CHAPTER THREE
CAM
GROUP CHAT : CPK FOREVER
Me: My sex drought continues. Thanks, Astrid.
Petra: Holy fuck that wedding was a DISASTER!
Katie: Now Reece gets to see how it feels to be criticized.
Petra: Couldnt have happened to a nicer prickwad.
Me: I know hes a jerkoff, but it was brutal. Seriously awful.
Petra: NO. Do not defend that Assbag Prettyboy Fuckhole. Its payback time for the hell hes put you through.
Me: But guys, this was next-level cruel. Assholes have feelings too. I guess?
Katie: I suppose so. Even dickheads dont deserve public humiliation.
SO MUCH FOR PARADISE.
Every single one of my plans has gone to shit in the last few hours.
No bosss honeymoon workcation. No island hotties to wreck my shores. No sipping pia coladas while eye-fucking a shirtless beefcake bartender. And certainly no asking newly dumped Reece Dare to endorse my dream documentary channel.
Instead, Im trapped in a limo that smells like desperation and Gordons extra musky cologne, circling Los Angeles as if were waiting for clearance to land. Im editing footage of the most viral wedding disaster since Kim Kardashians seventy-two-day marriage speedrun. The air conditioning is cranked so high my fingers are numb against my laptop keyboard. And the tension? Thick enough to choke on.
Three hours. Thats how long weve been driving aimlessly in this rolling pressure cooker of emotions. Gordons been glued to his phone the entire time, shouting into it like hes auditioning for The Wolf of Wall Street 2. Reece has said nothing, which is actually scarier than his constant nitpicking. And me? Im pretending my noise-canceling headphones are a magic cloak of invisibility.
I gaze at my monitor as it glows with snippets of glitter-covered chaos from earlier today. My cold fingers hammer at the keys, combing through the footage on the hunt for somethinganythingthat hasnt already been plastered across the internet. Thanks to Astrids livestream from the altar, the marriage ceremony instantly hit viral status. Every news outlet, influencer, and digital loudmouth with an opinion is piling on. And the star of the spectacle? Reece Dare, YouTubes favorite daredevil turned punchline.
The headlines are brutal:
Prankster Gets Pranked!
Reece Dares Wedding Day Meltdown!
Astrid Montclairs Savage Goodbye!
Reece Dare is Cancelled.
Find Astrid! Gordon had barked at Blaze earlier before we hopped into this moving prison. Talk some sense into her. And for the love of God, dont livestream it!
Talking sense into either one of them? Good luck. Astrid is the equivalent of a human jellyfish (literally no brain and no heart, just vibes) . And Blaze? Hand him a set of instructions, and you might as well be reading them to a beach ball with sunglasses.
I turned my phone off an hour ago because, apparently, Im now LAs most wanted source of gossip. My sister Aria. Best friends Katie and Petra. Random college classmates I havent spoken to in years. Hell, even my landlord texted me for some tea. Well, that and to remind me that rent was due last Tuesday.
Reece is hunched in his seat, scrolling through his phone. His jaw is tight, his eyes dark, and if he grinds his teeth any harder, hes going to need veneers by morning. The guy is one notification away from jumping out of this moving car.
Through my computer screen, I cut together the footage where Reeces face crumpled when Astrid announced she couldnt marry him because Mercury is in Gatorade . That momentthat split secondis now immortalized as a meme. His pained face already has its own Instagram account and its own filter #SadGroomChallenge.
The internet is eating this up. And as much as I want to hate him for being a broody, insufferable boss, I cant help but feel bad. Nobody should be dragged through the mud like this, not even Reece Dare.
Why is she still here?
Reeces voice is a knife cutting through my thoughts. She? Well, I was feeling sympathetic, but maybe not so much now, pendejo .
Ignore her, Gordon hisses. Shes getting your video up. We need to control the narrative before
Guys, holy shit! some beauty guru squeals from Reeces phone. Reece Dare just lost another 500K followers! This is insane!
I bite back a groan. Of course Astrid chose to livestream her breakup to get it out ASAP. You cant edit and upload that quickly unless you shoot it in advance. Trust me, I know. Im the one who usually has to perform those overnight miracles.
My eyes dart between clips, searching for video proof that hes not the villain in this wedding debacle. This is normally my favorite part of the job. Hand me hours of raw footage, and Ill find you a heros story that will draw you in. Its similar to a documentary, if that doc had more product placement and fewer moral takeaways.
I need that clip. That redemptive moment. Something to give Reeces video that clickbait thumbnail Ive got nothing. But what catches my attention isnt the circus or the crying or even Astrids bedazzled coochie crystals.
Its Reece.
For a mere second, before shock painted his features, his face was filled with relief. Unmistakable relief.
Interesting.
But thats not the kind of clickbait thatll save this sinking ship.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Gordons voice ricochets around the limo like a pinball of panic. He thrusts his phone at Reece. She posted again.
Reece grabs the phone, scowling as he hits Play . Astrids face fills the screen, framed by her signature soft-focus lighting. Tears slide down her cheeks in dramatic slow motion. The truth is, Reece neglected me over and over. Like, he bought me a knockoff Gucci handbag and a freakin gold wedding ring. He knows white gold goes better with my skin color. And queens? Dont we deserve to be loved like the royalty we are?!
I resist the urge to snort. This from the woman who once made me reshoot her natural wake-up routine because her morning breath wasnt authentic enough. Yes, thats a direct quote. No, I have no clue what it means either.
I just couldnt do it anymore. Astrids voice trembles perfectly. Thats why Im having a freedom sale! Her emotional U-turn gives me whiplash. Fifteen percent off my entire Bad Ass Bitches collection because no queen should have to pay full price for
Reeces thumb stabs at the screen, cutting off Astrid mid-pitch. How bad is it? he growls, his voice low and dangerous.
Gordon tugs at his tie so hard, Im worried hell actually strangle himself. Well, youre hemorrhaging followers. Weve lost two major sponsors, and Astrids fans are organizing an online takedown. I wont read you the comments, but her army of queens wants your head on a rhinestone-encrusted platter.
I peek over my laptop as Reece leans back, resting against the headrest and closing his eyes. For a moment, he doesnt say anything, and I swear the pressure in the limo could pop a tire. Then he exhales sharply, his hands balling into fists. Shes controlling the narrative.
Exactly, Gordon says, snapping his fingers. Which is why you need to get ahead of this. Hawaii is perfect for damage control.
Reeces eyes snap open. Im not going to Hawaii.
The fuck you arent. Youve got a contract, Reece. Theyre paying big bucks for you to promote the resort.
Another goddamn contract. Reeces laugh sounds like shattered glass. Im so fucking sick of contracts controlling my life.
Gordon slips into his smooth-talking persona faster than I can say sponsored content. Itll be good for you! Well film some healing-your-broken-heart videos. The fans will eat that shit up. He waves his hands as if hes conducting an orchestra of bullshit. Get a massage. Fuck a few locals. Really lean into that wounded-but-still-fuckable energy.
I feel Reeces eyes burning a hole in the side of my head, but I maintain my best statue impression. I am one with the editing software. I am invisible. I am definitely not thinking about him getting massages or fucking locals or
I should stay and handle this mess, Reece argues.
Thats what Im for, Gordon counters. Ill manage the companies. Youre the face of the brand, and that face needs to be in Hawaii making our sponsors happy.
Reece leans forward, his elbows on his knees, dragging his hands through his hair with a heavy exhale. Goddammit.
And were here! Gordon announces.
I follow his gaze. A private airfield looms ahead, complete with sleek jets parked like overgrown toys for billionaires.
Reece lets out a sharp laugh, a cackle with zero humor behind it. I never had a choice, did I?
Come on, superstar! Gordon claps like a seal demanding fish. Shake it off! Then his attention is a precision drone, locking onto me. Camera girl! Is that video ready or what?
I keep my headphones firmly in place, focused on my screen. Two years of dealing with influencer drama has taught me when to play deaf.
CAMERA GIRL!
Sorry, I was editing. I slide my headphones down around my neck.
The video done?
Ready to upload. Only thing left is a title.
Wedding Shocker: Groom Gets DitchedSee His Epic Meltdown!
Yeah, Reece says, shoving open the limo door. Make sure the videos monetized. We wouldnt want my public humiliation to go to waste.
Great, theres Wi-Fi on the jet. Time to go, you two! Gordon says.
Wait. I jolt up. Youre not dropping me off at LAX for my flight?
Youre skipping TSA today, Gordon snaps. G-Thorne needs you on that plane. Keep editing promo pieces. We need Reece to be seen as either a victim or a hero or both. Comprende ?
I step out and the blast of LA heat hits me like a hair dryer. My camera bag weighs heavily on my shoulder as I grab my suitcasethe one packed with dreams of beach sunsets and tropical cocktails just this morning.
Gordon pulls Reeces suitcase as they walk toward the jet. Plenty of places to pull stunts in paradise! Well make it a whole heartbreak series! His eyes spark with inspiration. How about: Eating My Feelings Challenge!
Reece makes a sound like a dying whale.
Paddleboarding Away the Pain in Maui! Gordons on a roll. I Biked Down a Volcano to Outrun Heartache!
Reece groans again as he climbs the plane steps before yelling, How about, Masturbating On My Honeymoon for 24 Hours.
Ignoring him, Gordon whirls toward me, his lavender tux now a wrinkled mess. I want video ideas in my inbox before you land in Maui.
With a solemn nod, it dawns on me that for the next two weeks, Ill be filming the worlds most expensive pity party.
But hey, Im not going to let Reeces mood get me downIm still going to Maui!
***
I step onto the private jet and immediately freeze in the doorway. My first thought: I should turn around, climb right back down those steps, and call an Uber. My second thought: I need my camera, because this? This deserves to be immortalized.
This isnt a planeits a honeymoon suite with wings. Every surface sparkles with fairy lights and heart-shaped decorations, including a cheesy Mr. s a bed for fucking, but
No.
Fucking.
SEATS.
Not even a sad little fold-down jump seat for the bodyguard or chaperone. Instead, dominating the cabin is a single, giant bedking-size, no lessdraped in white silk sheets, drowning in rose petals.
Theres a champagne bucket on a side table, condensation dripping down its sides. In the middle of the mattress is a gold-rimmed tray, with an enormous bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries and My eyes lock on to what Id call a romance survival kit. Massage oil. Feathers. And condoms. So many flavored condoms. My God, these flavors are a crime against orgasms: banana split, ranch dressing, fried pickle bacon?!
My overaccommodating brain supplies images I didnt ask forall too vivid images of Reece and Astrid christening this cupids orgy fest at 30,000 feet. Yuck!
The pilot pokes his head out, his handlebar mustache twitching. Mr. Dare, Im Captain Mitchell, but you can call me Captain Love. Well be taking off momentarily. Wanted to let you both know that Ill be wearing noise-canceling headphones for your privacy. He winks.
Ew. Gross. I know for a fact you can still hear everything. Pervy pilots probably got a whole spank bank of mile-high club greatest hits stored in his brain.
And if youd like to fly with Cupids Cockpit back to LA when your trip is over, he continues, his voice oozing customer service smarm, wed be happy to accommodate. Just scan the QR code on the tray next to the
He gestures vaguely toward the pile of sex supplies.
the, uh, lube bottle for all the details.
The pilot glances at Reeces pocket like hes willing him to pull out his phone.
Reece exhales sharply, angling his device at the tray.
DING!
The mans mustache does a little victory twitch. Excellent. Ive been added to your contacts.
I stare at Reece, wondering how often he has to put up with this kind of crap. How many people shove business deals, opportunities, favor requests at him in the most insane ways?
The cockpit door clicks shut, and Reece flops back onto the bed. Rose petals explode around him in a red cloud. Hes like a fallen angelall broad shoulders and devastation wrapped in a wrinkled white button down.
My fingers twitch toward my camera. This shot would be perfectthe defeated groom surrounded by remnants of romance. The lighting is dramatic, casting deep shadows that emphasize his jawline and highlight the tension on his face.
Do you want me to I gesture weakly with my Sony you know, film this?
No.
Cool. Cool cool cool. Just gonna stand here, then. In a sex plane. With my grumpy boss.
I perch carefully on the opposite edge of the bedbecause again, WHERE ARE THE CHAIRS? and pull out my laptop like its a shield against all this awkward. My head is throbbing from hair being in an all-day ponytail.
I yank out my scrunchie, unable to hold back the moan of relief as my natural waves tumble free. My scalp is tingling. I massage it gently, trying to coax away my stress headache.
Then I feel itthe weight of his gazea slow burn that sends a prickle across my skin. Reece is watching me, his steel-blue stare locked in, intense and unreadable. Our eyes meet, and he flicks his gaze back to his phone. Heat crawls up my neck.
Sorry, I mutter, trying to tame my wild mane. I look like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket. My hair gets crazy when its been up too long.
Yeah, you really need a mirror. His voice is clipped. Bathrooms in the back.
Oh, so thats how were playing it? Game on, grumpy pants.
Right, because my thick porn star hair isnt as flawless as Astrids fake waves. Your hair isnt so great either, buddy. Maybe stop raking your hands through it every five seconds.
His eyes narrow dangerously. Is this your thirst trap hairstyle? For seducing all those island boys?
I hadnt considered it, but youre rightthe bed head look sends a clear message: Im ready for some serious pillow talk.
Lady and gentleman, the captain says, oozing with honey-flavored innuendo, I hope youre ready for a smooth, satisfied ride.
I stuff my computer away as the engines roar to life. I press my face against the window like an excited kid. The runway lights streak past faster and faster until were airborne, Los Angeles shrinking beneath us.
The jet lurches, and the champagne glasses rattle ominously in their holders. I clutch the bedframe, my heart going double-time as turbulence shakes the plane. A mess of strawberries, dripping in chocolate, goes airborne, and time slows down in the worst way.
I watch in helpless horror as fruit tumbles across the sheets in slow motion, rolling like edible wrecking balls. Several bounce off the mattress before splattering onto me, leaving streaks across my shirt and smearing a major glob of melted chocolate on my pants.
Mierda! No, no, no
On impulse, I lick my finger and rub my pants.
What are you Reeces voice sounds strangled. Youre smearing it. Oh my God!
My brain screeches to a halt as he rips off his white shirt, buttons flying, revealing his tan muscular chest and six-pack abs. His pecs flex slightly with the motion, the light catching his tattoos. Reece snags a bottle of water from the table, splashes some onto the fabric, and crouches in front of me. Hold still.
My mouth goes dry.
Wait, what are you My words cut off as his hand grips my hip to steady me, firm and warm through the fabric of my pants. My heart skips, and I forget how to breathe.
This is stain removal 101, he mutters, dabbing at the chocolate smears on my thighs with the damp shirt. Electricity zings through my body as if Ive licked a live wire. Has it really been that long since Ive been touched?
Youve gotta blot it. Rubbing makes it worse. Hes concentrating way too hard for someone cleaning up melted chocolate. His movements are precise, focusedand when he applies a little too much pressure, it sets off a ripple of heat that tightens in my core. The cabin feels smaller suddenly, the air too warm, too close.
I swallow hard, trying not to notice how his thumb lingers near my hip bone or how his other hand presses into my thigh, dangerously high.
Way too high.
Did I mention high?
We both freeze, realizing his hand is one accidental inch away from having a meet and greet with my hoo-ha. I suck in a breath.
He jerks back as if Im on fire, his fingers accidentally grazing my breast in his retreat.
Jesus fucksorry! I didntshit, sorry.
Its fine. I sound helium drunk, my voice way too thin. Didnt know you were a stain expert.
Uh, yeah. He sits on the other side of the bed, putting distance between us. Mom made me learn after I destroyed half my wardrobe as a kid. I played hard.
The word hard makes my eyes automatically drop to his crotch and Why? Why did I look? Hes packing what appears to be the Everest of erections in his Armani pants.
Is it possible to climax simply by tracing the outline of his dick with my eyes? I think Im about to find out.
He snatches a pillow, dropping it onto his lap. Hes totally frazzled and frantic, and I know I am not imagining the flush creeping up his neck.
I grab my laptop. Well! Time to brainstorm video ideas! For Gordon! Who wants them when we land! In Hawaii! Where were going! To work! As professionals!
Yup. His response is brisk, almost dismissive. I better take a sleep go to nap. Dont disturb me.
He flops onto his side while I stare at my blank screen. How am I going to survive two weeks without kissing him?
Killing. I mean killing him . Not kissing .
Although, a little kissing wouldnt hurt anybody.
NO! KILLING ONLY.
...probably.
***
The wind does its best to ruin me, whipping my hair into my mouth, up my nose, and slapping it against my cheeks. With a huff, I wrestle it back into a ponytail, twisting my scrunchie around it. The breeze still sneaks in, tugging at loose strands, but Im not even mad. Not when were cruising down the Hana Highway in a black convertible, the ocean shimmering beside us and the sunset painting the sky like a screensaver.
This moment? Its straight out of a movie. All I need is a pair of oversized sunglasses, a chiffon scarf tied dramatically around my head, and maybe a hunky co-star Oh wait. Scratch that last part. I scope out Reece, whos casually steering with one hand as if auditioning for a luxury car commercial. Hes annoyingly good-looking, and he knows it.
Hey, Reece. Whyd you pick this grandpa car instead of some crypto-bro Lamborghini? Isnt that more your speed?
Grandpa car? This is a 1958 Porsche 356 Speedster Convertible.
Are those words supposed to make me fall to my knees in automotive worship?
I watch his right eye do a cute little twitching thing. Waitnot cute. Annoying. Definitely annoying.
This is the same car from Top Gun . The original? Tom Cruise?
Never seen it.
Youve never His jaw drops. But you know who Tom Cruise is, right?
Duh. I roll my eyes. Whats with all the man-thusiasm?
He straightens in his seat, clearly unbothered by the implied jab. The guy does all his own stunts. No green screen, no CGIjust pure guts. You gotta respect that.
Sounds like my daredevil boss.
That earns me my first ever genuine Reece Dare smile. And Dios mo, the mans even more sexy when he smiles.
Is that a compliment, Morales?
Maybe.
Hes got this run, Reece continues. Its a whole thing. The Tom Cruise runperfect form, high knees, arms pumping, no hesitation. There are YouTube videos that break it down like its a sport. You should check it out. He takes running more seriously than most people take their careers.
Okay, I will.
Good. You should.
Ive never heard him talk like this, at least not to me. Usually, our conversations are him critiquing my every breath and me doing my best to ignore how his T-shirts stretch across his chest. Who is this person?
Maybe you should try acting someday?
His smile falters, and he shakes his head. Nah. Memorizing lines isnt my thing. I prefer being authenticin the moment.
Theres a heaviness to his voice now, a distance creeping into his expression that I wasnt expecting. Ive accidentally touched on a deeper issue, but before I can figure out what it is, he reaches for the radio and flicks it on.
We dont speak again until Reece offers to bring my suitcase inside the hotel.
Though I dont know if hotel is the right word for this place.
The Aloha Amour Resort
Oh. My. God.
My senses are assaulted. The lobby is pure seduction, designed to strip couples of their self-control before they even reach their room. The air is thick with hibiscus and vanilla, rich and warm, and a mystery ingredient thats too spicy to be innocent. Id swear the air itself was flirting with me.
The dim lighting, tinted in shades of red and gold, drenches everything in a permanent sunset glowskin looks softer, lips more kissable, restraint a distant memory. The entire place pulses with suggestion, with romance, with unspoken promises of sexual conquest. Its a full seduction playground up in here.
And the dcor? Oh, the dcor. Dead center is a massive fountain featuring two lava-rock lovers entwined in a carnal pose so athletic Im getting secondhand muscle cramps. The water cascades down their bodies in a deeply sensual way, and upon further study, its hard to explain its strong visual effect.
The sculpture is more than suggestive. Its visceral. Evocative. A hedonistic piece of artwork that conjures arousal. The things dripping with sexual idolatry, somehow summoning increasing amounts of primal desire the longer you look. I quickly break its spell, glancing down at the fountains base, where heart-shaped lights pulse rhythmically to an elevator music version of Marvin Gayes Lets Get It On.
I search the walls, which are covered in photos of animals getting busy. Two flamingos nuzzling their necks together, two rhinos with horns interlocked in what must be rhino foreplay. And three starfish I dont exactly know what theyre doing, but its dirty.
The reception desk is framed by heart-shaped arches lit with pulsing LED lights. Overhead, neon pink letters spell out: The Island Where Passion Flows Like Lava.
The staff uniforms are a mix of tropical chic and we moonlight at a dance club. The man at the counter wears a Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned to reveal more chest than necessary, and his name tag reads, Aloha. Im Kais Best Friend.
Im a little worried to ask, whos Kai?
Wow, I whisper, spinning slowly to take it all in. This place really commits to the theme.
Reece stops beside me at the check-in desk, suitcase in hand, his jaw tight. Its something.
Welcome to the Aloha Amour Resort! the man says brightly. Mr. Dare. He frowns at his computer screen. Oh uh seems we have a little hiccup with your reservation.
Reece exhales sharply through his nose. Of course there is.
Let me dial up Kai. Hell have this all taken care of in a flash.
Fantastic, Reece mutters, his grumpy tone back in full force.
I nudge him. Hey, bright side. Now weve got more time to enjoy the ambiance.
Reece cuts me a side-eye, but I notice the faint quirk at the corner of his mouth. Im about to mentally high-five myself for softening the Grump King, when a voice booms across the lobby.
Yo, finally! Youre here, bro!
We turn, and there is Blaze? Reeces bleach-blonde best friend is strutting toward us in a tank top that reads Blaze of Glory in a glittery font and board shorts that look like an exploding tie-dye factory.
Rough day, huh? Blaze says, pulling Reece into a bone-crushing hug. Dont worry, broski. Blaze has got your back, for realz.
Reece extracts himself from the hug, his expression a blend of confusion and irritation. What are you doing here?
Huh? Its all part of the master plan. He double winks so hard, I think he may be trying to communicate in Morse code.
Plan?
Yeah, the plan, bro! So epic.
Before my brain can process whatever dimension Blaze is currently inhabiting
Blazey-Boo! Your queen needs you!
Enter Astrid, stage left, filming herself as she makes her grand entrance. Her neon pink dress appears painted on, platinum extensions flowing as if shes got industrial fans following her around. How does she do that?
Yeah, babe, coming!
Wait. BABE?!
Blaze jogs to Astrid, and she grabs him by the collar. Action! Astrid commands.
And then they kiss .
Its not just a kiss. Its a spectacle. A sloppy, over-the-top mess of lips and tongue that goes on far too long and should come with a splash zone warning. My stomach churns in secondhand embarrassment. Reece stiffens beside me, his breathing shallow, his jaw locked tighter than a bank vault.
When they break apart, Blaze grins and wipes his mouth. Wicked, babe. Your vape breath tastes like cotton candy and chemicals.
Cut! Blaze, what the hell was that? You are being a freaking Labrador. Were doing it again.
Blaze blinks at her, his confusion so pure its almost endearing. I thought it was good. Like, romantic.
Ew no! That was so NOT it, Astrid snaps, already adjusting her phone for another take. Can you please not drool on me? This isnt a dog park, and I am NOT your chew toy.
Blaze shrugs, unbothered. Whatever you say, babe. Lets roll.
They dive in for round two, and I can feel Reece vibrating with barely restrained fury. Blaze pulls back after a shorter kiss, and Astrid inspects the footage.
Better, she mutters. Then she swivels to face Reece, still recording.
What! The! Fuck! Reece looks ready to commit murder.
Sorry not sorry, but like, the universe literally told me to live my truth! Astrids voice is sheer TikTok drama. Were not hiding our love anymore. Blaze actually appreciates my crystal-infused lifestyle! And youre not going to ruin this for us, Reece.
Yeah, she told me were vibe soulmates. Blaze is a brainless bobblehead, nodding. But pro tip, when youre going down on someonethose vagina gem things get stuck in your hair, and it hurts like a bitch to rip em off.
Blazey! Astrid screeches, smacking his arm. What did we just discuss?
Right, right. Never talk, Blaze says sheepishly. Got it, babe.
Now, kiss me again. And... action! Dont forget to smash that Like button, bitches, if you want more sizzling love content!
I glance at Reece, whose face is currently buffering between WTF , I need a drink , and Jesus take the wheel . This trip went from bad to welcome to hell, enjoy your stay .
Then, theyre going at it again. Oh, shit. Blaze is Astrids new boyfriend.