Normal.

The van smells like salt and sweat and him. The windows are fogged, barely cracked, the hush of the ocean close enough to taste on your tongue. It’s dark but not dark enough. Anyone could walk past, catch the faint silhouette of your legs thrown over his shoulders, the way his curls bob between them, how the van creaks from the rhythm of his mouth.

JJ’s kneeling on the floor like it’s his altar, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs like he needs them to breathe, fingers digging into skin he knows he’s gonna kiss better later.

And when he looks up at you? That boy looks wrecked.

Red cheeks, spit-slick lips, eyes full of something almost dangerous—like he’s drunk off the way you taste, like he’ll lose his mind if you don’t cum on his tongue right now.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he whispers, voice hoarse like he’s been holding back moans. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Then he dives back in, slow. That kind of slow that feels cruel. The flat of his tongue drags upward like he’s savoring every second. He kisses your clit—kisses it—then wraps his lips around it and sucks, soft at first… then a little harder when your hips jerk. He groans when you moan, like he’s aching for it.

You can feel his curls brushing your thighs, feel him smiling against your pussy when you whine. One of your hands fists in his hair, the other presses against the window like you’re trying to ground yourself. It’s all too much—and not enough.

He’s messy—spit and slick shining on his face, chin glossy, nose bumping where you need him most. He doesn’t stop, even when your back arches off the seat and your hands claw at his shoulders. You’re trembling, whimpering, pushing at him with useless, shaky strength. He just groans, like your cries are the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard, and dives in harder.

He slides two fingers in, slow and deep, curling just right while he keeps his mouth locked on your clit. He moans, like your pussy is the only thing that’s ever tasted right. Then—he spits. Warm and wet, dripping right onto your folds before he licks it up with a long, greedy groan.

“Can’t stop,” he pants. “Don’t wanna. You don’t know what you sound like right now, baby. I’d die down here.”

You try to close your legs, overstimulated, too sensitive—he grabs your thighs and spreads you wider. You whimper. He hums. And then he shakes his head, mouth still wrapped around your clit like it’s the last thing he’ll ever taste.

You’re gone. Fucked out. Your legs trembling, whole body quivering like the ocean air’s too thick to breathe. And JJ? He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t want to stop. He’ll chase every aftershock, every twitch, every breathless, broken moan.

You hear the voices before JJ does—drunken laughter, footsteps crunching through sand, way too close to where the van’s tucked just past the dunes.

Your hand shoots to his hair. “JJ—wait—”

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t even flinch.

Just growls low in his throat and pushes deeper, shoulders tensing as he pins you harder with his mouth, tongue flicking fast and relentless like he’s starved. It’s feral—the way he chases your moans, utterly unbothered by the voices outside. Like they don’t exist. Like nothing exists but the twitch of your hips, the way you cry out when he sucks you just right.

He slides one arm across your waist, pinning you to the seat when you try to squirm away.

“You think I give a fuck?” he rasps against you, the vibration of his voice making your hips buck. “Let ’em walk by. Let ’em hear you. I want ’em to.”

It’s depraved—the way his eyes are low and glassy, face slick, curls wild. Your thighs tremble around him, one heel digging into the seat, the other hooked behind his back. He groans, tongue moving in long, greedy strokes now, chin tilting just enough to press deeper, like he’s trying to devour every last drop. His hands are shaking, but he doesn’t stop. Won’t stop. Not until you’ve fallen apart again.

The voices fade.

But JJ doesn’t.

He only doubles down.

And when you finally fall apart—legs twitching, breath punched out of you in little whimpers and gasps—he moans so filthy into you it echoes in the tiny van.

He pulls himself up your body like it’s instinct, chest heaving, breath hot against your collarbone. His hands slide beneath your shirt, palms warm and wide as they settle over your ribs—like he needs to feel your heartbeat to believe it’s real. His face is soaked—cheeks, mouth, even the tip of his nose glistening with your slick—and he looks wrecked. Glassy eyes. Lips swollen. Pupils so blown they leave barely a ring of blue. He stares at you like he’s still starving.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stares at you, breathing hard, like he’s trying to memorize the way your eyes flutter and the exact shape of your post-orgasm daze.

Then—softly, reverently—he kisses you.

No hesitation. No break. Just leans in and presses his mouth to yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he groans low into the kiss like it’s the first sip of water after a drought.

He kisses you slow. Deep. Lazy. Messy. His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek like you’re porcelain and he’s terrified to let go. He pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips:

“Could stay between your legs all fuckin’ night.”

You whisper his name, voice cracked open. He grins—barely.

Then? He drags his lips down your neck, hands roaming again, breath still ragged.

“Still hungry, baby,” he murmurs, voice all gravel and heat. “Think I need seconds.”

You’re still trembling—skin flushed, breath catching, thighs twitching from where they’re wrapped around his waist. He’s hovering above you now, face flushed and soaked, that cocky grin nowhere in sight. Not when he’s looking at you like that.

His hands settle on either side of your hips, and his voice drops into that low, ragged rasp that only comes out when he’s already feral for you.

“You’re still shaking,” he murmurs, almost smiling. “You know how fuckin’ hot that is?”

You try to respond—some quiet protest, a laugh, anything—but then he slides down again, kissing the inside of your thigh like he’s apologizing in advance.

Your breath hitches. “JJ—wait, I just—”

“I know,” he whispers. And then: “Let me make you fall apart again.”

Before you can stop him, he’s already there—tongue flicking gently, mouth open and warm and slow. He licks you like he’s savoring every second, like he’s in no rush, like overstimulating you is some kind of gift. You gasp—hips jerking, hands flying to his hair again—but he just groans into you and keeps going.

“Too much?” he murmurs, eyes fluttering up to meet yours.

You nod.

He smirks.

And does it again—tongue dragging slow and hard right over your clit while his fingers hold your thighs wide open.

“You’re twitching,” he says, half-dazed, half-obsessed. “Fuck, that’s pretty.”

He keeps you there—hovering in that edge between pleasure and too much—tongue soft one moment, then rough and fast the next, watching how you fall apart again and again for him.

By the time he finally pulls back, his face is ruined—slick across his cheeks, lips swollen and pink, hair a mess from how hard you’ve pulled it. He crawls up your body again, breathing hard, pupils blown.

And when he kisses you this time?

It’s soft. So, so soft.

Like he’s scared to break the spell.

Like he knows he already did.

“You taste like heaven,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “And I’d go back down there a thousand times just to hear you make those sounds.”

He lets his hand rest on your chest—right over your heart—feeling the aftershocks in the rise and fall of your breath.

The van's quiet now—well, mostly.

There’s soft static crackling from the half-broken aux cord, some lazy, sultry playlist you’d made and half-forgotten about. Cigarettes After Sex, maybe. Or The Neighbourhood. Something low and dreamy, thudding just beneath the sound of the ocean and your breathing.

You're laid out across the backseat, one leg slung over JJ’s bare thigh, your shirt halfway unbuttoned, lip gloss long gone. His head’s propped on his hand, gaze tracing every inch of you like he’s still trying to figure out if you’re real.

And you?

You’re smirking.

“Are you seriously pouting right now because I didn’t say thank you?” you ask, voice raspy but still sharp, still laced with that spoiled, silken bite you know drives him insane.

JJ huffs out a laugh, rubbing lazy circles into your hip with his thumb. “I just made you cum so hard you forgot your name, babe. A little gratitude wouldn’t kill you.”

You roll your eyes, tossing your hair over your shoulder even though you know it’s a mess. “Mm. You were the one begging to taste me, Maybank. I figured I was doing you the favor.”

That cocky glint returns in his eye—but it’s softened, sweeter now. He leans in, kisses your jaw, then your collarbone, then just rests his lips against the curve of your shoulder like he’s claiming the space.

“God, you’re such a fuckin’ brat,” he mutters, not even mad. He sounds fond. Like he wants to wrap your attitude in velvet and keep it in his pocket.

You stretch beneath his touch, and for a moment, the air shifts. Softer. Quieter. He pulls the blanket from the floor—smells like sunscreen and his hoodie—and drapes it over your legs. Then he presses his forehead to yours, just breathing with you, fingers still brushing over your skin like he doesn’t know how to stop touching you.

“You okay?” he asks softly, like a secret. “Did I go too far?”

You blink at him. He’s a mess—face still flushed, mouth bitten pink, eyes wide with that little-boy concern he never shows anyone else.

And yeah, your thighs ache and you’re still sensitive and your head’s spinning a little—but that doesn’t stop you from tilting your chin up and saying, voice syrupy:

“If you’re done acting like a starved animal, you can give me a sip of your water now.”

He lets out a full-on laugh—head thrown back, dimples flashing. Then he grabs the water bottle from the front seat, opens it, and holds it to your lips like he’s feeding grapes to a princess.

“Anything for you, your highness,” he says, eyes soft even as his mouth smirks.

You sip, slow and smug, then let your fingers slide under his shirt like you’re bored, like you haven’t just been wrecked by the boy at your feet.

And as your playlist shifts to something softer—maybe Mazzy Star now, the chords slow and thick—you glance at him sideways.

“…You really would’ve kept going if they walked by, huh?”

JJ meets your gaze, no hesitation. “Swear to God.”

Your cheeks flush hotter than you want them to, and you look away.

“Fucking psycho,” you mutter.

He grins, kisses your temple, voice so low it’s a promise.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yours.”

The blanket’s slipping off your legs, but you don’t bother fixing it.

You’re watching him.

JJ’s leaned back now, one hand braced on the seat, lips still swollen, cheeks pink from heat and effort. His curls are a wild halo around his face, and his shirt’s bunched around his waist, half-off like he forgot how clothes work once he got his mouth on you.

He catches you staring.

“What?” he asks, voice low but already cocky, like he knows you’re not done with him.

You stretch slowly, arching just enough to make his eyes flick down. Then you sit up and swing a leg over his lap, dropping into it like you own him. Because you do.

JJ blinks, hands automatically catching your hips. “Uh—hi.”

You smirk, brushing his hair back with mock innocence. “You look like you need help.”

He raises a brow. “Help?”

You grind down just a little. Just enough for him to suck in a breath through his teeth.

“Mhm,” you hum. “You’ve been so busy with your mouth, I think you forgot about you.”

His hands tighten.

“Oh, you think you’re in charge now?” he asks, voice gone rough, but his smile’s doing that dimpled, dizzy little tilt that gives him away.

You drag your nails lightly down his chest through the thin fabric of his tee, then lean close—mouth brushing his ear.

“I think you like it when I act like I am.”

JJ’s jaw flexes. His head tips back against the van wall, eyes fluttering half shut like he’s already unraveling beneath you.

“Fuckin’ love it,” he groans.

You kiss his neck. Soft. Just below his ear. Then lower. Then a bite—not gentle. And he lets you. Breath shaky. Fingers digging into your hips like he’s grounding himself.

"You’re not gonna stop me," you whisper.

“No,” he admits, voice hoarse. “Not even gonna try.”

And there’s something about that—his total surrender—that makes you slow down. Tilt your head. Look at him.

Because under all the rough edges and dirty mouth, JJ Maybank looks at you like you’re the sun and he’s been in the dark too long. Like you do something to him he doesn’t have words for yet. And maybe he doesn’t need them.

So you press your forehead to his, your thumb brushing the corner of his lips. Still pink. Still swollen. Still yours.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur.

He laughs, quiet. “You taste like heaven.”

“You’re obsessed.”

“Obviously.”

You scoff under your breath, but your cheeks are still pink—and JJ sees it. Smirks like he’s won, like he’s made you flustered for once.

“Aw,” he murmurs, voice low and smug. “You’re blushing.”

You shoot him a look sharp enough to slice. “I’m hot. Your van has, like, zero ventilation. And you’ve been laying on me for ten minutes.”

JJ just grins, smug as hell. “You could’ve pushed me off.”

“Could’ve. Didn’t,” you reply.

JJ blinks up at you—then laughs. One of those unfiltered, head-tilted-back, fuck-you’re-insane laughs that makes your stomach flip. “You are such a little menace.”

You lean in, close enough that your noses brush. “And yet,” you whisper, dragging a finger along his jaw, “you’re still hard.”

JJ’s breath hitches. You feel it—him twitching beneath you, cock straining against his waistband, eyes turning molten like they always do when you get like this.

You roll your hips—just once. Slow. Controlled. Just enough to make his jaw clench.

“I think it’s your turn, golden boy.”

JJ groans, one hand flying to your hip, the other gripping the edge of the seat like he needs to ground himself. “Fuck.”

You kiss the corner of his mouth—featherlight, a tease.

And then: “You gonna beg again, JJ?”

His fingers tighten on your hips. “You want me to?”

You hum. “I think I deserve it.”

JJ’s eyes narrow, but his smile doesn’t fade. He licks his bottom lip, eyes flicking over your face, your body, the way you’re sitting on him like you own the entire van. Like you own him.

“…Get in the front seat,” he says, voice gravel-rough. “Drive somewhere no one’ll find us.”

You blink, smirking. “Why?”

JJ leans in—grabs a fistful of your hair, gently, just enough for you to feel it.

“’Cause if you’re gonna talk like that, baby, I’m gonna fuck you until your knees don’t work.”

You stare at him for a second, pulse thudding, breath shallow—then smirk, tilting your head just enough for his grip in your hair to tighten slightly. Your eyes flick to his mouth, then back to his eyes.

“Deal,” you whisper.

JJ grins like the reckless little shit he is.

You shift in his lap—slow and deliberate, knowing exactly what you’re doing—and then climb off with all the grace of a feral cat in heat. Your shirt’s twisted around your waist, halfway up your back, so you tug it down with a flick and a little shake of attitude, trying to look unbothered. Your legs are shaky, but you’re determined to play it cool.

Until you go to climb between the seats.

And your thigh snags the emergency brake.

And then you just—eat shit.

Like, one knee hits the floor, the other slips sideways, and your elbow smacks the horn in the most humiliatingly loud HOOONK as you flop directly into the front seat with a thud and a breathless, “Fuck—ow, okay—”

There’s a split second of silence.

Then JJ loses it.

He’s howling. Legitimately laughing so hard he doubles over in the back seat, one hand clutching his stomach, the other slapping the van door like it personally witnessed the tragedy.

“Holy shit, baby,” he wheezes between gasps. “You just honked yourself into the afterlife.”

You glare at him from where you’re half-sprawled in the passenger seat, hair a mess, pride in tatters. “It was a tactical error.”

JJ cackles harder. “Tactical?! That was a full-body fumble!”

“I’m injured,” you deadpan, rubbing your knee. “This is abuse.”

He crawls forward, still grinning, still breathless, eyes bright with mischief. “That was the sexiest fall I’ve ever seen. Ten outta ten. Would replay on a loop.”

You try to shove him back, but he grabs your hand, presses a kiss to your knuckles, then your wrist. Slow, gentle.

Then, with his mouth still brushing your skin: “You can crash into my front seat anytime, pretty girl.”

You blink, heat creeping up your cheeks despite everything.

And JJ just smirks, all teeth and dimples, before reaching for the keys.

“C’mon, princess, don’t you trust me?” JJ grinned, his voice dripping honey and arrogance as he leaned against the dirt bike, all sun-kissed skin and reckless charm. His blond hair caught the sunset, messy strands framing his face, a challenge glinting dangerously in those blue eyes.

Your stomach flipped. You hated, absolutely hated, how effortlessly this boy made your common sense vanish. Still, you folded your arms defiantly, eyes narrowed at the machine that looked about as trustworthy as its rider. “JJ, the last thing I trust you with is my life. And honestly, that thing looks like it’s held together by duct tape.”

“It literally is.” He laughed, tapping the seat proudly. “Best duct tape on the island, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, heat rising to your cheeks at the way his stare lingered just a second too long on your lips, your neck, then back to your eyes. His cocky grin widened. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Fine,” you finally caved, ignoring the victorious way JJ straightened up, suddenly bright-eyed and eager. “But if you crash and kill us both, I’m haunting your ass first.”

“I wouldn’t dream of disappointing you, sweetheart,” he shot back, extending a hand dramatically.

Rolling your eyes again, you slipped onto the bike behind him, heart already pounding in your chest. JJ reached back, tugging your arms around his waist, his calloused hands warm against yours. “Hold on tight,” he teased, “it’s gonna get rough.”

“Shut up and drive, dirtbag.”

JJ laughed—bright and reckless, wild and free—as he kicked the bike to life. The engine roared beneath you, vibrating deep into your bones, and suddenly he was taking off down the dirt path, wind whipping through your hair, laughter bubbling in your chest.

For a moment, you felt invincible. And for a moment, JJ Maybank felt like everything right and wrong in your world.

That was, of course, until you felt him suddenly tense under your grip, his laughter abruptly morphing into a breathless “Oh, shit—”

Then the bike jerked, skidded sideways, and suddenly the two of you were tumbling, limbs tangled as you hit the soft sandbank with a messy crash. Pain sparked through your elbow as your shoulder slammed into the ground. You landed on your side, blinking dazedly at the sky above you, head spinning.

JJ groaned loudly, sprawled a few feet away, significantly more battered. Sand dusted his hair, blood dripped lightly from his forehead, and his face twisted in guilt-ridden panic when he saw your eyes flutter shut.

“Oh my God, shit, shit—” He scrambled closer, hands trembling as he touched your face carefully, voice shaking in genuine terror. “Princess? Babe? C’mon, open your eyes—I’m sorry, I’m a dumbass, okay? Fuck—please don’t be dead. If you’re dead, I swear, I’ll kill myself and haunt you right back.”

You fought down the smile threatening your lips, but curiosity won out. You wanted to see what JJ Maybank’s fear sounded like—what it felt like to be cared for by someone so reckless yet so deeply sincere. You kept your breathing shallow, waiting for his next words.

“I can’t—I can’t lose you like this,” he stammered, voice thickening, and you felt your heartbeat stutter at the raw honesty lacing his panic. “You mean too fucking much to me, okay? Shit, I—I know I’m an idiot, and I screw everything up, but I’d never forgive myself if—”

You couldn’t hold back the smirk any longer. Your eyes snapped open, startling him mid-confession. “Did JJ Maybank just admit he actually has feelings?”

JJ fell backward onto the sand, eyes wide and stunned, before a sheepish relief washed across his bloodied face. “Oh, you absolute asshole.”

“Takes one to know one,” you teased weakly, laughter catching in your throat as he hovered protectively over you again, expression softening dramatically.

“You scared the living shit out of me,” JJ murmured, gently brushing sand from your cheek. “I thought I lost you.”

Your heart skipped, warmth pooling low in your stomach. You reached out, fingers tracing the cuts along his jaw, feeling him lean instinctively into your touch. “I’m okay,” you whispered softly, reassuring him—and maybe yourself. “I promise.”

JJ huffed out a relieved breath, his trademark smirk slowly returning, eyes glittering mischievously. “Good. Because, princess, that confession? Never happened.”

You raised a brow, smiling slowly, teasingly back at him, lips barely inches apart. “Whatever you say, Maybank.”

JJ’s eyes flicked briefly down to your lips, lingering, before he suddenly cleared his throat and glanced away, embarrassment tinting his bruised cheeks pink. You bit back a smile at the rare display of shyness from Outer Banks’ most notorious troublemaker.

“Let’s, uh, get you home,” he muttered, pushing himself up from the sand, wincing dramatically at the pain radiating through his ribs. “Kie’s gonna kill me if she sees you like this.”

You laughed softly, slowly rising to your feet and brushing off sand that clung stubbornly to your skin. You moved closer, gently placing your hand on JJ’s chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken beneath your palm. “Pretty sure you look worse, JJ.”

He let out a cocky snort, though it was edged with a grimace. “Nah, bruises add to my whole hot bad-boy thing. Chicks dig it, you know.”

“Oh, do we?” You tilted your head, eyes gleaming playfully as you leaned just a little closer. JJ swallowed visibly, his bravado faltering slightly under your heated gaze.

“Yeah—definitely,” he insisted, voice slightly hoarse as he struggled to hold your stare. He licked his lips, forcing the trademark smirk back into place. “Don’t act like it doesn’t work on you.”

You hummed thoughtfully, your fingertips tracing gently along his jawline, careful of the fresh scrapes there. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like seeing you knocked down a peg or two.”

“Cruel, princess,” JJ whispered, his eyes now firmly locked on your mouth. His voice dropped, taking on a teasing tone that sent sparks shooting down your spine. “But you know, you’re welcome to knock me down anytime.”

You groaned softly, eyes rolling affectionately as heat bloomed in your cheeks. “God, you’re such a dirtbag.”

“Yeah, but I’m your dirtbag, right?” JJ challenged, eyes hopeful, almost vulnerable despite the playful words. The confident, cocky façade he so carefully wore seemed to crumble slightly under your careful scrutiny, revealing something softer, something more genuine.

You swallowed, your heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. Your voice softened as you smiled warmly, pressing gently into his space until his breath brushed your lips. “Yeah, JJ. You’re my dirtbag.”

He leaned forward, lips ghosting over yours for a heart-stopping moment—sweet, soft, gentle—before he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “Good. Would’ve sucked to almost die for nothing.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head at his dramatics, before finally pulling him back in, closing the tiny gap between you. He tasted like salt and recklessness and something beautifully, uniquely JJ. His hands curled around your waist, pulling you closer as you kissed him until the whole world faded away—the pain, the bruises, the wrecked bike forgotten in the sand.

JJ deepened the kiss in that cocky, I-knew-you-wanted-me kind of way, but there was something else there, something desperate, something real. His fingers dug into your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish, like he needed you close just to prove you were still here, still breathing, still his.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and dizzy, JJ didn’t let you go. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes still shut, like he was soaking in the moment, memorizing it.

“I cannot believe you almost got me killed just to confess your feelings.” You exhaled a laugh, brushing some of the sand from his hair.

JJ groaned, finally cracking one eye open, sheepish but not too ashamed. “I was not confessing, that was pure panic.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Panic over losing me.”

“Panic over my poor decision-making skills,” he corrected quickly, then winced at his own words. “Which, okay—fine, are because of you.” He pouted a little, running a hand through his hair, before shooting you a lopsided smirk. “Look at you, making me soft. It’s disgusting.”

You grinned, tugging him closer by his open flannel. “You like it.”

JJ’s hands slipped lower, fingers teasing the hem of your tank top as he hummed in faux consideration. “I like that you almost just died,” he said dramatically, “but instead of thanking your hot savior—who is tragically wounded, by the way—you’re sitting here bullying me.”

You scoffed. “Hot savior? You crashed the bike.”

“Yeah, but—” JJ gestured wildly at his cut-up, bruised self, “—I survived it. Like a war hero.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you, but JJ was relentless, poking your ribs with mock offense. “You’re not even gonna kiss my wounds better? Damn, princess. Cold-hearted.”

Rolling your eyes, you leaned in and very gently pressed a kiss to the cut just above his eyebrow. JJ froze. His breath hitched so softly you barely caught it, but you did. His grip on your hips tightened.

Your lips ghosted lower, just along his jaw. “Better?”

JJ exhaled sharply, eyes darkening. “You are so fucking lucky I’m concussed right now,” he muttered.

You smirked. “Why’s that?”

His tongue swiped over his busted lip before he smeared the blood away with the back of his hand, eyes never leaving yours. “Because if I wasn’t seeing double, I’d already have you pinned against something, making worse decisions.”

Oh.

Heat pooled in your stomach. JJ smirked, watching the way you swallowed, the way your eyes flicked to his lips like you couldn’t help yourself.

“You’re dumb,” you murmured, shoving at his chest, though it lacked any real force.

JJ was grinning despite the blood dripping down his temple. “And you’re ungrateful. I just gave you a core memory.”

You turned, unimpressed. “A concussion is not a core memory.”

“It is when it happens this epically.” He gestured vaguely at the wrecked bike, the sand sticking to his skin, and his own bruised ribs. “Like, c’mon, we ate shit beautifully back there. We should be in a museum.”

You stared at him. “Did you actually hit your head?”

JJ blinked. “Oh, for sure. But I think it knocked something into place, honestly. I feel great.”

You huffed, stepping over him, making your way toward the road. “You need serious help.”

JJ, still sprawled in the sand, propped himself up on one elbow, watching you go. “Hey, you knew exactly what you were signing up for.”

You paused, looking back.

JJ’s eyes were sharper now, less teasing, more pointed. “You always do.”

Your stomach flipped. He was right. You did know what you were getting into when you climbed onto that bike. You knew exactly who JJ Maybank was. Wild, reckless, and always walking the line between charming and infuriating. But it was dangerously easy to forget just how good he was at reading you, too.

You didn’t get the chance to reply before you both heard a voice approaching from the trees.

“WHAT THE FUCK—JJ?”

Pope.

You barely had time to react before JJ was already groaning, flopping onto the sand dramatically. “Oh my God, thank God you’re here, man. She almost killed me.”

Your jaw dropped. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Pope looked between you, the wrecked bike, the way JJ was sprawled out like he’d just been attacked, and sighed the longest, most exhausted sigh you’d ever heard.

“I’m not even gonna ask,” Pope muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Get in the damn car before you both end up in jail for being stupid.”

JJ, still sprawled in the dirt, lifted a hand. “Carry me.”

You stepped over him without a word, heading for the car.

JJ groaned dramatically. “Bro, you see how she treats me?”

Pope sighed. “Unfortunately.”

JJ hauled himself up with a wince, dusting off his pants as he jogged after you. “You’d think after everything we’ve been through, she’d be a little nicer.”

Pope slid into the driver’s seat, unimpressed. “You’d think after everything we’ve been through, you’d be smarter.”

JJ just snorted, slumping into the backseat beside you. One arm stretched along the back of the seat, fingers barely grazing your shoulder, his knee knocking into yours like he had no concept of personal space.

Pope was muttering something about how you two were going to give him an aneurysm before he turned 25, but you barely heard him. You were too aware of JJ beside you—the way his knee kept knocking into yours, the way he kept looking at you like he had something to say, but wasn’t saying it.

And you were looking, too. Watching the way his fingers drummed against his thigh, the way his busted lip was already swelling, the way he seemed both exhausted and wired at the same time.

He caught you staring when Pope pulled into the driveway.

JJ grinned, all lazy and smug despite the bruises forming along his jaw. “Told you. Obsessed.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving the car door open. “Get inside before your dumb ass passes out on the lawn.”

Pope barely put the car in park before JJ was hopping out, stretching with a groan. “God, you’re bossy. It’s kinda hot.”

Pope smacked the back of his head on his way past. “Go ice your face, Maybank. I swear to God, if I lose more brain cells because of you two—”

“You’d still have more than JJ,” you quipped, pushing open the door.

JJ scoffed, grabbing the doorframe like he might collapse. “Damn. That one kinda hurt.”

Pope rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I gotta run into Heyward’s real quick—Dad needs help with the late orders. Can you two go inside and not set my house on fire for ten minutes?”

Your stomach flipped. Pope leaving meant you and JJ were alone.

Which shouldn’t mean anything.

But it did.

You shrugged. “We’ll be good.”

JJ smirked like that was a personal challenge. “Debatable.”

Pope muttered something under his breath and disappeared toward the dock, slipping into the back entrance of Heyward’s. You could still hear the muffled hum of conversation from inside the restaurant. Low music, clinking dishes, the usual late-night lull. But Pope was gone.

For now.

And JJ?

JJ was already watching you.

His busted lip was swollen, his jaw bruised, his knuckles scraped up from God knows what—and yet, even like this, he still had that look in his eye. That half-lazy, half-sharp glint like he was up to something, even if he hadn’t decided what yet.

You sighed, grabbing his wrist. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

JJ hummed, letting you pull him inside. “Aw. You do care.”

“Shut up.”

The kitchen was dimly lit, the glow from the back porch casting long shadows across the floor. You moved toward the freezer, reaching for an ice pack—

But JJ didn’t.

He hovered near the counter, watching you with a little too much focus, like he was thinking way too hard about something. His fingers flexed against the wood, tension coiled tight in his arms.

You turned, pressing the ice pack into his hand. “Hold this to your face before you get uglier.”

JJ didn’t take it.

Didn’t move.

Instead, his eyes dragged down your face, lower, slower, and suddenly the air between you felt thick. Charged.

His tongue swiped over his busted lip. “Y’know…” He tilted his head, stepping closer, voice dropping. “Pope’s gone for a while.”

Your heart skipped. “Yeah. And?”

His hand lifted—not for the ice pack. He hooked a finger through your belt loop instead, curling it around the denim like he was testing something, like he was waiting to see if you’d stop him. His eyes flicked to your lips, then lower, tracing the curve of your throat before dragging back up.

“And you’re here,” he murmured. His fingers flexed, tugging you the slightest bit forward, heat bleeding between your bodies. “I’m here.”

You swallowed, pulse hammering.

JJ Maybank was beaten to hell. Busted lip, bruised jaw, soreness carved into his bones—and still, he wanted to make bad decisions.

With you.

His grip on your belt loop tugged again. “You gonna stop me?”

And fuck, you should.

But you didn’t step back.

And JJ noticed.

Saw the way your breath hitched, the way your fingers clenched around the ice pack like it could actually cool you down. His smirk deepened, knowing, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, and then—

His grip on your waist slid lower, fingers barely brushing the hem of your shorts, teasing, before curling around your wrist. “Drop it.”

Your breath hitched. “JJ—”

“Drop it, baby.”

Your fingers went slack, and the ice pack hit the counter with a soft thud, forgotten.

JJ grinned like he’d won.

Then he moved.

Not slow. Not careful. Just JJ, all impulse and hunger, yanking you forward until you crashed into him.

One hand gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him, the other fisting into your hair, angling your head back as his tongue slipped past your lips. He tasted like salt and blood and trouble, and it only made you dizzy, made you open your mouth wider, let him take more.

JJ felt that. Exhaled sharply against your mouth, like he needed this.

His hands roamed—greedy, sliding under your shirt, fingertips dragging up your spine like he wanted to feel every inch of you. Then lower, gripping your ass, tight, before he lifted you slightly, just enough to slot you right where he wanted you.

You gasped against his lips, and JJ chased it, dragging his mouth down your jaw, sucking hard at the spot beneath your ear, teeth sinking in just enough to make your knees buckle.

“JJ—”

“Upstairs.”

His voice was rough, breath hot against your skin. His hips rolled into yours again, teasing, slow.

You shuddered.

“JJ, we—”

“I need you upstairs.”

Your stomach flipped.

Stupid, reckless, JJ. You should say no. You should make him sit down, ice his damn face, get some actual rest.

Instead—

You grabbed his hand and dragged him up the stairs.

Somehow, you ended up in Pope’s bathroom, because it was the closest, because the light was already on, because you barely made it inside before JJ was kicking the door shut and pressing you against it.

“Fuck,” he breathed, forehead resting against yours. “You really like me, huh?”

You let out something between a laugh and a groan, tugging his face back down to yours.

“I tolerate you.”

“Liar,” he whispered against your lips. Then he kissed you again.

JJ’s hands were on your hips, your back flush against the door, his breath still uneven against your mouth. You were too close, close enough to count every freckle on his sunburned skin. But now that the adrenaline was wearing off, something sharper settled between you—awareness.

This wasn’t the middle of the road. Wasn’t reckless and impulsive, fueled by the crash and the rush.

This was Pope’s bathroom.

And no matter how much of a dumbass JJ was, even he had to know that if Pope caught you in here like this, it was over.

You swallowed hard. “This is a bad idea.”

JJ grinned, all teeth and trouble. “That’s why it’s fun.”

You smacked his shoulder. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he muttered, but he didn’t kiss you again. Instead, his fingers played at the hem of your shirt, like he was debating just how much worse of a decision this could be. Like he was waiting for you.

And that was the problem. JJ Maybank was impulsive and reckless, but when it came to this—to you—he always left the final call in your hands.

Your pulse pounded in your throat.

Then, a floorboard creaked.

JJ froze. So did you.

Pope’s voice carried up the stairs. “JJ? Did you actually die, or are you just being dramatic?”

JJ’s eyes went wide. Then he was moving—grabbing your face, pressing a quick, messy kiss to your lips before stumbling back, yanking the bathroom door open.

“Bro,” he groaned loudly, tilting his head back like he was so put out by all of this. “I’m trying to clean myself up, but your towels are, like, hospital-grade sandpaper. What the hell?”

You turned toward the mirror, running a hand through your hair, trying to look not like you’d just been seconds away from making a life-altering mistake in Pope’s bathroom.

Pope stood in the hallway, arms crossed, unimpressed. “Right. And you dragged her in here for moral support?”

JJ grinned, leaning against the doorframe, like he wasn’t still breathless, like his lip wasn’t freshly swollen. “She insisted.”

You caught JJ’s reflection in the mirror, and he winked at you behind Pope’s back, smug and insufferable.

You shook your head, biting back a smile. This idiot.

[POGUE GROUP CHAT]

🏴‍☠️ POGUE LIFE 🏴‍☠️

Pope: WHY WERE YOU IN MY BATHROOM.

Pope: ACTUALLY NO. I DON’T WANT TO KNOW.

Kiara: wait. what.

John B: oh this is gonna be good.

Pope: I ALMOST WALKED IN. IN MY HOUSE. DO YOU KNOW THE TRAUMA.

Kiara: JJ WHAT DID YOU DO.

JJ: nothing!!!

Pope: LIES.

You: ok technically I didn’t do anything.

Kiara: TECHNICALLY?

John B: wow JJ finally fumbled a response. This must be serious.

JJ: Bro. I did NOT fumble. I was THRIVING.

Pope: YOU WERE THRIVING IN MY BATHROOM. I WILL NEVER BE CLEAN AGAIN.

Kiara: 💀💀💀

You: pls we weren’t even doing anything 💀

Pope: I DON’T BELIEVE YOU.

JJ: Not my fault your bathroom has ✨ambiance✨

Pope: I’m gonna block you.

John B: nah Pope’s gonna sage his whole house first.

Kiara: JJ do you have a death wish.

JJ: idk man ask her she’s the one who dragged me upstairs 👀

You: YOU SAID “UPSTAIRS. I NEED YOU UPSTAIRS.”

Kiara: OH?????????

John B: OH??????????????

Pope: OH HELL NO.

JJ: ok maybe that happened.

Kiara: I’m actually screaming.

John B: Pope how does it feel knowing your bathroom is sacred now.

Pope: I hate you all so much.

The house had settled a little. Pope was still grumbling under his breath, but now that Kiara and John B were here, he at least had other people to be exasperated with instead of just you and JJ. The group was spread out in the living room, half-distracted by some dumb show playing on the TV while Pope ranted about boundaries and common decency.

But JJ was quieter now.

He was slumped on the couch next to you, a bag of ice pressed halfheartedly to his jaw. The swelling was worse than before, dark bruises blooming along his cheekbone, but he didn’t seem to care much. He just let his head tip back, eyes slipping shut like the weight of the day was finally catching up to him.

You shifted, nudging his arm. “You’re not even holding the ice in the right place.”

JJ cracked one eye open. “What, suddenly you’re a doctor?”

You sighed, taking the bag from his hands, pressing it properly against the worst of the swelling. JJ didn’t flinch, just let out a low sigh, like he’d been waiting for you to do it the whole time.

“Better?” you murmured.

JJ’s lips twitched. “Could be better if you kissed it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers lingered against his skin anyway. His gaze flickered down to where your hand rested against his jaw, and for a second, neither of you said anything.

John B cleared his throat. “Uh. Should we leave?”

You startled, pulling back so fast the ice bag nearly slipped from your grip.

JJ, the asshole, didn’t even look remotely embarrassed. He just smirked, stretching his arms over the back of the couch. “Nah, man. She just loves taking care of me. Can’t help herself.”

Kiara snorted. “Or maybe she’s just making sure you don’t die of your own stupidity.”

Pope sighed, flopping into the armchair. “Honestly, that would solve so many problems.”

JJ grinned, but when you pressed the ice back to his jaw, his hand covered yours for just a second, just long enough for you to feel the warmth of his fingers against your skin.

You swallowed hard.

JJ just leaned in slightly, voice quieter now, like he wasn’t just messing around anymore.

“You always do that.”

You frowned, still pressing the ice against his jaw. “Do what?”

His fingers tapped against his knee, restless, like he was working up to something. “Make sure I’m okay. Even when I don’t deserve it.”

“You think that’s how this works?” you murmured, tilting the ice slightly, watching him wince. “That you have to deserve it?”

JJ’s smirk twitched back into place, but it wasn’t full-strength. “Can’t hurt, right?”

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head. This boy. This stupid, reckless, maddening boy, who threw himself headfirst into everything, fights, dirt bike crashes, you, like he wasn’t scared of a single consequence. Like he could survive anything.

But JJ didn’t just survive. He burned. And somehow, you always ended up right in the fire with him.

“I knew what I was signing up for,” you murmured.

JJ stilled. His eyes flicked up to yours, sharp, unreadable.

Your grip tightened on the ice pack. “I climbed onto that bike with you. I knew this could happen.”

JJ’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his body too still now, like he was trying not to let whatever he was thinking show on his face.

And then, because of course he couldn’t let a moment be too serious, he smirked. “You mean the part where I almost died? Or the part where you were checking me out when I was bleeding out in the sand?”

Your jaw dropped. “JJ.”

“I’m just saying,” he teased, grin widening, “you looked real concerned about my well-being, sweetheart.”

You shoved the ice pack harder against his face.

JJ yelped, cursing under his breath, but the way he was looking at you—half-wild, half-fond, like he was still coming down from the rush of the crash and the rush of you—made your stomach flip.

John B groaned from across the room. “Can you guys not do whatever this is while Pope’s mid-breakdown?”

You finally glanced away, just in time to catch Kiara stifling a laugh as Pope rubbed his temples, looking one rant away from total resignation.

JJ grinned, winking at you as he dramatically flopped back onto the couch. “What can I say? She just can’t stay away.”

Your pulse was still thrumming in your ears, the adrenaline still crackling under your skin.

It had only been a week—six days, technically—but time didn’t feel real with him.

It felt stretched, pulled taut, like the hours they spent together had rewired something inside her. Like the space between them had always been this easy to fill.

JJ was different now.

Not entirely.

He was still reckless, still sharp around the edges, still so him. But he had softened. Just a little. Enough for her to notice the shift.

In the way he looked at her, like she was something he wasn’t sure he deserved but couldn’t stop reaching for.

In the way he let her touch him, her hands pushing into his hair, dragging her fingers down his arms, his chest, his heart, like she had every right to.

In the way he lingered when he should’ve left.

She had to hear him say it.

The air was thick with salt and humidity, the last remnants of sunlight slipping behind the treetops as they sat on the hood of his truck, parked just past the marsh.

JJ was stretched out beside her, golden skin warm from the day, tan arms crossed behind his head, hair messy from where she’d run her fingers through it earlier, trying to tame the waves. His shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing a sliver of his stomach, lean and toned, his waistband slung low like he couldn’t be bothered to fix it.

He was relaxed. Or pretending to be.

She nudged his knee with hers. Once. Twice.

“JJ.”

He hummed, low and lazy, head tipping slightly in her direction, but he didn’t open his eyes.

His other hand, still holding his half-empty beer, tapped idly against his stomach. Like he wasn’t in a rush. Like they weren’t sitting on something about to break.

She watched him for a moment, the flicker of his throat as he swallowed, the way the soft breeze lifted the strands of his sun-bleached hair.

She exhaled slowly, tilting her head. “You like me.”

JJ cracked one eye open, slow and deliberate, blue glinting sharp under the dimming sky.

Then he smirked.

“No shit, princess.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not like that.”

JJ took a lazy sip of his beer, watching her over the rim. “Ohhh, so you mean in a big feelings kinda way.”

“Yes.”

JJ let out a breath, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ.”

She turned toward him fully, arms crossed, waiting.

“So say it.”

JJ blinked at her, his smirk faltering just slightly.

“Say what?”

“That you like me.”

The words settled between them, soft and lethal.

JJ’s fingers curled against the beer bottle. A muscle flickered in his jaw, a barely-there shift that anyone else would have missed.

But not her.

She knew every tell.

Every time he twitched when he was about to run, every flick of his tongue over his teeth when he was hiding something, every time he laughed to fill the silence he was too scared to sit in.

And right now?

Right now, he was struggling.

She could see it.

Feel it.

The weight of what she was asking.

Because JJ Maybank didn’t do feelings.

Not real ones.

Not the kind you say out loud, not the kind that make you stay when all you’ve ever known is leaving before it gets too messy.

She knew that.

And still—she needed to hear him say it.

JJ tipped his head back toward the sky, exhaling slow. “You love makin’ my life difficult, huh?”

“Yep,” she said, popping the ‘p’. “So say it.”

JJ licked his lips, then sucked his teeth, shaking his head like he was annoyed, like she was ridiculous.

But she saw the way his fingers tapped against his knee, the way his chest rose and fell a little too deep.

He was thinking about it.

And that was almost worse.

Then—

His eyes cut to hers, sharp, intent, a flicker of something wild behind them.

And then, so low she almost missed it—

“You already know.”

Her breath caught.

But still—still—

"Say it anyway."

JJ sighed, setting his beer down with a soft clink, dragging a hand through his salt-roughened hair, strands still messy from the ocean, the sun-bleached ends catching the dim light.

His bicep flexed slightly, golden skin taut under the glow of the bonfire, his tan deeper now from the days spent out on the water with her, from the nights spent beside her, in her space, in her world, in a place he didn’t belong but couldn’t bring himself to leave.

And she hated the way her stomach tightened at the sight of him like this.

Loose. Tense. On the verge of something.

"Damn, you’re needy tonight," JJ muttered, voice low, syrupy, like he was about to twist this into a joke, turn it into something lighter than the heavy, aching thing curling in his chest.

Deflect, deflect, deflect.

She didn’t let him.

"You’re just avoiding," she countered, her voice softer, but sharp enough to hit its mark.

JJ stilled, just for a second.

Caught.

He exhaled sharply, running his tongue over his bottom lip, his fingers flexing against his thighs before he shook his head. "You really need me to spell it out?"

She tilted her head, eyes dragging over his face, drinking in every detail.

"Yes."

JJ went quiet.

Then, slowly, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together like he was grounding himself.

His voice was quieter when he finally spoke. “It doesn’t feel real.”

Her stomach flipped. “...What?”

He shook his head, tongue running over his bottom lip before he muttered, “This. You.” He let out a soft, breathy laugh, like he was still trying to wrap his head around it. “I don’t get how you’re real.”

Her chest ached. JJ never said things like this. Not in the open, not without an escape route. But he wasn’t running now.

She reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm. “But I am real.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, glancing at her like he was still trying to convince himself. “You are.”

She watched the way his jaw clenched, how his knee bounced slightly, how his hands flexed against his thighs like he didn’t know what to do with them. It was rare, to see him like this. JJ was always moving, always talking, always laughing his way through shit that should’ve broken him a long time ago.

But now? Now he was still.

And he hated it.

She shifted closer, knee knocking against his. “So what’s the problem, Maybank?”

JJ let out a short, breathy laugh, but there was no humor in it. “You.”

Her brows lifted. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair before turning to her, eyes flickering with something desperate. “Because you’re just… here. Messin’ with my head, makin’ me think about shit I don’t think about, makin’ me—” He cut himself off, exhaling hard.

She swallowed, watching the way his fingers dug into his knees. “Making you what?”

JJ stared at her, mouth parting slightly, and then suddenly, before she could register it, he was kissing her.

Not soft, not careful. Not anything gentle.

It was all heat, all tension, his hands gripping her hips like he needed to touch her, like he’d been holding back for too long and just snapped. Her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, the fabric bunching under her grip as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss.

She barely had time to think before he was pulling her into his lap, hands sliding under the hem of her sundress, fingers pressing into the bare skin of her thighs. She gasped against his mouth, and he sighed, a low, frustrated sound, like even this wasn’t enough.

JJ pulled back slightly, forehead pressing against hers, breathing hard. “You’re killing me.”

Her heart was pounding. “So stop.”

JJ huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Can’t.”

And then he kissed her again, rougher this time, his hands gripping her tighter, like he was trying to memorize her. Like if he held her hard enough, he wouldn’t have to say what he was actually feeling.

Because this, her, it scared the shit out of him.

She was real. And that meant she could leave.

But for now, she wasn’t running. And neither was he.

His hands were everywhere—thighs, hips, the bare skin beneath the hem of her dress—gripping like he didn’t trust himself to hold on too tightly, but fuck, he didn’t know how to let go either.

She tasted like the cheap beer they had been passing between them, like salt and warmth and something he couldn’t name but knew he needed. His fingers gripped her waist, sliding under her dress, brushing over smooth, sun-warmed skin, and when she gasped into his mouth, JJ felt it in his chest.

JJ wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

Not about her.

Not about anyone.

But she was there, in his lap, in his hands, in his fucking head, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that if she left now, if she got up and walked away, she’d take a piece of him with her.

And for a long moment, he let himself get lost in it. In her.

But she wasn’t letting him off easy.

Because when she pulled back, her lips were swollen, her breath uneven, but her eyes were sharp.

She was waiting.

JJ knew that look. He’d seen it before.

Usually when she was about to get her way.

And he was too fucking weak to fight it.

Her hands pressed against his chest, firm but not pushing him away. “Say it,” she whispered.

His stomach clenched.

“[Name],” he murmured, voice rough, fingers squeezing against her waist. “We really doin’ this right now?”

She nodded, so sure, so steady.

JJ let out a short, sharp breath, tipping his head back slightly like he was fighting something in his own damn chest.

Then, quieter, rawer, like it physically hurt to say—“I like you.”

The words settled in the thick summer air between them.

And for the first time in his entire life, JJ Maybank didn’t want to take something back.

Because it was true.

It had been true since the first time she smiled at him, like he was something more than just another Cut boy with a fucked-up life and a bad attitude.

It had been true since the first time she kissed him, since the first time she let him have something real.

And it was true now, with her straddling his lap, hands against his chest, breath tangled with his own.

She blinked, lips parting slightly, and for a moment, JJ thought she might run.

Then she kissed him again.

Slower this time.

Softer.

And that was what wrecked him.

Because this wasn’t just heat, wasn’t just some summer fling she’d forget about when the weather cooled down.

This was her kissing him like she was gonna stay.

JJ swallowed hard, hands sliding up her back, pulling her closer.

“Say it again,” she spoke against his lips.

“So needy,” he murmured, dragging it out, like teasing her might keep him from unraveling completely.

She arched a brow. “And?”

His jaw clenched, throat tight, and then—quieter this time, like it wasn’t just for her, but for himself—“I like you.”

She smiled.

JJ barely had a second to breathe before she was kissing him again, her hands sliding up his chest, fingers curling around the chain at his neck like she needed something to hold onto.

And fuck, he’d give her anything.

Any piece of himself she wanted. Even the ones that scared him.

Even the ones he wasn’t sure he had left to give.

His hands dragged over the bare skin of her thighs, fingers pressing into the softness there before slipping higher, his palms burning from the heat of her skin. She was warm and soft and real, and it was messing with his head, making him forget how to think, how to breathe, how to do anything but want.

She sighed into his mouth, her body pressing closer, and it sent a sharp pulse of heat through his veins. JJ groaned, tilting his head, deepening the kiss like he needed more, always more, his tongue sliding against hers, the way he knew made her grip him tighter.

And yeah, maybe he was cocky about it, maybe he liked knowing exactly what made her shiver, what made her press her hips down just enough to drive him insane.

His hands slid higher, gripping at her waist before dragging her closer, his fingers curling under the hem of her dress, feeling the soft lace at the top of her thighs. His pulse stuttered.

“You wear this for me, princess?” he muttered against her lips, smirking when she sucked in a sharp breath.

“You’re so full of yourself,” she shot back, but her voice was breathless, her nails digging into his shoulders, and he liked the way it felt.

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmured, dragging his mouth along her jaw, down to her neck, where he bit down gently, just enough to make her gasp before soothing it with his tongue. His fingers tightened on her hips when she moved against him, slow and teasing, like she was trying to get even.

“[Name],” he warned, his voice rough. “You keep doin’ that, I’m not gonna be a gentleman about this.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her lips swollen, her pupils blown wide.

JJ swallowed hard.

“Who said I want you to be a gentleman?”

His grip on her hips tightened. A muscle in his jaw ticked.

“Fuck,” he muttered, tipping his head back with a groan, his fingers flexing on her hips before he forced himself to still, to breathe, to not lose his mind completely.

“Gonna be the death of me,” he rasped against her lips, voice wrecked, raw, like the words had been ripped straight from his ribs.

She laughed, soft and breathless, like she didn’t even realize she was killing him in real-time. Her forehead knocked gently against his, and it was so goddamn sweet that it made something tighten deep in his chest. “You’ve said that before.”

JJ grinned, hands skimming up and down her sides, rough fingertips dragging over warm skin, like he needed to memorize her by touch. “Yeah, well, you keep proving me right.”

She let out a little hum, tilting her head, studying him, and he felt it.

JJ was used to being looked at. By girls, by people who only ever saw what he wanted them to see. The smirks, the reckless charm, the bullshit confidence.

But not like this.

Not like he was worth something.

Not like she wanted to keep him.

Her thumb brushed over his cheek, just barely, and his throat went tight because Goddamn.

“Your eyes get real blue when you look at me like that,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

JJ huffed out a breathy laugh. “Like what?”

Her lips curled slightly. “Like you actually do love me.”

JJ let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head, trying to smother the ache in his chest with something light, something easy, because this? This was too much.

He could feel it lodged in his ribs, something heavy, something clawing its way up his throat. It was terrifying, the way it sat there, undeniable, the way it didn’t care how fucking dangerous it was.

Six days. That’s all it had been. Six days, and he was already so far gone he didn’t even know how to be normal about it anymore. He couldn’t stop touching her—like if he let her go, she’d disappear, like she was some fever dream, some wild thing that would vanish the second he blinked.

And maybe that’s why his hands drifted lower, fingertips brushing over the curve of her thighs, a touch just light enough to distract himself. That was safer. That, he knew how to do.

“Nah,” he drawled, forcing a smirk, tipping his head back, voice teasing, almost convincing. “I just keep you around for the entertainment.”

She gasped, shoving lightly at his chest, and JJ barely held in his fuckin’ lovesick sigh when she laughed again, because fuck, he felt that sound everywhere.

Like sunshine after a storm. Like a hand pulling him out of the dark. Like home.

And God, he was so fucking screwed.

Because this wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.

But it had, and now she was here, tucked against him, warm and soft, real in a way that scared the shit out of him, and JJ couldn’t stop himself.

He tipped his head back slightly, looking at her the way a drowning man looks at the surface.

“… Alright, fine,” he muttered, and his grin faltered, just slightly, just enough for the truth to slip through.

His hands slid up her back, slow, reverent, like he was committing every inch of her to memory, like he was afraid he’d wake up tomorrow and find out this had all been a dream.

Like he needed her closer, closer, closer, because he wasn’t sure he could handle space between them anymore.

His voice came out low, wrecked, hoarse, like it had been clawing its way out of his chest for days.

“I love you,” he murmured, the words like gravity, like a truth too big to take back, too raw to turn into a joke.

His fingers curled into her skin.

She nodded, forcing a small smile. "Yeah. They won't be back for a while."

He hummed in acknowledgment, then parked closer to her house than usual—far enough from the cameras that no one would see them but close enough that she wouldn't have to walk far. It was thoughtful in a way that felt like another cruel joke, a reminder of how easily he'd wormed his way under her skin.

JJ cut the engine, and the silence between them grew heavier. He turned to face her, his expression softer now, more serious than she was used to seeing. His eyes flickered to her lips before meeting her gaze, and her breath caught in her throat.

"So," he said, his voice low and teasing, "is this the part where you say thanks and leave me hanging? Or are you gonna kiss me goodnight?"

She laughed, the sound brittle, but he didn't seem to notice. "Guess you'll just have to find out."

His grin widened, and before she could think better of it, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was anything but casual. It was heated, urgent, the kind of kiss that made her forget her name and everything else that had happened that night.

Her hands found their way into his hair, tugging slightly as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against hers in a way that left her dizzy. For a moment, she let herself get lost in it, in him, pretending that none of it was a lie.

But then his hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer, and reality came crashing back.

"Should I come over?" he murmured against her lips, his voice low and rough. "Since no one's home? Promise I won't raid the fridge. Much."

Her heart skipped a beat, panic flaring in her chest. She leaned back slightly, her breath uneven. "Uh—no. I mean, not tonight."

JJ's brow furrowed, a hint of confusion flashing in his eyes. "Why not?"

"I just... I'm tired," she said quickly, the lie slipping out before she could stop it. It sounded weak, unconvincing, even to her own ears.

His gaze lingered on her, sharp and searching, like he was trying to read her mind. For a terrifying moment, she thought he'd press the issue, but then he nodded, leaning back slightly.

"Alright," he said, his voice softer now. "You okay, princess?"

The concern in his tone nearly broke her. She nodded, forcing another smile. "Yeah. Just tired."

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek in a way that felt too tender, too real.

"Hey," he said, his voice low, steady. "You know you're more than all this, right? The Kook thing, the parties, the name. None of that matters."

Her throat tightened, the weight of his words almost too much to bear. "What does matter, then?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

JJ leaned closer, his grin soft but unmistakably JJ—sharp enough to tease, warm enough to disarm. "You," he said, his voice low and unshakeably certain. "You matter. More than anything."

Her chest tightened, his words wrapping around her like a net she couldn't escape. She forced a soft laugh, trying to downplay the weight of them. "More than money?"

The corner of his mouth twitched upward, his grin turning crooked. "Money's nice, but it doesn't look at me like you do," he said, his tone easy but laced with something deeper, something real. "So yeah, more than money."

She swallowed hard, tilting her head slightly, her voice careful but probing. "What about... a thousand bucks? Where do I rank against that?"

His laugh was quiet, his blue eyes never leaving hers. "A thousand wouldn't get me through a day without you," he said simply, the teasing edge softening.

Her pulse quickened. "Two thousand?"

"Still wouldn't be enough," he said, leaning back slightly, his hand drumming casually against the wheel. "Not even close."

"Three thousand?" she pressed, her voice growing quieter now.

JJ paused, tilting his head like he was considering it, though his smirk betrayed him. "Three thousand's nice," he said slowly, "but I'd miss your laugh more."

Her cheeks burned, and she fought to keep her composure, though her fingers tightened slightly against her lap. "Four thousand?"

He leaned forward this time, his grin fading just enough for his voice to drop. "Four wouldn't even get me to look away from you, [Name]."

Her breath hitched, the air between them feeling heavier now, charged. She hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper as she asked, "Five?"

JJ froze for a fraction of a second, his grin faltering—but not completely. He exhaled, shaking his head as he leaned back with a crooked, almost exasperated smile. "Five grand?" he repeated, his voice softer, rougher now. "You think that's my limit? You think I could ever put a number on you?"

Her chest ached, her throat tightening as she forced herself to hold his gaze. "I don't know, JJ," she murmured. "Could you?"

JJ ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening as he let out a rough, shaky laugh, more vulnerable than amused. "I'd give up everything I've got, everything I don't, just to stay right here with you. I'd still choose you."

Her breath caught, and she looked away, blinking rapidly. "You're just saying that."

JJ sighed, his voice dropping lower, rougher, as he reached out and gently tilted her chin, forcing her to look at him. "I'm not just saying it," he said, his tone steady but charged. "I'd rob a bank, steal a yacht, burn it all down if it meant keeping you here, with me."

Her heart twisted painfully, but she managed to smirk. "You're really bad at this whole 'being sweet' thing, you know that?"

"Yeah, well," he said, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a murmur, "you make it hard to think straight."

She hated how much her pulse jumped at his words, how close he was now, his breath warm against her cheek. Her throat tightened, and she had to look away before he could see the tears welling in her eyes.

JJ pulled back slightly, his fingers brushing hers where her hand rested on her lap. "You're good, right? You seem... off tonight."

"I'm fine," she lied again, her voice steady, even though her heart was pounding in her chest.

"Yeah?" His eyes searched hers again, and for a moment, she thought he might push. But then he smiled, leaning back in his seat with a shrug. "Alright. But if something's wrong, you tell me. I'm serious, princess."

She nodded, forcing another smile. "I will."

JJ studied her for another moment, his grin softening. "Good. 'Cause, uh... you're kind of stuck with me."

Her chest ached as he said it, the weight of his words crashing over her. "I should go," she said suddenly, fumbling for the door handle.

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. Instead, he leaned closer again, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. "Hey. You know I'd pick you over all that other crap, right? The money, the parties, everything. I don't care about any of it."

Her chest tightened painfully, the weight of his words almost unbearable. She nodded, her smile trembling. "I know."

JJ grinned, leaning back with an easy laugh. "Good. 'Cause I was starting to think I'd have to pull some grand romantic gesture just to get you to believe me."

"Like what?" she asked, her voice barely steady.

"I don't know," he said, his grin turning mischievous. "Something big. Dramatic. Definitely illegal."

JJ stepped closer, the space between them shrinking until she could feel the warmth of him, the faint scent of saltwater and soap clinging to his skin. His hand found her waist, tugging her closer, and her breath caught as his lips brushed her temple, a casual, affectionate gesture that felt entirely too intimate.

"Illegal, huh?" she said, trying to keep her voice steady, but the flutter in her stomach gave her away. "What, like grand theft auto?"

He chuckled, leaning across the seat and tapping the door handle. "I mean, I was thinking more like, I don't know, stealing your heart." His voice dropped a little, a playful smirk pulling at his lips. "But yeah, grand theft auto works too."

She rolled her eyes, but the small smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. JJ was always so damn charming, and it made it harder to breathe, harder to keep up the walls she was building inside herself.

He reached over and opened the door of the truck for her, his hand brushing against hers in the process. His touch was warm, lingering for a moment longer than necessary, like he wanted to make sure she felt it. That warmth that was so real, so him.

"Come on, princess," he said softly, leaning against the door. "Don't leave me hanging."

Her heart ached, the contrast between the sweetness of his voice and the bitter truth twisting inside her. He didn't know that she knew, didn't know how badly it was eating at her. The way he was looking at her now—he cared. He really, really cared. It was so much harder now, with everything she knew.

"Text me when you're inside," he murmured, his voice low.

She nodded, unable to trust herself to speak.

"Or call me," he added, his tone turning playful again. "Actually, call me. I wanna hear your voice. That way, I'll know you didn't get kidnapped by one of those Kook stalker types."

She laughed softly despite herself. "I think I can handle walking twenty feet to my door."

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?" he asked, grinning as he leaned in closer.

His lips found hers again, warm and insistent, and for a moment, she let herself get lost in it. His hand slid to her hip, pulling her flush against him, and she hated how easily he unraveled her, how he made her forget everything except him.

But then the bitterness crept back in, the memory of Rafe's smug voice slicing through her haze.

Five thousand dollars.

The water from the shower had long since turned cold, but [Name] barely noticed. She stayed under the stream until her skin prickled, until the heat and pressure of the water had scrubbed away the worst of her anger—or so she told herself. But when she finally stepped out and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel, the ache in her chest remained, heavy and unbearable.

She dressed slowly, pulling on her comfiest pyjamas, an old college sweatshirt she'd stolen from her dad's closet and a pair of soft, worn shorts. She twisted her damp hair into a loose braid, the kind she always did before bed, and settled on her bed with a blanket pulled tight around her. The house was eerily quiet, her parents still at the party, their absence amplifying the noise in her head.

Her phone sat on the bedside table, taunting her. JJ had asked her to text him when she got home. It had been their thing, a tiny ritual that had always felt so personal, so intimate. Now it just felt hollow.

She wanted to spite him. Wanted to let him sit there in that beat-up truck, waiting and wondering, checking his phone every few minutes, maybe even worrying. Let him stew in his own damn game for a change. He deserved it.

And yet...

Her thoughts spiralled. Where was JJ now? Was he still in his truck, parked on the side of the road somewhere? Maybe he'd driven back to the Chateau, where the roof leaked and the power cut out on the worst nights. Or maybe he'd gone home. Her chest tightened at the thought. His dad was unpredictable, cruel. JJ never talked about it outright, but she'd pieced enough together from the bruises, the way his voice got quieter whenever she asked too many questions.

No. Don't do that. Don't make excuses for him, she thought bitterly. He didn't deserve her pity. Not after what he'd done.

He'd tricked her. He was using her. For money, of all things.

Her fingers clenched in the blanket as her anger flared again. Five thousand dollars. That was all it took to ruin her reputation, her life. Rafe knew. Now, Sarah knew. How many more people were laughing at her behind her back? JJ's friends?

Her stomach turned. She hadn't even met them yet.

Pope, Kiara, John B. She'd heard their names in passing, caught the rare mentions in JJ's stories, but he'd never brought her into that world. Was that because of the bet too? Had he kept her away because he was ashamed of what he was doing? Or worse—because they already knew?

Her jaw tightened as she stared at her phone, the screen dark and cold. Her mind raced with possibilities, each one worse than the last.

And then there was Rafe, the King of her social circle, smug and cruel and so perfectly aware of everything. He probably couldn't wait for the moment her parents found out, the moment her world came crashing down. Because they would.

If her parents knew... she couldn't even think about it. They'd disown her in an instant. Not because of JJ, exactly, but because of the humiliation. The scandal. Their daughter, the girl they'd raised to be perfect, used by some boy for a stupid, petty bet. They'd never forgive her.

She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, her chest aching. She'd spent so many years guarding her heart, keeping it safe, waiting for someone who deserved it. Someone kind, someone real. And somehow, JJ Maybank—reckless, infuriating, impossible JJ—had been the one to break through.

And she'd given it to him. So easily.

It wasn't just anger anymore. It was grief. Grief for what they could've been, for what she'd thought they were. For the way he'd made her feel so seen, so special, when all along he'd been lying.

Her fingers hovered over her phone again. She thought about texting him, thought about calling him. She thought about the way he looked at her tonight, the softness in his voice when he said, You matter more than anything.

But it wasn't true. It couldn't be.

She shoved the phone away, curling into herself as her mind raced. She couldn't fall apart now. She had to do something. She couldn't let him, or Rafe, or anyone else think they'd won.

And yet, the thought of JJ, wherever he was, lingered. The way he never had enough, the way he worked so hard to hide it. She could almost hear his voice, that teasing lilt he always used when things got too serious. The way he'd said he'd pick her over the money, the parties, everything.

Maybe she should've been more understanding. More compassionate. He didn't have the things she had—the safety, the comfort, the family name. He didn't even have food most days.

But then the bitterness returned, sharp and cold. No. He'd chosen this. He'd chosen the money over her. He'd made the bet. And now she was left to pick up the pieces of her reputation, her family, her heart.

The shower had done little to clear her head. The hot water had only amplified the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her: anger, confusion, pain. By the time she stepped out, wrapped in a towel and shivering despite the warmth, she felt even more raw than before.

It didn't help that her phone screen lit up the second she reached for it: 5 missed calls. 1 voicemail. All from JJ.

Her stomach twisted as she stared at his name, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. He'd seen her walk inside; he knew she was home. He always watched to make sure, his ridiculous brand of overprotectiveness a funny contrast to his reckless nature.

She hesitated before pressing play on the voicemail. His voice came through the speaker, low and rough, tinged with something she couldn't quite place. Worry? Annoyance? Both?

"Hey, uh, princess. Call me, okay? I know you're home, but you're not— I don't know, something's off, and I... Just call me."

Her chest tightened painfully. He sounded so genuine, so sincere. And it hurt, knowing he could be so convincing when she knew what this really was.

She typed out a quick message, her fingers trembling as she forced herself to sound normal, sweet even.

"Sorry, JJ. Showered and passed out for a bit. Everything's fine. Thanks for checking on me. Goodnight."

She stared at the message for a moment before hitting send, the ache in her chest growing. A few seconds later, the familiar dots appeared, but she didn't wait for his reply. She couldn't.

Instead, she turned her attention to the other notification waiting for her: a text from her mom.

Mom: Where were you?

Her breath hitched. She hadn't even thought about what she'd say, her mind too consumed by JJ and everything she'd learned tonight. She began typing out a reply—something vague, noncommittal—when her phone buzzed in her hand.

Sarah.

For a moment, [Name] thought about letting the call go to voicemail. She didn't feel like talking—not to Sarah, not to anyone. But after a heavy sigh, she swiped to answer.

"Hey," she said, her voice flat.

"Hey," Sarah said, her tone tentative. "I just wanted to check in. Are you... okay?"

[Name] snorted, though there was no humor in it. "Define okay."

Sarah hesitated. "I guess that's a no."

"Yeah, it's a no," [Name] replied, leaning back against her headboard. "But I'm guessing you already knew that."

"Fair," Sarah said quietly. "I just—look, I didn't want you to hear it from Rafe. I thought you should know the truth, even if it sucks."

[Name] was silent for a moment, her grip tightening on the phone. "I know," she admitted softly. "And I do appreciate it. I just... I don't know what to do with it."

Sarah exhaled, the sound crackling faintly over the line. "Yeah, I figured. I mean, it's JJ. Nothing's ever simple with him."

[Name] laughed bitterly. "Simple? That's one way to put it."

Sarah stayed quiet, giving her space to continue. When [Name] didn't, she finally said, "I don't know what he was thinking, honestly. The whole bet thing—it's disgusting."

"Yeah, well, that's one thing we can agree on," [Name] said, her tone cutting. "I just don't get it, Sarah. Why would he do this? Why even bother with me if it was all about some stupid bet?"

"I don't know," Sarah said honestly. "But if I had to guess... JJ's always been about the hustle. Money, shortcuts, whatever. It's how he's wired."

[Name] felt a fresh wave of anger surge in her chest. "Great. So I was just part of the hustle. That's supposed to make me feel better?"

"No, it's not," Sarah said quickly. "And it shouldn't. But... I don't think it's that simple either."

"What do you mean?" [Name] pressed, her voice sharper now.

Sarah paused, as if choosing her words carefully. "I think, somewhere along the way, it stopped being about the money. I mean, I've never seen JJ look at anyone the way he looks at you. It's different."

"Different how?" [Name] asked, her stomach twisting despite herself.

Sarah sighed. "Like, real. JJ doesn't do real, okay? He's never been serious about anything or anyone. But with you, it's like... I don't know. He tries. At least, he did."

"Did?" [Name] echoed bitterly. "Because it sure doesn't feel like he tried very hard."

Sarah hesitated, her voice softening. "Look, I don't blame you for being mad. You have every right to be. But I don't think JJ planned for this to happen—for things to get serious. I think that's why he didn't tell us about you."

The sentence hung in the air, heavy and sharp. [Name] felt her chest tighten, the ache settling in her ribs like a fresh bruise. She hadn't wanted to ask—not directly. She'd told herself she didn't care, that it didn't matter whether JJ talked about her to his friends or not. But hearing the confirmation, laid bare and unprompted, stung more than she could've imagined.

"He didn't tell you?" [Name] asked, her voice thick with disbelief. "So what, I was just a secret?"

"Not a secret," Sarah corrected quickly. "It's more like... he didn't want to share. With JJ, it's like if he keeps something to himself, it's safer. I don't know—he's weird like that."

"That's one way to put it," [Name] muttered, the bitterness creeping back into her tone.

Sarah exhaled again, quieter this time. "I'm not defending him, okay? He messed up—big time. But I don't think this was just some scam to him."

"Then why the bet?" [Name] demanded, her voice breaking. "Why risk everything if he actually cared?"

"I wish I knew," Sarah admitted. "But Rafe said the bet happened before he even knew you. Maybe he didn't think it would turn into anything real."

[Name] shook her head, tears prickling her eyes. "That doesn't make it any better, Sarah. He still let it happen. He still lied to me."

"I know," Sarah said quietly. "And you don't have to forgive him—not now, not ever. But for what it's worth, I think JJ's scared. Scared of messing up, scared of losing you... maybe even scared of wanting something real for once."

"Great," [Name] said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "So I'm his existential crisis. Lucky me."

"That's not what I'm saying," Sarah said quickly, though her tone was still measured. "I just mean... JJ's a mess. He's not always a good guy. But I don't think this was fake, [Name]. I don't think you were fake."

[Name] was quiet, the weight of Sarah's words settling over her. She wanted to believe that, wanted to cling to the possibility that JJ's feelings had been real. But how could she, when everything else pointed to the opposite?

[Name] shook her head, fresh tears prickling her eyes. "It doesn't matter. He lied to me, Sarah. He played me. I can't just... forget that."

Her voice cracked, and she bit her lip, willing herself not to cry.

Sarah exhaled, frustration evident even through the phone. "You're allowed to be mad, [Name]. I get that. I'd be mad too. But don't let Rafe or anyone else twist this into something it's not. JJ... he's screwed up, sure, but he's not like them."

[Name] froze, her heart thudding painfully at Sarah's words. Not like them. Wasn't he, though? He'd used her, just like Rafe would've. Played with her feelings for a cheap thrill—or worse, for cash. The bet wasn't just a mistake. It was calculated, deliberate. And it had cost her more than JJ could ever understand.

"I don't know what you're trying to say, Sarah," she said finally, her voice cold. "You don't want me to hate him, fine. But don't expect me to forgive him either."

"I'm not asking you to forgive him," Sarah said softly. "I'm just saying... think about why he did it. Not the money, not the bet—think about him. The way he's been with you. Does that seem fake to you?"

The question hung in the air, sharp and cutting. [Name] felt her chest tighten, her breath hitching as memories rushed in. The way JJ smiled at her when he thought she wasn't looking. The way he always waited for her to text when she got home. The way he'd kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered.

[Name] nodded absently, though Sarah couldn't see it. "Thanks for calling," she said after a pause. "I mean it."

"Of course," Sarah said gently. "And if you need anything, I'm here."

"Yeah," [Name] murmured, her voice distant. "Goodnight, Sarah."

"Goodnight."

She ended the call and let the phone fall to her bed, staring at the ceiling as her thoughts raced. Was Sarah right? Was she being too harsh, too quick to write JJ off? Or was Sarah just making excuses, trying to patch up something that couldn't—and shouldn't—be fixed?

The truth was, she didn't know. She didn't trust herself to know.

How many more secrets had JJ kept from her? How many more things had she been too blind, too trusting, to see? And why—why—did she still feel so much for him when every sign told her she shouldn't?

When sleep finally came, it was restless and shallow, haunted by the memory of his voice, his touch, his smile. The nightmares had been relentless, each one worse than the last. [Name] tossed and turned in her bed, images of JJ's grin twisting into something cruel haunting her. She saw him laughing with Rafe, counting stacks of cash, and each time she tried to confront him, he disappeared like smoke, leaving her breathless and aching.

When she woke, the sun was barely cresting over the horizon. 

The room was still, silent, except for the pounding of her heart. She reached for her phone instinctively, desperate for something—anything—from him.

But there were no new messages. 

No missed calls. 

Nothing.

chapter one.

The world felt smaller when Sarah whispered the words.

It was supposed to be an ordinary evening, just another Kook gathering that she'd endured for appearances. A slight buzz from champagne swirled through her veins, enough to dull the crowd but not enough to prepare her for what Sarah Cameron had leaned over and said, her voice dripping with guilt.

"[Name], it was a bet," she murmured, eyes heavy with something almost apologetic. "JJ—he made a bet with Rafe to date you. Three months, five grand. I thought you should know."

The glass of champagne in her hand tipped slightly, its sparkling gold contents trembling. [Name] froze, her carefully curated expression of aloofness cracking like porcelain under pressure.

A bet.

A bet.

She set the glass down, her heart pounding like the waves crashing against the shore at night. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to have here, in a sea of silk and designer heels. Her Kook poise demanded restraint, but the world around her tilted on its axis, and for a terrifying second, [Name] thought she might actually pass out.

"Say it again," she said, her voice low, trembling.

Sarah hesitated, regret painting her perfect face. "[Name]—"

"Say it again, Sarah."

"Rafe dared JJ to date you," she admitted, her words now rushed and fumbling. "He was gonna get five thousand dollars out of it. It started as a joke—I don't think he meant for it to go this far, but—"

The rest of Sarah's explanation drowned in the ringing in [Name]'s ears. Five thousand dollars. That's all it had taken for JJ Maybank, the reckless, golden-haired boy who had stolen her first kiss, her heart, and all the fragile little pieces she'd kept locked away for so long, to use her.

Three months.

Three months of sneaking out after sunset to meet him, of whispered laughter and tangled limbs under the stars. Three months of believing that someone had finally seen her—not her family's money, not the name on her monogrammed towels—but her. The girl behind the Kook mask.

It had all been a lie.

Rafe was easy to find, lounging near the bar like he owned the place, his signature smirk firmly in place as if he'd been waiting for her.

"Ah, the princess herself," he drawled when she approached, swirling his drink lazily. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

[Name] didn't bother with pleasantries. "Is it true?" she demanded, her voice low and taut. "Did you make a bet with JJ to date me?"

Rafe raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the moment. "You're not one for small talk, are you?"

"Answer me, Rafe," she snapped, her voice trembling despite her best efforts.

His smirk widened, and for a fleeting second, she hoped he'd deny it—that he'd laugh in her face and tell her Sarah had misunderstood. But instead, he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Three months. Five grand," he confirmed, his tone laced with amusement. "I didn't think he'd last this long, honestly. But hey, the guy's got commitment, I'll give him that."

The air was sucked from her lungs. Her chest tightened painfully, and she stumbled back a step, her world shattering into a thousand jagged pieces.

"You're lying," she whispered, clinging to the last threads of denial.

Rafe's laugh was low and mocking. "Am I?"

She turned and walked away before he could see the tears welling in her eyes.

It was laughable, really. Because it wasn't just about the money—it was the audacity of it all. Her first boyfriend. The first boy who had kissed her with reckless abandon, who made her laugh until her sides hurt, who called her princess in a way that made her feel seen, not mocked.

Except it was all a lie.

She exhaled shakily, brushing a hand through her hair as she forced the tears down. Crying here wouldn't solve anything. No, she wouldn't cry over JJ Maybank. Not yet. Not where anyone could see her fall apart.

A familiar voice broke her reverie.

"There's my girl."

She turned to see him leaning against the dock's railing, leaning casually against one of the wooden posts like he didn't have a care in the world. His sun-streaked blond hair was messily tousled, and his usual devil-may-care grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he tossed pebbles into the water. He looked up when he heard her approach, his ocean-blue eyes lighting up in that stupid, charming way that made her chest ache.

"You left the party early," JJ said, stepping closer. His voice had that teasing edge, like he already knew he'd be forgiven for whatever trouble he'd caused this time.

She plastered on a smile, burying the betrayal deep under layers of practiced charm. "You know me, JJ. I don't really do crowds."

"Bullshit," he shot back easily, pulling the cigarette from his lips and flicking it into the water. "You're a Kook. You eat that stuff up."

She laughed lightly, because wasn't that exactly what he expected? The perfect, untouchable Kook princess, playing the part everyone wanted from her. JJ always said he liked her because she was different, because she didn't care about the rules or the labels or the stupid, petty dramas of their world. But now she knew better.

"I just wanted some air," she said smoothly, leaning back against the railing. "You know, to think."

His grin faltered slightly, and for a second, something vulnerable flickered across his face. "You're not mad at me, are you?" he asked, stepping closer. "Because if I forgot another one of those lame Kook anniversaries, you've got to tell me. I don't speak that language."

She rolled her eyes, keeping her tone light even as her stomach churned. "You're an idiot, JJ."

"An idiot you're stuck with." He smirked, moving into her space like he always did, the air between them charged with something unspoken. "C'mon, what'd I do now?"

For a brief moment, she almost told him. Almost grabbed him by that stupid shirt he always wore half-buttoned, shoved him against the railing, and screamed, You made me a bet. I was a joke to you.

But she didn't. Because JJ Maybank wasn't just any boy. He was reckless and infuriating and maddeningly charming—and whether she liked it or not, he had wormed his way into her heart in ways no one else ever had.

And now, she would return the favor.

"Nothing," she said softly, her voice steady as she reached out to straighten the collar of his shirt. "You didn't do anything."

JJ watched her with those piercing blue eyes, his smirk fading into something quieter, almost hesitant. It wasn't like him to stay still this long, but here he was, letting her adjust his shirt like she wasn't plotting her revenge right there in front of him.

"You're acting weird," he said finally, his voice low. "You sure everything's okay?"

She smiled up at him, her fingers lingering on the fabric of his shirt. "I'm fine, JJ. Really."

It was a lie, but it didn't matter. The game wasn't over yet, and she had every intention of playing it better than he ever could.

He leaned against the railing beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. There was something different about him tonight—an edge, a quiet intensity that made her pulse quicken.

He studied her for a moment, his blue eyes scanning her face like he was searching for something. "You look like you're about to either cry or murder someone. And, for the record, I'd totally help you bury the body if it's option two."

The corner of her mouth twitched despite herself. He always knew how to make her laugh, even when she didn't want to.

His tone was light, teasing. And that was the problem, wasn't it? JJ made everything feel light. Easy. Real.

Sometimes, no—most of the time—with JJ, it felt real.

"Want to talk about it?" he offered, surprising her. He wasn't always great at talking—he preferred action, movement, the chaos of living—but there were moments like this when he let her see the quieter parts of him.

The parts that didn't feel like a lie.

She shook her head. "No. It's not important."

He studied her for a moment, his eyes searching her face like he was trying to piece her together. Then he grinned, his boyish charm sliding back into place. "Good. Because I was thinking we could head out—get away from all this Kook nonsense. I've got a plan."

"You always have a plan," she teased, slipping into the role she'd been playing for nearly three months.

"Yeah, but this one's actually good," he shot back, his grin turning mischievous. "Trust me, you'll love it."

Trust him. The words stung, but she nodded anyway, her heart a tangle of anger, hurt, and something she refused to name.

She could pretend. She had to.

The night was cool and quiet as they sped down the backroads, the wind whipping through her hair as JJ drove with one hand on the wheel, the other draped lazily over the back of her seat. He wasn't drinking anymore—something he'd sworn off recently, much to her surprise—but the adrenaline of the drive was enough to give him that same wild energy.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice cutting through the rush of air.

"You'll see," he said, flashing her a grin. "Just trust me, princess."

There it was again. Trust.

The car skidded to a stop at a cliff overlooking the ocean, the moonlight casting silver ripples across the water below. JJ jumped out, rounding the car to open her door with a mock bow.

"Mademoiselle," he said, his voice low and teasing.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't stop the small laugh that escaped her lips. He always did this—chipped away at her walls, made her forget, even for a moment, what he'd done.

They sat together on the hood of the car, the sound of the waves crashing below filling the silence between them. JJ leaned back on his elbows, glancing at her with a lopsided grin.

"You're quiet tonight," he said, his tone softer now. "What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

She hesitated, her fingers gripping the edge of the hood. She could end it now, confront him, throw his lies back in his face and walk away. But she didn't.

Not yet.

"Just thinking," she said, her voice even.

"Dangerous," he teased, bumping her shoulder lightly.

She forced a smile, looking out at the horizon. He didn't know that she knew, didn't know the storm brewing behind her calm façade.

Let him think he's won.

For now.

JJ stood, brushing his jeans off and grinning at her, that same reckless confidence radiating from him. "So, here's the deal, princess. You trust me, right?"

She forced a laugh, playing her part. "I'm not sure if I should."

His grin widened. "Fair. But I promise, you're gonna love this."

Before she could respond, JJ grabbed her hand and started walking toward the cliff's edge. The waves crashed violently against the rocks below, the salt spray catching on the cool breeze. It was dangerous, beautiful, like JJ himself. Her stomach churned, a bitter reminder of the betrayal that now tainted everything he did, everything he said.

He stopped just before the edge, turning to her with a boyish excitement that made her chest tighten painfully. "Okay," he said, his voice low and conspiratorial, "this might sound crazy—"

"Shocking," she deadpanned, crossing her arms.

"Funny," he shot back, his grin turning mischievous. "Anyway, we're jumping."

She blinked at him. "We're what?"

"Jumping." He gestured to the dark, churning waters below. "Come on, [Name]. Live a little."

"Live a little?" she repeated, incredulous. "This is how people die, JJ."

"Only boring people," he countered, his eyes glinting with that dangerous spark she'd come to know too well.

And for a moment, she was caught in it—the way his hair fell into his eyes, the way his smile made her feel like the only girl in the world. It was maddening how he could still make her heart race, even now.

But then the bitterness crept in, a quiet voice in the back of her mind reminding her: It's all a lie.

"Come on," he urged, taking a step closer. His hand brushed hers, warm and steady, and for a second, she hated how much she wanted to believe in him. "I'll even go first if you're scared."

"I'm not scared," she snapped, more defensively than she intended.

He smirked, leaning in slightly. "Prove it."

Her jaw tightened, but she didn't back down. "Fine."

JJ whooped, stepping back and pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. She tried not to stare, but it was impossible not to notice the toned lines of his chest, the faint scars she knew better than she wanted to. She'd traced them once with her fingertips, learned their stories: a bike accident, a drunken fall, a fight with his dad.

His dad.

Her breath hitched, the memory sharp and painful. She'd noticed the bruises a week into dating, dark and angry across his ribs. He hadn't meant for her to see them, but JJ was terrible at hiding things, even worse at lying about them. She still remembered the way his voice had cracked when he'd finally told her the truth, the way he'd tried to laugh it off as if it didn't matter.

But it had mattered to her.

It still did, even now.

"Hey," his voice pulled her back, soft and teasing. "You good? Or are you too busy checking me out?"

She rolled her eyes, masking the turmoil inside her. "You wish."

He laughed, stepping to the edge and looking back at her with a grin. "Watch and learn, princess."

And then he jumped.

She watched him plummet into the darkness, her heart lurching in spite of herself. Seconds later, his head broke the surface, and he let out a triumphant yell, his voice carrying over the sound of the waves.

"Your turn!" he called up to her, grinning.

She hesitated, her stomach knotting. She hated how easy he made it look, how alive he seemed in moments like this. It was part of why she'd fallen for him, wasn't it? That wild, untamed spirit.

It was all part of the act, she reminded herself, bitterness curling in her chest.

But she stepped to the edge anyway, taking a deep breath before leaping into the unknown.

The water was freezing, the impact stealing her breath. She surfaced with a gasp, the salt burning her skin, and before she could say a word, JJ was there, grinning at her like a lunatic.

"Not bad for a Kook," he teased, treading water effortlessly.

She splashed him, laughing despite herself. "You're insane."

"Yeah, but you love it," he shot back, his tone playful, but there was something else in his eyes—something deeper, something that felt real.

For a moment, she almost forgot. Almost.

But then the memory of Rafe's words crashed over her like a wave, and the laughter died on her lips. She forced a smile, the ache in her chest threatening to consume her.

"Come on," JJ said, pulling her toward the rocks. His grip was steady, warm, and it hurt how much she wanted to hold on.

As they climbed out of the water, she couldn't help but glance at him, his face glowing in the moonlight, his hair dripping wet. He looked so free, so alive. And it made her hate him just a little more.

Because it wasn't real.

It couldn't be.

She had two weeks left—two weeks to figure out her next move. Dump him the day before the bet ended? Or find something worse, something that would make him regret ever crossing her?

But as she watched him laugh, his head thrown back, something twisted in her chest. Because she knew him better than anyone—knew his bruises, his scars, the pain he tried so hard to hide.

And maybe... maybe that was the worst part of all.

That somewhere along the way, JJ Maybank had stopped being a lie.

And she had no idea what to do with that.