Page 58 of Hawaii Can Suck It

“Wait, so you didn’t demand to have Kai’s penis featured in every video?”

I roll my eyes. “Believe it or not, I did not agree to becoming a human prop in Kai’s sex swing battle of the dicks.”

Cam howls with laughter. She bends forward at the waist, shoulders shaking, full-body laughing as if I told the funniest joke ever.And shit—I like it.

I’d let Kai beat me with his drumstick dick a hundred more times to keep hearing that laugh.

What the hell is wrong with me?Two days ago I was wallowing in my failed wedding disaster, and now I’m thinking about ways to make Cam laugh? I might need a head scan. Maybe Blaze isn’t the only one with brain damage from all our crazy stunts.

“Wow.” She tilts her head toward the stars, a scatter of diamonds on black velvet. “They’re beautiful. You never see actual constellations in LA.”

I follow her gaze, and—holy hell—the celestial lights are insane, burning like a million tiny supernovas against the night sky. The black tapestry is vast and open, bigger than anything should be.

Her camera comes up instinctively, but when she reviews the footage, her nose scrunches. “Nope, you can’t capture that kind of beauty.”

“Let me try.” I drop to one knee in the sand, taking the camera. “It’s all about perspective.”

I pressRecord, and in place of the sky, I frame her. The stars are a mere background to the real phenomenon. She’s the centerpiece of it all, lips parted slightly as she studies the stars, her hair flowing in the breeze, and her eyes reflecting a million lights.

I hold up the screen so she can see.

She edges forward, her fingers grazing mine, and damn—my body aches to pull her close. To feel her warmth seep in and wrap around me like a slow-burning flame.

“You gotta know what to focus on,” I say quietly. “And you…youenhance the sky’s natural beauty.”

She snorts. “Yeah, right. This place is getting to you. If you’re handing out compliments, I think we need to check the sea air for hallucinogens.”

“Huh? I’m not following.”

“You told me I belong behind the camera, remember? So I already know you don’t actually think I’m camera-worthy.”

The reminder of my earlier asshole comment feels like stepping on broken glass. “That came out wrong. I didn’t mean it as an insult. You’re a talented videographer.”

“Ha! Two compliments?” She scoffs. “Did you eat something weird at the luau? Was it the pineapple? Quick—how many fingers am I holding up?”

“I’m being serious, Morales.” I step closer, sand shifting under my feet. “You’re really gifted.”

“Reece, I have worked for you for two years, and in that time, you have never—not once—given me a compliment.”

“That can’t be true.”

“Oh, you want receipts? Remember the Can I Land a Jet Ski on a Moving Boat video?”

“Blaze convinced me that, yeah, obviously I could flip off a jet ski and land neatly onto the deck of a moving speedboat.”

“I set up all three camera angles for that shoot. Had to anticipate your trajectory—which, let’s be honest, even you didn’t know—so I could capture the stunt, the splash zone, and the inevitable rescue. Do you remember what you said to me after?”

I exhale, bracing for impact.

“You described my footage as ‘shaky garbage.’”

The waves crash behind us, but they’re nothing compared to the storm of guilt building in my chest.

“Or that Sandboarding Down a Mountain Handcuffed to Blaze video. The one where I risked my life, strapped a camera to my own damn helmet, and chased you down the sand dune at thirty-five mph.”

I grimace.

“You said”—she drops her voice low—“‘The footage is decent, I guess. But maybe next time, try not to breathe so loud in the mic. It’s called cardio, Morales.’”

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