Our Love Story

All five of us have breakfast in my hut and spirits are up. I’m glad, but damn, watching Chloe smiling so much as she looks at Enzo and Ethan makes me wish I wasn’t in so much pain so I could be the one to please her like the other guys are able to do.

It’s not jealousy—hell no. I want my girl to be happy, and right now, she looks so well taken care of. But damn, I want a chance to take care of her too. I just want my body to recover, I want to pull her into my lap, have her ride me into oblivion, then I would lick her cunt until she forgot where she was.

But that isn’t going to happen anytime soon. I may not be at the hospital anymore, and surgeries are done, but I have several more weeks where I need to let my wounds heal properly. I have a row of staples from my hip to my knee, my skin is still tender and not all of it was mine, to begin with. The road ahead will require more of my friends and lover than I ever imagined asking of them and it kills me I can’t handle my shit on my own.

As breakfast is wrapping up, I notice Ethan looking at his phone.

“Holy shit,” he says reading an email. “This is crazy.”

“What?” Noah asks, handing Chloe a fresh cup of coffee.

“It’s an email from Black Bull about the ExSports games next week.”

“ExSports? That’s weird.” Enzo frowns.

“Why’s it weird?” Chloe asks.

I try to explain, “Black Bull has always had some issue with ExSports—some corporate drama—so we’ve never been allowed in the games so long as we have a contract with Black Bull.”

“But now?” Noah asks grinning.

“Well, now, apparently the conflict of interest is resolved and there’s an open spot for a team. They want us to go,” Ethan explains.

“Next week?” Enzo asks. “But we still have a bunch of videos to shoot here. Hell, Black Bull was who sent us here in the first place.”

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” Ethan says. “Listen to this.” He begins reading a portion of the email, “As your major sponsor, Black Bull requires your presence.”

“Requires?” Noah rolls his eyes. “I’m so fucking sick of these guys. Since when did we let anyone tell us what we can or can’t do? I’m over it.”

“Well, over it or not,” Ethan says. “We’ll lose our sponsorship if we don’t play by their rules. Truth is, we’re on thin ice already. We’re not putting out enough content.”

“I’m so sick of this grind,” Enzo says running his hands through his hair. Can’t we just stay here for a while, in paradise?” He pulls Chloe toward where he’s sitting on the couch and she falls into his lap. His hands run over her back, toward her ass, they stay there.

Yes, being here in Tahiti with Chloe is the only thing I want too... but we have a job, and it affords us this kick ass life.

Ethan is right. We can’t fuck it up. But that isn’t what worries me. Sure, we’re working for the man in some ways, but we also have a pretty slick gig. And yeah, staying in Tahiti longer was the plan—but that isn’t the real issue either.

The real issue is that in my condition there’s no way in hell I can fucking compete in ExSports next week. I can’t stand or walk—let alone get on my goddamn surfboard.

My injury is going to hold this up for everyone.

As if sensing this without me having to say a word, Chloe reaches over and takes my hand. I’m propped up on the bed, feeling so damn stuck, but then Chloe’s hand meets mine, and the world is right for a moment. Her hand is warm and full of fucking love. I feel it, and right now, I need it.

“We can’t go,” Chloe says. “Mason isn’t well enough to compete.”

Enzo, Ethan, and Noah share a look. To be honest, I don’t want to know what that look is supposed to mean... but I can take a pretty good guess. They may love me like family—but they don’t want to lose their dreams over a fucking shark bite.

“Well, uh, there’s more to the email,” Ethan says clenching his jaw, not meeting my gaze.

“And what’s that?” I ask, bracing myself for a blow.

“They know you are in no condition to compete, they’ve gotten the doctors reports and our tracking your recovery just like all of our followers are.”

“And?”

“And,” Ethan says, clearing his throat. “They have found a short-term replacement.”

I may have been bracing myself but I did not prepare myself for that.

I run a hand over my jaw, fucking pissed.

“We don’t have to do it,” Noah says. “I mean, you’re our best friend.”

I shake my head, trying to keep myself together. I can’t believe I got bit by a fucking shark. Everything was going so well—our career taking off, having a dream job, getting along with my best friends from childhood and then meeting sweet, perfect, Chloe. Then BOOM, now it’s all fucked up.