiot hurt himself for your amusement.”

Astrid never cared for my attention beyond the videos, but with Cam, it would be different. I’d love spending every minute with her. Minutes I don’t know if I have to offer.

Before I can spiral further, I yank my phone from my pocket, ignoring the twelve text notifications from Gordon (all in caps, all with multiple exclamation points, all about metrics and merchandise numbers). Instead, I flick through my contacts until I land on the people I trust most in this world: my moms.

Mama picks up the video call on the first ring, her dark curls arranged in familiar artful chaos. Her Parkinson’s disease may put a slight tremor in her hand, but it does nothing to dull the sparkle in her eyes. She makes me feel like I’m the center of her universe.

“Helen!” she yells immediately, not bothering with hello. “Our son has finally called! Get your ass over here! Bring the good wine!”

I can’t help but grin. “Hi, Mama. I’ve missed you too.”

Before she can answer, Mom appears on screen, a glass of red in hand. Her silver-streaked hair is pulled back in its usual no-nonsense bun, sharp blue eyes narrowing as she assesses me through the camera.

“Reece,” Mom says, “your mama has been making me nuts with conspiracy theories about what’s really going on with you.”

“Camila, Camila, Camila!” Mama singsongs. “Is it real? Please tell me you guys are real. She’s such a nice girl. I’ve watched that waterfall kiss a hundred times, and if that’s acting, then you both deserve Oscars.”

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