Page 46 of Hawaii Can Suck It

“Love?! You’ve been together for less than twenty-four hours!”

“Blazey!” Astrid stage-whispers, focusing the camera. “Remember what I said—be mad, baby!”

“Oh yeah!” Blaze straightens. “BRO… What we have is real. We’re in love!”

“This is insane.” I throw down my pool noodle. “You two deserve each other.”

Blaze beams. “Thanks, man!”

“Oh my God, Blazey!” Astrid groans. “You’re ruining my video!”

“And we’re gonna get married too!” Blaze says as I exit the pool.

“Wrong!” Astrid’s head snaps around. “Nuh-uh. Not that. Too soon.”

“Oh, right, sorry. My bad, babe. Should we do another take?”

I storm away from this circus. I ignore Cam calling after me.Astrid’s no doubt already uploading the footage to humiliate me.

“Great content as always, man!” Blaze yells after me.

I don’t look back. Midafternoon or not, I’m officially Burrito Blanket Reece. Fuck this day.

CHAPTER SEVEN

CAM

GROUP CHAT : CPK FOREVER

Petra:Quick Poll: How many island boys have you corrupted?

Me:Current count: negative zero. My vajayjay is in mourning.

Katie:Let me guess, Grumpy McCrankyPants is cockblocking paradise?

Me:¡Dios mío! You have no idea.Kai the resort owner keeps flirting with me…

Petra:Just googled Kai. You NEED to let that tattooed island God wreck you.

Me:Except my boss is everywhere. Get this, Kai gifted me a vibrator the size of Maui.

Katie:Take what you can get, but after experiencing what Matteo can do with his tongue, batteries cannot compare.

Me:Excuse me while I die of sexual frustration and live vicariously through your Italian adventures.

I’M DREAMING OF… MARSHMALLOWS?

Warm. Soft. Deliciously dense but still plush enough to sink into, like some kind of fancy artisanal marshmallow at a boujee farmers’ market. My fingers flex, testing the firm-yet-fluffy consistency beneath me. It smells good too—like sea salt, and something spicy, maybe… ginger?

Wait.

Marshmallows don’t snore.

Every muscle locks up as I register the deep, rhythmic vibrations rumbling through my torso. I pry open one sleep-heavy eye, and… I’m spooning Reece Dare.

And not like, barely brushing against him in awhoops, must’ve rolled too closekind of way.

No. I am a needy koala—full-body latched on to him, my thigh draped over his hip, my face smushed into his shoulder blade, and—¡Ay, Dios!—my hand!?

---