Page 157 of Hawaii Can Suck It

I press it and quickly return the wand to its holster, the water already beginning to pulse with increasing intensity. Red lights flicker to life along the stone walls, transforming the water into streams of artificial lava. I back away quickly, knowing exactly what’s coming.

“T-minus ten seconds until tropical eruption,” I whisper gleefully, backing away to a strategic position.

The DareSquad is living for this moment:

This is why I have NOTIFICATIONS ON.

REVENGE IS A DISH BEST SERVED WET.

Wake him with the power of love Camila!!!

EVERYBODY TAKE COVER!

I hold my finger to my lips, suppressing giggles as I position myself at a safe distance, camera trained on Reece’s sleeping form.

“Wake-up call in three… two… one…”

I flash the lens with my most diabolical smirk as the first rumbles of the jungle show begin. The water pressure builds to critical mass, and—

CRACK! BOOOOOOM!

Thunder blasts through the room as if Zeus himself is DJing. Lightning shreds across the ceiling in electric veins, throwing the room into a rave with strobing white flashes. Right on cue, I slap the motion sensor beside a snoozing Reece.

The bed lurches to life,spinning maniacally like an evil Bond villain trap.Reece, still tucked up as a human Hot Pocket, starts rolling to the edge.

“WHAT THE FU—AAAHH!”

Reece tumbles off the bed in spectacular fashion, arms flailing from inside his fabric prison, legs kicking at nothing. He hits the ground with aTHUD—probably fine, but I’m too busy cry-laughing to check.

“EARTHQUAKE!” he shouts, thrashing inside the blankets. “CAM! GRAB THE GO-BAG!”

“Good morning!” I sing-song over the thunderous soundtrack and escalating shower sounds. “Sleep well?”

“What’s happening?” His head emerges from the tangled bedding, hair defying gravity, eyes wild with confusion.

Before he understands what’s happening—the birds descend.

A platoon of animatronic parrots, toucans, and macaws drops from concealed ceiling panels, wings flapping in jerky mechanical movements. They open their plastic beaks in perfect synchronization and belt out a surprisingly high-quality rendition of “Sexual Healing.”

“They remember us!” I shriek with delight, aiming the lens at the feathered choir. “And I think they missed you!”

Reece groans, running a hand through his sleep-disheveled hair. “Great. The sex birds are back. I need coffee.”

Some things never change. For all his growth and tenderness, Reece Dare will forever be a grumpy morning monster until caffeine enters his system.

We’ve been inseparable since that fateful day at LAX when he skitched? Skated? Sledded? Whatever the fuck he did in that suitcase to chase me down. After they released him from the hospital(three cracked ribs, severe road rash, and a mild concussion—all worth it, according to him), we spent an entire weekend wrecking each other in his ridiculous mansion.

When Monday rolled around and I mentioned going back to my apartment to grab clothes, he literally pouted—I shit you not. Then he called professional movers, who showed up two hours later with a truck. By dinnertime, my entire life had been relocated to his place.

When I asked if that was presumptuous, he simply stated, “I’m not letting you out of my sight ever again, Morales.”

And he’s been my biggest cheerleader ever since.

With a shockingly swift movement for someone who was dead asleep thirty seconds ago, Reece rolls me into the blanket with him, creating a two-person burrito. His morning stubble scratches my cheek deliciously as he smothers me with kisses—my forehead, my nose, my chin, the corner of my mouth.

“Let me see that,” he grumbles, plucking the phone from my hand. “Guys, we gotta go gear up for today’s big—”

I slap my hand over his mouth. “Don’t spoil it!”

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