At least until we’re back on dry land.
***
“Damn,you’resexy.Howcan you make flippers and a snorkel look so fucking hot?“ Reece’s eyes rake over me from behind his dorky, oversized mask.
“I’m beginning to think you hit your head when we jumped off that cliff.” I tease, repositioning the strap digging into my scalp. “Or maybe it’s heatstroke. Should I check your pupils? Alert medical professionals?”
We’re standing near the stern, where everyone’s gearing up for snorkeling, aligning masks and squeezing into fins. The energy is chaotic—excited tourists fumbling with equipment while crew members offer assistance with the patience of preschool teachers on a field trip.
One woman is engaged in an impressive wrestling match with her snorkel mask, the strap tangled hopelessly in her hair. Her husband—judging by the matching Hawaiian print swimwear—is pretending not to know her.
Reece and I decided our first shot will be jumping off the plank together, holding hands—a callback to our viral waterfall kiss. My heart rate kicks up just thinking about it, but honestly I can’t tell if it’s from the memory of his lips or the thought of plunging into the open ocean.
“I’m kinda glad it’s impossible to livestream underwater,” I say, giving my snorkel a quick test blow. I can finally get some real cinematic shots without the constant narration for viewers.”
“You’re so seductive when you get all passionate about filming. There’s something about the way you get all intense and focused…” He steps closer, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “Like how you look right before you co—”
“Okay! Camera check!” I interrupt before my warming face spontaneously combusts. “Let’s make sure this thing is recording properly.”
He grins, holding up the special underwater GoPro setup—a selfie stick with extra grip texture so it doesn’t slip from wet hands, encased in waterproof housing thick enough to survive the Mariana Trench.
Reece takes my hand as we step onto the plank, our fins making that ridiculous squeaky rubber sound. It should be impossible to feel romantic while waddling like penguins, yet somehow his touch still makes my whole arm tingle.
The plank extends from the rear of the boat, resembling a diving board to nowhere, suspended over crystal-clear water that shimmers in a dozen shades of blue. I can already see colorful fish darting beneath the surface, teasing us with flashes of yellow and electric orange.
He pressesRecord, aiming the camera at our faces.
“DareSquad, you are NOT ready for how gorgeous this water is.” His voice shifts into YouTuber mode, enthusiasm dialed up to eleven as he swings the camera toward the ocean. “Check it out. You can see all the way to the bottom!”
The visibility is unreal—like staring into the world’s largest natural aquarium.
Reece turns the camera back to capture both of us, his hand in mine. “Baby, tell them where we’re at.”
“We are snorkeling at the Molokini Crater,” I say, smoothly transitioning into presenter mode, a role that’s become surprisingly comfortable over the last week. “Home to over 250 species of colorful fish and 38 types of coral—”
“But,” Reece cuts in, “my girl wants to see a turtle, so let’s go find her one.”
Before I can react, he moves closer and kisses me—fast and fiery, his lips firm and demanding. My heart rate skyrockets, and as I’m about to melt into the kiss, he pulls back with that devilish glint in his eyes and gives my hand a squeeze.
“Come on!”
And then—
YANK.
I’m airborne. My startled scream is cut short as we plunge into the water.SPLASH!The ocean swallows my yelp whole as we break the surface, cool air rushing over my skin.
I push my mask up, spitting out salty water. “Oh, you are so dead when I edit this footage.”
“Totally worth it.”
“After that stunt, it’s my turn to hold the camera.”
Reece doesn’t hesitate. He passes it over, but then—he grabs my other hand. Laces his fingers with mine.
“That’s fine. As long as I can still hold you.”
Once more, my stupid heart goes all squishy on me.
