Blaze stops chewing. “… like for pillows and stuff?”
“Yes.”
He looks at the remaining half in his hand. Then shrugs and pops the rest into his mouth.
“Eleven out of ten, would eat again!”
My iPad flares to life.
Incoming FaceTime: Cam & Reece
Nobody moves. The air in the office just turned into set concrete.
“Do you think they saw the stream?” I whisper. It’s a stupid question. A hopeful, pathetic, please-tell-me-the-internet-broke question.
The tablet rings again, that cheerful littlebloop-bloopsounds way too optimistic for what’s about to happen.
“Oh yeah.” Blaze’s voice is muffled as he chews.SQUISH. CRUNCH.“They saw it, dude.”
My stomach plummets.
Blaze saunters off the couch to the desk chair.
“Time to get lectured by mom and dad,” he says, all no muss, no fuss.Why would there be?Blaze could livestream a flaming jet ski crashing through a billionaire’s mansion and walk away with a brand deal.
And Reece Dare isn’t going to fire his best friend. They’ve been making videos together since they were teenagers with GoPros and bowl haircuts. The internet literally calls them the DareDuo.
Hell, Blaze probably just earned himself another million subscribers.
The iPad rings again.
I grab it before it can chirp a fourth time, prop it on the desk, and angle all three of us into frame.
Cole slides his chair closer(too goddamn close)and his whole left side is against mine. Thigh to thigh. Arm to arm. The kind of close that makes you aware of every single place you’re touching and every single place you’re not.
I nudge him away.
He doesn’t budge.
There’s nowhere to go that isn’t Cole or the edge of the stupid desk, so I straighten my spine, pretend I’m made of ice, and hit theAcceptbutton.
The screen floods with sunlight. White cabana curtains frame the perfectly blue sky, and beyond them, an infinity pool stretches toward the Pacific.
Reece and Cam’s Malibu mansion.
Cam sits cross-legged on a cushioned lounge chair in a floral bikini top and denim shorts, hair twisted into a scrunchie. Sunglasses pushed onto her forehead. Clearly, shewasenjoying her peaceful Saturday.
Reece is next to her, six-pack abs on full display, with a half-finished cocktail sweating on the table. He sends a murderous gaze through the camera as though he’s trying to decide who to yell at first.
Blaze grins back like this is more frat party than firing squad. “BROOOOSS.” He lunges toward the screen. “Is that a sex scrunchie?”
“Blaze, I love you, man, but shut up.” Reece’s voice is steel.
“Right,” Blaze finishes, before double-winking at Cam. “I know it is though.”
“Not the time,” Reece growls.
Cam’s mouth twitches. “Hey, chicos,” she says warmly but no-nonsense. “We’re here for one reason. YouTube flagged the video, so let’s talk damage control.”
