Huli Huli Heaven

The Jeep rumbled into the gravel lot of Big Joe’s Huli Huli Chicken, the rich, smoky scent of slow-roasting meat hitting them like a warm embrace. Palm trees swayed overhead, the sound of waves in the distance mixing with the sizzle of chicken cooking over open flames.

Pete parked under a tall coconut tree, stretching as he stepped out. “I think I just found religion,” he said, inhaling deeply.

Rick groaned. “If this chicken tastes half as good as it smells, I might cry.”

Jan had on her loose floral top with no bra. Likewise, Leslie had the white blouse tied up under her tits with no bra and all cleavage.

Jan, already marching toward the counter, waved a hand behind her. “Less talking, more eating. I need this in my body now.”

Pete giggled at her comment and elbowed Rick.

A few minutes later, they settled at a wooden picnic table, digging into their plates piled high with glistening huli huli chicken, mac salad, and juicy slices of pineapple. The first bites were met with reverent silence—until Pete let out a slow, appreciative groan.

“This,” he declared, “is better than sex.”

Leslie arched a brow. “Excuse me?”

Pete, mid-bite, glanced at her, panicked. “I mean—uh—some sex. Not all sex. Certainly not today's—I mean, yours is—uh—top-tier—”

Rick shook his head, laughing. “Dude, just stop talking.”

Jan, however, had completely tuned them out. She was staring, hard, at something—or other, someone—at another table.

“Good lord,” she breathed, nudging Leslie. “Do not look too fast, but damn.”

Leslie, of course, immediately looked and gasped.

At a nearby picnic table sat two locals who looked like they had stepped straight out of a surf brand photoshoot.

The guy Jan was fixated on was tall, tan, and effortlessly cool, with wavy dark hair, a strong jawline, and an open Hawaiian shirt revealing a lean, chiseled chest. His board shorts clung just right, and he had the kind of easygoing smile that could probably convince you to quit your job and move to the islands.

Jan exhaled slowly. “Yep. That man is a problem.”

But Leslie wasn’t paying attention to him anymore—because that’s when she saw her.

{Lani}.

{Lani}, with her ridiculously long black waves, luminous green eyes, and golden-tanned skin that somehow glowed even in the shade. She wore a snug white tank top that looked like it had been personally tailored by the gods to highlight every perfect curve, and a sarong tied low at her hips, revealing smooth, toned legs. Two pert points proportionately decorated her magical tits.

Pete and Rick both stopped eating. Forks hovered. Eyes lingered.

Leslie narrowed hers.

Jan? Still eyeing her island Adonis.

Rick and Pete? Fully hypnotized.

{Lani}, blissfully oblivious, reached up to adjust her hair, tilting her head back slightly, exposing the graceful line of her neck. Then she laughed at something her friend said, her whole face lighting up.

Leslie scowled. “Oh, come on.”

Pete and Rick didn’t respond. They were too busy staring.

Leslie set down her drink with a thunk and turned to Jan. “Are you seeing this?”

Jan, still eyeing her target, waved dismissively. “Mm-hmm. Full-blown male thirst trap. I'll bet his rod is enormous and tastes like pineapple.”

“No,” Leslie huffed. “I mean them.”

Jan finally looked over. Pete and Rick were still slack-jawed, still utterly enchanted.

Jan snorted and returned to looking at her Hawaiian hunk. “Wow. You guys are embarrassing.”

Leslie gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in mock offense. “Oh, so I’m just chopped liver now? Is that it? That’s how it is?”

Pete blinked out of his trance. “What? No! I was just—uh—”

Rick, completely busted, grinned into his drink. “Buddy, we are not subtle.”

Jan smirked. “You two looked like a couple of teenagers watching the captain of the cheerleading squad.”

Pete threw up his hands. “What do you want from me? She’s like a 10!”

Rick nodded. “Top-tier human genetics.”

Leslie scoffed, sitting up straighter and very deliberately adjusting the neckline of her top. Tits millimeters from falling out. “Well, some of us here happen to be top-tier too.” She arched her back slightly, just enough for Pete and Rick to notice. “Maybe you need a reminder that I WAS the captain of the cheerleading squad.”

Pete glanced over—then down. His eyes widened.

Rick muttered, “Oh, we notice now.”

Leslie smirked, draping an arm over Pete’s shoulder. “So tell me, husband, since we’re ranking now—how would you rate this exhibit?”

Pete gulped. “I—uh—”

Rick bit back a laugh. “{Les}, I think you're a 10.”

Jan, still openly checking out her mystery man, waved a hand. “Mmhmm. You tell him, Leslie.”

Meanwhile, completely unaware of the absolute destruction she was causing, {Lani} reached for her drink, the movement somehow making her tank top ride just right.

Rick and Pete, like moths to a flame, again stole a glance.

Leslie gasped. “AGAIN?!”

Pete groaned. “It’s involuntary! I don’t even mean to!”

Rick muttered, “We are so screwed.”

Jan shook her head. “You two are a lost cause.”

Leslie huffed, shifting in her seat. “This is unbelievable.” She crossed her arms, pushing her assets up a little more, areola BARELY slipping out. “You know what? I refuse to be out-hotnessed at a chicken shack.”

Pete dragged a hand down his face. “Babe, you are gorgeous.”

Leslie squinted. “Do you mean that?”

Pete nodded so fast. “Yes. One hundred percent.”

Leslie eyed him. “Say it again.”

Pete groaned. “You’re hotter than her.”

Rick muttered, “Hostage situation.”

Leslie sat back, satisfied. “Mmm. That’s right.”

Rick smirked, eyes now glued to Leslie's chest. “So. Should we tell them about the time they checked out the lifeguard at the beach?”

Leslie grinned. “Oh, we never denied it.”

Jan sighed dreamily, still eyeing her hot local guy. “And I’m not denying this.”

Pete groaned. “I am a sucker for breasts..."