Vacation. Bahamas. With Dad’s high school BFF from the 80s. Because apparently, he thought it was a cute idea to spend two weeks playing Happy Families with some dude he used to do beer bongs with at 17.

Who does that? “Oh, we were best friends in high school!” Cool. You’re forty now, Todd. Get a f*cking grip.

So yeah. He drags me, my brother (permanently pissed off), and my mom (performing Stepford Wife 2.0) all the way to this massive overpriced villa—where the Camerons are waiting. Rich, tan, and straight out of a soap opera.

Cue slow-motion cringe: Ward and my dad? Hugging like they’re long-lost lovers. Gag. Rose and my mom? Smiling with just enough Botox to crack a mirror. Wheezie? Glued to her phone. Sarah? Already judging my outfit. Bitch, I invented judging.

And then—he appeared.

Rafe. Shirt half open. Gold chain. Tan. That smirk? Illegal in several countries. He looked at me like I was dessert and he skipped lunch. I gave him my signature “I’ll bite, but I might kill you after” look.

My brother clocked it and immediately squared up like he was gonna alpha the alpha. Cute. But no one was winning against that face. Even I hated how fast my brain went from “ugh” to “okay but what if we made poor choices behind a palm tree.”

Rafe’s eyes dipped low—like he wasn’t even pretending not to stare. I tilted my head and gave him a once-over like he was wearing last season’s Gucci. “Cute,” I said out loud. “If you’re into walking red flags.”

His smirk twitched. Game on.

Then the adults started assigning rooms like we were kids at summer camp. I rolled my eyes so hard they almost flew out of my skull. “Can’t wait to share a roof with strangers and unresolved childhood trauma,” I muttered.

Sarah side-eyed me. I side-eyed her harder. Battle of the princesses was on.

Wheezie, still phone-addicted, nearly tripped over her suitcase. I snorted. “Do they not teach walking in rich kid school?”

Mom gave me the look but said nothing. She knows better.

As I dragged my designer luggage up the stairs—loudly—I caught Rafe leaning against the bannister, eyes locked on me like he had x-ray vision. I raised an eyebrow. “Take a picture, Rafe. Might last longer than your attention span.” He just grinned, like he liked the fight.

F*ck me. This vacation is gonna be a mess. A rich, horny, sun-soaked mess.

And I love it.