Page 148 of Hawaii Can Suck It

Relief floods me, making my knees weak. “I’ll be there. With a friend.”

“The more the merrier,” he purrs. “I’ll be waiting at the private terminal.”

“Blaze!” I shout. “We’re leaving.”

He’s halfway through signing someone’s forehead with a Sharpie and stops. “Like, right now?”

“Yes. Right fucking now.”

Twenty minutes later, we bolt up the stairs to the private jet, skidding to a stop inside the cabin.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

This. Fucking. Plane.

The honeymoon jet.

The one with no seats, the single, king-sized bed, and the fresh shower of rose petals resembling a goddamn Valentine’s explosion.

The romance tray is still there, in all its inappropriate glory, and why the fuck are there even more flavored condoms? Blaze takes one look, and his tiny brain is blown.

“Dude. Duuuuude. Is this an orgy plane?”

Before I can answer, the cockpit door swings open, revealing the pilot in all his creepy glory—Captain Mitchell, aka “Captain Love.” His handlebar mustache has been freshly waxed, the ends curling like villainous whiskers.

“Mr. Dare! Welcome back! And you brought a friend! How adventurous!”

“We’re not together,” I clarify immediately, throwing Blaze a warning glance.

Blaze, clueless as ever, flops onto the bed and defends our friendship. “He’s joking. Me and this guy go deep. Like, we’ve been going at it since we were kids.”

The pilot chuckles. “No judgment. Love is love, lust is lust, and my plane has seen it all.” He taps his nose knowingly. “There’s lots of kinks on my plane, but none that stop her from flying.” He whistles.

“Can we just focus on getting to LA as fast as humanly possible?”

“Ah, the urgency of love!” He clasps his hands together. “Fear not, I can have you in Los Angeles in five hours flat. We’ve got tailwinds on our side today.”

“Get us there before seven p.m., and you’ll be looking at another hundred grand.”

He nods. “One quickie coming right up! Buckle up, gentlemen. Well, there aren’t actually seatbelts, so… better hold on to something firm.” He winks again before closing the door.

The engines surge with a roar that vibrates through the floor, up my legs, settling in my chest alongside the knot of anxiety that’s taken up permanent residence there. The plane lurches forward, beginning its taxi down the runway. Outside the small oval window, Maui’s paradise whirs past us, palm trees and mountains giving way to the massive expanse of blue ocean.

“This is the life, bro!” Blaze gestures at the cabin. “No TSA feeling up my junk! A bed instead of those fake chairs that lean, like, two little inches! No wonder you wanna get Cam back on your sex plane!”

“It’s not my sex plane,” I growl. The memory of Cam on this same bed a mere two weeks ago slams into me—her guarded expression, the way she’d held herself so carefully apart from me, how I’d deliberately been an asshole and kept my distance.

Now I’d give anything to close that distance.

I need more information. I need eyes on the ground. I need help.

My fingers find my phone and once again I pressGo Live.

“DareSquad. Quick update: we’re airborne. Should land at LAX around sevenish.” I flip the camera to show Blaze, who immediately throws up devil horns and sticks out his tongue.

“I’m trying to find Cam before she boards her connection to New York. If anyone’s at LAX tonight and spots her, please let me know which terminal, which gate. Any details at all.”

I squint at the scrolling text, searching for actual information among the digital screaming:

---