Tie-dye tank top? Check. Tacky board shorts that look designed by a glitter-obsessed kindergartner?Check. And a sparkly pink baseball cap that reads,Blazed and Confused.Which, let’s face it, sums him up perfectly.
“Bitches, this exact turquoise shade is in my new Ocean Vibes eyeshadow palette, dropping at midnight!” She twirls—part prima ballerina, all marketing genius. “Use code GLOWJOBfor fifteen percent off and free shipping on orders over fifty dollars! Your eyes will pop out of your skull—ideal for that trendy zombie vibe this summer!”
Astrid strikes several poses, puckering her lips and sticking out her tits to the camera. “Blazey-Boo, tell everybody how amazing my contour looks.”
Blaze’s face goes through a wild mix of emotions: confusion, panic, scrambling for thought, and then total freak-out. “Uh, your face is, uh, totally fire, babe. Like a super hot… statue? Yeah! Like those old guys who made ass statues, but on your face!”
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from snorting.
“A statue? What does that even mean?” She snatches the camera back. “This is why we rehearse these things! Whatever.”
She continues her monologue, her voice an unsettling blend of baby talk and an overly enthusiastic cheerleader, as she documents every inch of the boat.
Meanwhile, Blaze’s attention span struggles to stay focused and then forgets why it was here. His eyes dart everywhere: a passing cloud, a splash in the water, his own reflection in a nearby window. And then he spots us.
“Yo! My dudes!” He bounds over, arms wide, pulling us into a group hug. “Miss you, bro! This reminds me when we went snorkeling in Australia and we met those two local girls who—”
“Nope,” Reece cuts him off.
“Yeah, remember!” Blaze persists. “Yours was really hot but made those donkey noises when you—”
“Look, a dolphin!” Reece interrupts, pointing wildly at absolutely nothing.
Blaze’s head whips around so fast I worry for his neck. “Where?” He bounds to the railing, leaning dangerously far over the side. “I don’t see it! Is it doing tricks?”
“So, animal noises? Is that another kink I should know about?” I lean closer, lowering my voice to a mock-seductive whisper. “Titty fucking while I—” I let out an exaggerated “HEE-HAW! HEE-HAW!”
“Hilarious, Morales,” he deadpans. “New rule. Not talking about exes goes both ways.”
“You sure have a lot of rules for this fake relationship.”
In an instant—his entire mood shifts.
His expression locks down, his eyes go hard, and there it is.
The wall.
The one I knew would come back eventually.
The one I dreaded.
I watch the tension creep into his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers twitch, as if they can’t figure out if they want to hold me or shove me away. Instead, he drops my hand and pulls out his phone, scrolling aimlessly, leaving me in awkward silence.
My stomach churns, and it’s not from the rocking boat.
This is exactly what I’ve been afraid of. The silent Reece. The brooding Reece. The man who can go from playful to impenetrable fortress faster than Astrid can say “Like and subscribe.”
But then—his hand slides over mine.
He lifts our joined fingers and touches his lips to my knuckles. The gesture is so unexpectedly tender, so jarringly intimate after the frost only moments before.
“I hope you get to see your turtle today.”
Emotional. Whiplash.
I should tell him about quitting. Should rip the Band-Aid off and end this fantasy before it hurts even more.
But for now, I can’t. I won’t. I refuse. The truth—and whatever heartbreak it brings—can wait.
