Page 145 of Hawaii Can Suck It

I sigh. “Fuck it. Why not.”

Kai wraps me up in a full-body, rib-crushing hold.

And yep. That’s Kai’s dick.

I stiffen(not like that).

“Mmmmm,” Kai hums contentedly. “We have finally merged our sacred energies, my virile friend.”

I immediately wrangle free, taking several comforting steps back.

Kai smiles like he won a game I didn’t know we were playing.

“You are welcome at Aloha Amour anytime, Reece Dare.”

I’m already backing toward the exit. “Cool, man. Thanks. I mean it. But I gotta go.”

Outside, Blaze has somehow talked the valet into letting him drive my rental Porsche. I slide into the passenger seat.

“To the airport,” I say, buckling up as Blaze revs the engine. “Let’s go get Cam.”

“DareDuo is back!” Blaze howls, cranking the radio to ear-splitting volume and peeling out of the resort.

We fishtail onto the main road, palm trees blurring on both sides, and adrenaline is pumping through me. For the first time since this whole mess started, I’m not running away.

I’m running toward something.

Someone.

The girl I love.

Cam.

CHAPTER TWENTY

REECE

“Sir,Ican’tgiveout passenger flight information. It’s against the law.”

The ticket counter woman refuses to make eye contact, fingers clacking against the keyboard with the rhythm of someone both underpaid and overthis conversation. Her blue uniform vest strains across her chest, the name tag “Olina” pinned at a defiant angle, as if daring anyone to challenge her authority.

“Right, okay, sure, but what if—hypothetically—you accidentally let it slip? Maybe a sneeze that sounds like ‘Gate 12’ or a casual stretch that ends with you turning your monitor?”

She doesn’t dignify that with a response.

“Can you just tell me if Camila Morales is on a plane to LA? Please?”

“As I said, sir,” Olina says, slipping back into customer service monotone, “we cannot disclose passenger information. It’s a violation of privacy laws.”

“What if I bought a ticket? To every possible flight she could be on?”

“That would be both expensive and impractical,” she states with robotic efficiency. “Also, TSA would likely flag your behavior as suspicious.”

Fuck.She’s right. Running through an airport screaming Cam’s name like some unhinged romcom hero would land me in handcuffs, no doubt. Not the reunion I’m hoping for.

“Next in line.”

Shit.Shit shit shit.

---