Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

**KIE**

Kie swiped away the notification for a college prep email her mom had forwarded earlier—subject line: “Deadlines You Can’t Afford to Miss!” Yeah, she could afford it just fine. Ignoring it felt like breathing lately.

It was one of those late summer nights on the island where the air clung to your skin like sea salt, and the humidity felt almost personal. The breeze off the marsh was lazy, the neon bar signs buzzed like bugs, and the familiar hum of laughter spilled out from the open doors of Sharky’s. Friday nights were for locals, and this one was no exception.

Kiara pushed through the swinging door, scanning the dim interior until she spotted Sarah in the corner booth. Of course she was already pressed into John B’s side—their thing was still new, all wrapped up in honeymoon-phase affection.

Sarah had become her ride-or-die fast, but dating John B had pulled her into his crew more often lately. Which meant Kiara was around them again, whether she liked it or not.

Sarah caught her eye and waved her over, grinning.

“Finally,” Sarah called, sliding over and patting the seat beside her. “We were about to send Pope out on a search party.”

Kiara dropped into the booth with a small huff, offering John B a lazy smile and Pope a chin nod. “Tide was shit today,” she said, by way of explanation. “And I got trapped on a call with my mom trying to sell me on the ‘college experience’ like it’s a damn timeshare.”

It wasn’t a lie. But it also wasn’t the reason she’d hesitated before deciding to show up.

She felt it before she saw him.

That little ripple of static under her skin. The slight narrowing of her gaze. The way her shoulders tensed just enough to betray her body’s early warning system: JJ Maybank was here.

And sure enough, there he was—half-drunk, sun-kissed, leaning back on two legs of a barstool like he owned the place. His cutoff tee was hanging loose on one shoulder, his hair was all chaotic beach-blond and unbothered, and he was mid-laugh with some girl at the bar who definitely didn’t surf.

She would admit—begrudgingly, hypothetically, under legal duress—that JJ was hot. Objectively. Annoyingly. The kind of hot that got girls in trouble. But it didn’t matter, because she knew better. A hot disaster was still a disaster.

God, she hated him.

Not in a casual, roll-your-eyes kind of way. No—JJ Maybank got under her skin like sand in a rash. It wasn’t just the smug, cocky attitude or the way he flirted with anything that moved. It was the sheer audacity of him—how he walked through the world like it owed him something, how he never seemed to take anything seriously, how he made every situation just a little more chaotic for fun.

He had this way of inserting himself into every space like he was doing you a favor just by existing there.

He was messy, and reckless, and loud. He had a joke for everything and depth for nothing. He couldn’t go five minutes without teasing someone—usually her—and always did it with that insufferable smirk, like he knew exactly how far he could push before she snapped.

And she always snapped.

Because around JJ, she felt like she was constantly one step from losing her cool. He made her feel off-balance—like she was in some game he was playing, and she didn’t know the rules.

“Want a drink?” Sarah asked brightly, clearly unaware of Kiara’s simmering tension.

“Please,” Kiara muttered, dragging her eyes away from the bar. “Preferably something strong enough to make me forget my mom said I’m ‘wasting my window of opportunity.’”

Sarah had become her ride-or-die in record time. They’d met junior year during a school-wide walkout protesting offshore drilling—Kiara had shown up with a sharpie’d sign and a megaphone, and Sarah had rolled up in a vintage Jeep with a trunk full of reusable water bottles to hand out. That was it. Instant gravitational pull.

They were from opposite ends of the island’s spectrum—Kie all tangled roots and reef cuts, Sarah more salt-polished and country club bred—but somehow it worked. They’d bonded over skipping school, organizing beach cleanups, and collectively hating anyone who thought their trust fund made them interesting. Sarah got her. And more importantly, she didn’t try to change her.

Pope was sweet. John B was tolerable. And JJ—

JJ was a goddamn migraine in human form.

The only real saving grace was Cleo—Pope’s girlfriend. She didn’t make it to every hangout, but when she did, Kiara could breathe easier. Cleo had a sharp tongue, a quick smile, and zero patience for JJ’s shit. She was funny, didn’t take sides, and had this way of calling everyone out without ever starting drama. Kiara liked her. A lot. Maybe even needed her there to keep the boy chaos from swallowing the night whole.

Unfortunately, tonight was not one of those nights.

She glanced toward the bar again just in time to catch him flicking the cap off a beer bottle with the edge of a lighter. It clattered across the bartop, and the girl beside him giggled like he’d just performed magic. JJ winked at her.

Of course he did.

Kiara made a face.

And then, like clockwork, he turned. Looked right at her. Raised his drink in a lazy, sarcastic toast—to what, exactly, she didn’t know. Being annoying? Breathing the same air? Existing?

She narrowed her eyes.

JJ grinned.

And Kiara muttered, “Ugh, I hate that guy.”

Sarah and John B were practically fused together in the booth beside her, whisper-laughing in that nauseating couple way that made Kiara sip her drink faster. It wasn’t that she was against PDA—well, okay, maybe she was when it meant being the third, fourth, or possibly fifth wheel in a group of people who seemed completely fine ignoring the awkwardness of her existence.

She reached for the fries in the middle of the table, trying not to sulk.

The whole house had been a pressure cooker since graduation. Pope had his scholarship locked in. Sarah was off to UNC in the fall, full of glossy dorm checklists and nervous excitement. Even Cleo, who didn’t care about college, at least had a plan—travel, work, maybe build something real.

And John B? Who the hell knew. He floated through life like the tide always had somewhere else to take him.

But Kiara? She was just stuck.

No grand plan. No backup plan. No real idea of what she wanted—only a thousand things she didn’t. Like pretending to care about college tours or sitting in a classroom for four more years just because her parents thought “wasting potential” was the worst thing a person could do.

She didn’t want a major. She wanted to move. To see the world, surf until her skin turned bronze and raw, fall asleep under foreign stars. She wanted saltwater and sunrises and space to breathe.

But instead, she got guilt trips and passive-aggressive brunches. Her mom’s voice in her head every time she scrolled travel blogs: Kiara, be serious. Kiara, you need direction. Kiara, you are not going to find yourself on a beach with a surfboard.

And maybe she wouldn’t. But wasn’t not knowing kind of the point?

She felt trapped in a life that had already been drafted for her. She didn’t even get to choose the damn font.

College applications. Campus visits. Mock interviews. All lined up like hurdles she didn’t ask to run.

But, if anyone had asked her, she would have said she was doing fine. And she was. Really.

Until JJ slid into the open seat across from her.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just dropped down lazily, draped an arm across the back of the booth like he belonged there, and let his eyes drag across her like she was something interesting pinned to a corkboard.

Kiara blinked slowly. “Don’t.”

JJ grinned like she’d just confirmed he was right about something. “What? I was just noticing your aura. It's extra spicy tonight.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response.

Instead, she looked away, fixing her attention on the sticky tabletop. JJ’s fingers drummed an offbeat rhythm that grated under her skin.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked after a beat. “You’re radiating slightly less hostility than usual. Should I be worried?”

Kiara scoffed. “And you look like you just rolled out of the Twinkie after your third unpaid nap of the week. Must be exhausting, coasting through life on gas station Red Bulls and daddy issues.”

“Ouch.” He clutched his chest dramatically. “That sounded like projection.”

“Do you even know what projection means?”

“I don’t need to. I’ve got a magnetism-based survival strategy.”

“Ah, right. The Twinkie. Real chick magnet. I’m sure it’s the van and not the fact that you look like every girl’s worst mistake.”

Pope choked on his drink. “Y’all gonna go one night without dragging each other?”

“We’re not dragging,” JJ said smoothly. “We’re… bantering.”

Kiara raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you tell the girls you neg at gas stations?”

“Neg?” JJ laughed. “Someone’s been on the internet too much.”

Before Kiara could respond, John B leaned forward with a sigh, slinging his arm over Sarah. “You guys should just hook up and get it over with.”

Kiara nearly dropped her drink. “Absolutely not.”

JJ, in perfect sync, echoed, “Nope. Not happening.”

The table cracked up at the synchronized denial, but Kiara’s pulse stuttered.

Because while the rest of them were laughing, JJ didn’t look away.

He was still looking at her. And she was still looking back.

Just a second too long.

His face was unreadable. There was a flicker of something behind the sarcasm—something quieter, heavier—but then Sarah shoved a basket of fries toward the middle of the table and the moment broke.

Kiara exhaled, turning her gaze down to her drink like it had answers.

Well. That confirmed it. He hadn’t told them.

Not that she expected him to. It wasn’t exactly a memory she wanted floating around either.

It had been… what? Over a year ago now? A party at someone’s cousin’s house, summer heat clinging to everything, the buzz of cheap beer and dumber decisions.

Back then, she’d still been orbiting the boys—close enough to be included, not close enough to be tangled. She and JJ had always been like flint and stone, throwing off sparks when they got too close. She’d thought maybe that meant something.

Apparently, it meant “hot and regrettable.”

She couldn’t even remember who leaned in first. Only that one minute they were bickering in the kitchen, and the next his mouth was on hers, hands tangled in her shirt, and then they were behind a half-broken door in someone’s laundry room, clothes shoved aside and breathless and messy and kind of incredible.

Until it wasn’t.

Until JJ had gone cold the next day, like she was just another name on some unspoken list. No texts. No nod of acknowledgment. Just… nothing.

So she returned the favor. She stopped hanging out with them. Let herself drift. When Sarah came crashing into her life a few weeks later, full of hurricane charm and unapologetic chaos, Kiara jumped ship. New friends, new routines, no more JJ Maybank.

She never told Sarah. Or John B. Too humiliating. Too raw. She didn’t want pity. She didn’t want Sarah asking why she’d given someone like JJ the time of day in the first place. She didn’t want to admit that she’d had a crush—that somewhere under all the barbs and bullshit, she’d thought maybe there was something real.

It was stupid.

She wasn’t that girl anymore.

Now, she had better taste. Better distractions. And a very compelling reason not to get hung up on old mistakes—especially not ones with sun-bleached hair and a talent for ruining her night with nothing more than a look.

Kiara glanced at her phone where it buzzed softly against her thigh.

A message notification.

Just the thought of who it might be tugged a small smile onto her lips before she could stop it.

Yeah.

She wasn’t thinking about JJ. She had other things on her mind these days.

Her thumb hovered near the edge of the screen, like maybe she'd check it. But she didn’t open it yet. Not here. Not with him a few feet away, obnoxiously alive and probably looking for an excuse to get under her skin.

Instead, her thoughts drifted.

CarveLine.

The crusty local surf forum she checked almost daily now. Equal parts swell report dump, gearhead message board, and turf war zone for cranky board shop purists and arrogant weekenders. She used to browse it just for tide charts and beach cleanup meetups. But these days?

She was there for one person.

Well. One username.

Birdshit.

Stupid name. Somehow iconic.

She posted as Karma—a handle she chose half as a joke. But she liked how it sounded. Like a warning. Or a dare.

They’d started messaging a couple months ago after she called him out in the comments of a lineup etiquette thread. He’d fired back something obnoxious, and instead of being annoyed, she’d found herself amused. When he DM’d her a sarcastic follow-up—

“Bold words from someone who probably waxes her board backward.”
—she couldn’t help but respond.

“Bold assumption from someone named Birdshit. Were all the other usernames taken?”

That should’ve been the end of it. But it wasn’t.

The DMs turned into a thread of their own—surf debates, board tweaks, mutual complaints about sandbar shifts and summer crowds. Rants about rich kids in foamies who couldn’t read a tide chart if their life depended on it. Ocean cleanup drives and the best spots for finding sea glass. Occasionally, they’d roast a particularly unhinged forum comment together.

It had been casual at first. Sporadic. But lately? It was… habitual. She checked her messages for him specifically now. Replied quicker. Lingered longer.

And somewhere along the way, the tone had shifted.

Not flirty exactly—but closer. More personal. Like last week, when he’d said something that made her pause:

“You’re like, actually cool. Not just pretending to be for the lineup.”

It was a throwaway line, maybe. But it hit different. She didn’t get compliments like that—quiet ones. Ones that felt like he saw through the noise and liked what was underneath.

And a few nights ago, he said something stupid—just a throwaway joke about someone “surfing like a fridge” or something—and she’d laughed. Like, out loud. Alone. In bed.

She found herself thinking about what he looked like. Wondering if he was someone she passed on the beach or bumped boards with at Rixon’s. He didn’t talk like the older guys on the forum. Didn’t try to dominate the conversation or brag. He was… decent. Smart. Funny in a dry, sharp way.

Kiara hadn’t admitted it out loud—not even to herself in a real way—but she might have a tiny crush on someone who technically didn’t exist. Not in a photo. Not in a name. Just a handle. A string of words.

But talking to him made her feel a little less pissed off about everything else.

Including the very real boy at the bar who had just grabbed a straw wrapper in his teeth, aimed it like a slingshot, and launched it directly at the side of her face.

The straw wrapper bounced off her cheek and landed in her lap.

Kiara blinked slowly. Turned her head.

JJ was grinning at her from across the table, leaning back against the bar like he hadn’t just assaulted her with a soggy projectile. His beer was half gone, cheeks flushed in that easy, sun-drunk way that meant he was probably three deep and feeling invincible.

She flicked the wrapper off her lap. “Are you five?”

He shrugged, the picture of casual bullshit. “You looked bored.”

“I was at peace.”

He raised his bottle in mock apology. “My bad. Thought I’d liven things up.”

“You’re the human equivalent of a riptide,” she muttered.

JJ smirked. “Dangerous, unpredictable, and keeps pulling you back in? I’ll take it.”

God, she hated him.

It wasn’t even what he said—though that was bad enough—it was how he said it. Like the whole night was just one long opportunity for him to get under her skin and see what she’d do about it. Like winding her up was his personal hobby.

Kiara drained the rest of her drink and stood up so fast the table rocked.

“I’m leaving.”

Sarah glanced up, surprised. “Already?”

“Yeah. I’ve hit my limit on man-child energy for the evening.”

JJ saluted her with two fingers. “Sweet dreams, Princess.”

She paused.

Not because it meant anything—but because for half a second, it reminded her of a certain someone behind a screen who actually made her want to smile when he said dumb shit like that.

She shook it off. Different vibe. Different guy.

And then she turned and walked out, pretending like she hadn’t just flinched.

This night was a wash. JJ was being insufferable, her head was spinning, and she could already feel another “we’re just concerned” talk loading in her parents’ drafts folder.

_________________

The screen glow lit her bedroom in soft blue. She sat cross-legged in bed, hair damp from a half-hearted shower, fingers hovering over the keyboard on her phone.

The chat with Birdshit was already open.

She stared at the blinking cursor, half-drafted message sitting unsent.

Karma: Some people just know exactly how to push your buttons. Like it’s a sport or something.

Karma: Not trying to vent. Just… needed to say that somewhere.

Pause. Then:

Karma: Anyway. Hope your night’s better than mine.

She knew it was a shift from their usual tone. They didn’t talk about personal stuff, not really. Just waves, trash, gear, gossip. Nothing that made her feel vulnerable.

But she wanted to send it. Not because she wanted attention—because she wanted his attention. And because… she trusted him. Stupid as it sounded.

It wasn’t like she could talk to Sarah about this. Definitely couldn’t talk to Pope. She couldn’t even really explain what had set her off—it wasn’t just JJ. It was everything. Her mom’s “check-in” texts. Her dad’s not-so-subtle comments at dinner. The feeling that everyone else was moving forward and she was just... parked..

She hesitated.

Then hit send.

Immediately closed the app. Tossed her phone on the other pillow. Flopped backward like she'd just committed some emotional crime and needed to lie flat about it.

She was not expecting a reply.

Which was why she startled when the buzz came thirty seconds later.

Birdshit: Damn. Want me to beat someone up for you? I throw hands on request.

Kiara laughed. Actually laughed.

She rolled onto her side, picked her phone back up, thumbs already flying.

Karma: Tempting. But nah. Just someone who thinks being an ass is a personality trait.

Birdshit: Classic. Let me guess—man bun? Camo hat?

Karma: Worse. Board shorts and ego issues.

Birdshit: Say no more.

Another buzz.

Birdshit: You ever need someone to fight a surfer with fragile masculinity, I’ve got good aim and a bad reputation.

God, he was funny. Effortless. And somehow, he always knew exactly how to meet her tone.

Karma: I’m starting to think you’re my kind of trouble.

There. She said it.

Not a full flirt. Not a confession. But… a crack in the door.

He didn’t hesitate.

Birdshit: I was hoping you’d say that. Been trying to behave.

Something warm bloomed in her chest. A flutter, a hum, a low buzz behind her ribs.

They’d never talked like this before. Not directly. Not clearly.

But now?

Now it felt like something new was unfolding.

Karma: Don’t get cocky. I haven’t decided if you’re a good kind of trouble yet.

Birdshit: Too late. I’m already planning our court date.

She snorted, hand flying to her mouth as if someone might hear her laughing at her phone like a lunatic.

Karma: If we get arrested, I’m blaming you.

Birdshit: Fair. I do have a face that says “it was definitely me.”

Karma: So you are hot? Bold of you to admit that.

Birdshit: You tell me, Karma. I’ve got sand in my hair and questionable morals. That do it for you?

She grinned, heart kicking a little harder in her chest.

Karma: Dangerously close.

Birdshit: Gonna need you to define “dangerous.”

Karma: It means I should log off before I say something I can’t walk back.

The typing bubble popped up almost immediately. Then stopped. Then came back again.

Birdshit: Too late. You already made me smile like an idiot.

And there it was.

That slow-burn ache she hadn’t been able to name until now. The buzz behind her ribs. The flutter she kept pretending wasn’t a real thing.

He made her feel wanted without asking for anything. And for the first time in a long time, she felt like maybe someone actually got her—on her terms.

She stared at the screen for a long moment.

Then typed.

Karma: You’re kind of my favorite person lately. That’s probably weird, huh?

A pause.

Then:

Birdshit: Not weird. I was already thinking it.

She bit her lip, staring at the screen. The quiet thrill of it all washed over her—how easy it was with him. How natural. How seen she felt, even when he didn’t know her name. Even when she didn’t know his.

Except… she kind of wished she did.

She kind of wished she could picture his face when he typed this stuff. Know what kind of smile he was hiding behind the screen. Know whether he was doing that thing guys did when they leaned back on one arm, cocky and soft-spoken, like they couldn’t be bothered but were secretly paying attention to every detail.

Kiara let out a slow breath.

Maybe she did have a tiny crush.

Or something dangerously close.

Kiara set her phone down beside her pillow, screen still glowing with his message.

Not weird. I was already thinking it.

She was smiling like a fool in the dark.

This was probably a bad idea. She knew that. Getting attached to someone with no face, no name—just a stupid handle and a smart mouth and a way of making her feel like she wasn’t too much, or not enough, or whatever the hell she’d felt like lately.

But tonight, she didn’t care.

Tonight, Birdshit had been the only good thing.

And if she was being honest?

She was already looking forward to whatever he said tomorrow.
_____________________________
**JJ**

The roads were mostly empty, just sand and shadows stretching across the pavement as JJ coasted on the dirt bike toward the Cut. His engine hummed low, barely louder than the surf breaking in the distance.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t think he could, even if he wanted to.

Too much noise in his head.

Not the kind that came from the bar. Not the music or the laughter or John B doing a tequila shot off Sarah’s collarbone. No, it was quieter than that. Thicker. It sat behind his ribs like smoke.

It was her.

Kiara fucking Carrera.

The second she walked into Sharky’s, he’d felt it. That sharp, hot prickle under his skin like sunburn you didn’t notice until someone touched it.

She always showed up like a storm. No warning. Just sudden wind and wreckage.

And he was a goddamn lightning rod.

She hadn’t even looked at him at first—just slid into the booth with Sarah like he wasn’t sitting ten feet away, like her presence didn’t set the entire room on a different axis. Like he didn’t remember exactly how she tasted, or the little sound she made when he kissed down her neck, or the way her nails had scratched at his shoulders like she didn’t care if she left a mark.

Which, to be fair, he’d kind of hoped she would.

JJ let out a slow breath and shifted gears, the wind biting a little cooler as the road curved.

He didn’t mean to fuck it up. He really hadn’t.

If anything, he’d been crushing on her way before that night.

It had started slow—just little things. She’d show up at the Boneyard after a beach cleanup, still in boardshorts and half a wetsuit, salt in her hair and eyes full of fire. And then she started hanging around more—drifting into the group like she belonged there, even though she didn’t quite yet. Not with them. Not with him.

And JJ had wanted to play it cool. Keep it casual. Be the funny guy. The flirty guy. The guy she rolled her eyes at but didn’t walk away from.

But the truth was, he liked her. A lot more than he should’ve. She was sharp and smart and gave him shit without flinching. She didn’t laugh at his jokes just to make him feel good—she only laughed when he earned it. And something about that made his chest tight in a way he didn’t know what to do with.

So when that night happened—when they’d been buzzing off cheap beer and too much tension and not enough distance—he’d let himself fall into it. Let himself want it.

Let himself hope.

They were both drunk, yeah, but it hadn’t felt like just another party hookup. There was a second, after, when she looked at him like maybe she saw something in him worth keeping.

And that’s what ruined it.

Because afterward, when she looked at him like maybe there was more, like maybe he wasn’t just a mistake—he panicked.

Shut it down. Pulled away. Pretended it was meaningless.

Because the second it felt like it meant something, it became something he could lose. And JJ Maybank did not do things he could lose.

So he let her go.

Worst part? He’d convinced himself she wouldn’t care. That she’d just brush it off and move on.

And she had.

Right into Sarah’s life.

And now here they were.

Still orbiting each other, still pretending they didn’t feel a thing.

Except… he did.

He felt all of it.

Worse, he remembered.

Not the fuzzy kind of memory that gets warped around the edges. The vivid kind. The kind that hung around.

He remembered her hands in his hair—rough, urgent.

The heat of her breath against his jaw, the way she gasped his name like she didn’t mean to say it out loud.

How her thighs squeezed around his hips when he pressed her up against the dryer in some half-broken laundry room at that party, beach sand still on their legs, clothes half-off, everything tasting like salt and beer and something reckless.

It had been messy, and hot, and real.

And it had scared the hell out of him.

So he ghosted. Played it cool. Acted like it didn’t matter.

Told himself it didn’t.

But then why the hell had he spent all night watching her from the bar like some idiot with a grudge and a crush and no game plan?

Why did it still feel like she was under his skin?

Why did he still care what she thought of him?

JJ reached the turn-off for the Chateau and slowed to a roll.

He’d thought about saying to her something several times, even tonight.

Apologized, maybe. Something real.

But instead he shot a straw wrapper at her face like a twelve-year-old and made some dumb joke about her aura.

Because that’s what he did. That’s what people expected.

He never told anyone what happened with Kiara.

Not John B. Not Pope. Not even in one of those half-bragging, half-drunk late night confessionals where shit usually slipped.

He didn’t trust them not to make it a thing. To poke at it. Joke about it. Drag it into the light and hold it up like a trophy or a cautionary tale.

But mostly?

He didn’t tell them because saying it out loud would’ve made it real.

And real meant complicated. Real meant it mattered. Real meant he had to explain why he couldn’t stop looking at her, even now—why he still felt like his ribs tightened every time she rolled her eyes at him like he wasn’t worth the breath it took to insult him.

So he buried it. Let them think they just didn’t get along. Let her carry the weight of the tension like it was all in her head.

He knew that made him an asshole.

But not saying anything had been easier than admitting he’d screwed up something he actually gave a shit about.

He pulled into the soft dirt at the end of the road, kicked down the stand, and cut the engine. The sudden silence pressed in on him.

He sat there a minute.

Then pulled out his phone.

Just muscle memory, really. He hadn’t even meant to open CarveLine. But when he saw the DM—Karma—his whole chest lightened.

Some people just know exactly how to push your buttons. Like it’s a sport or something…

JJ’s mouth twisted into a slow smile.

Yeah. He knew the feeling.

Funny thing was… he hadn’t expected to like her. Not at first.

Karma had come out swinging in the comments on some dumb thread about lineup etiquette—called him out for being a “typical cocky kook” who thought sarcasm could cover for bad form. He should’ve ignored it. Or flamed her back.

Instead, he DMed her something equally stupid. Something flirty, sharp, just enough bite to see if she’d snap back.

She had.

And that was it. The start.

He didn’t know who she was—still didn’t. No face, no real name, just a handle with teeth. But damn, she was cool. Witty. Smart. Knew her shit about boards and breaks and coastal politics. She could talk trash and make solid gear recs in the same breath. She was different.

He liked that.

More than that—he liked talking to her. No bullshit. No pretending to be the guy everyone at the bar expected. No pressure to be loud or wild or funny all the time. With Karma, he didn’t have to be anything but honest. Or at least as honest as a username could be.

And lately, it had been the only thing keeping him sane.

When things got heavy, when he couldn’t sleep, when the world felt like too much—she was there. A DM away. Some nights, he found himself scrolling back through old threads just to reread her jokes. Just to feel something that wasn’t chaos.

He didn’t know why it worked. Why she worked. But she did.

She made him laugh. She made him feel like maybe he wasn’t totally full of shit.

And tonight? With Kiara looking at him like she wanted to throw him through a window?

Yeah. He needed the reminder.

So when he saw her message waiting—when he saw that she’d reached out first—his fingers moved before his brain caught up.

He grinned into the dark, and read the first message twice.

Some people just know exactly how to push your buttons. Like it’s a sport or something…

JJ huffed out a laugh, low and sharp. Damn. She got it.

Not just the sentiment, but the tone—the way it sat between frustration and sarcasm, like she was trying not to let something eat at her too deep. He knew that feeling too well.

Not trying to vent. Just… needed to say that somewhere.

God, she was cool. Even in her mess. Maybe especially in it.

Not dramatic. Not fishing. Just honest enough to let him in without making a thing of it.

He didn’t think. Just typed.

Want me to beat someone up for you? I throw hands on request.

When her reply came back quick, he leaned back against the seat of the bike, grinning like an idiot.

She wasn’t just humoring him. She was playing. Bouncing the tone back, throwing jabs of her own. Talking shit in a way that made him want to keep the thread going all night.

He read one line again:

I’m starting to think you’re my kind of trouble.

That one got him.

He stared at it longer than he meant to, rereading it with a twist in his gut.

Was she flirting?

Fuck, he hoped so.

He typed something back—light, deflective, but with an edge. Testing the waters, same as she was. The way her tone danced around the edges of interest made something behind his ribs buzz.

And when she said he was hot?

He actually choked on air.

Sure, she hadn’t said it outright. But the implication was there, and it landed like a punch. The good kind.

That do it for you?

He wasn’t even trying to be smooth anymore. Just real. Because with Karma, it felt easy. Safer, somehow. Like he could say shit he wouldn’t even joke about in real life.

Like maybe someone out there actually liked him for who he was when the volume was off.

And then she hit him with this:

You’re kind of my favorite person lately. That’s probably weird, huh?

His heart fucking stuttered.

Because no. It wasn’t weird.

It was exactly how he felt too.

He could’ve left it on read. Could’ve played it cool. But he didn’t want to.

Not weird. I was already thinking it.

And the second he hit send, he knew he meant it.

Maybe he didn’t know what she looked like. Maybe she lived a mile away or five towns over. Maybe she was just a voice in his phone that helped him feel a little less wrecked on nights like this.

But tonight?

She’d been the only good thing.

And JJ Maybank, for once in his goddamn life, didn’t want to fuck that up.

Chapter Text

***KIE***

The Boneyard was buzzing.

Driftwood stacked high in the pit, flames licking toward the stars. Music bleeding from a half-busted speaker someone had duct-taped to a cooler. The air was thick with salt and smoke and the scent of cheap beer.

They’d rolled in like a circus caravan—the Twinkie rattling over the dunes like it might fall apart at any second.

JJ had jumped out first, a six-pack balanced precariously on his head like it was a crown, arms outstretched in mock celebration.

“Your king has arrived,” he announced.

“Your beer’s warm,” Pope muttered, hopping down after him.

“Wrong. It’s sun-kissed.” JJ tossed a can at him with zero aim. It hit the sand.

Sarah, already hopping out of the back, landed barefoot and immediately turned to Kiara and Cleo with a deadpan look. “So… bets on how long before JJ sets something on fire tonight?”

“Technically, he’s not allowed near open flames anymore,” Kiara said, deadpan.

“That was one time,” JJ called. “And the eyebrows grew back, thank you very much.”

Cleo gave him a look. “Bold of you to assume anyone was talking about your eyebrows, blondie.”

JJ wiggled said brows at her and sauntered past like he hadn’t just been roasted.

“Maybe I should take notes,” Kiara muttered. “If I cause enough chaos, maybe my parents will stop emailing me college essay prompts.”

Pope snorted. “You still getting the full Ivy League guilt trip?”

“Every day,” Kie sighed. “I so much as open Instagram and my mom texts me a scholarship link. Like, calm down—I don’t even know what I want for dinner, let alone my future.”

“Could always take a gap year,” John B offered. “That’s my plan. Gap year, gap decade… gap lifestyle.”

“Tempting,” Kiara said. “Except they’d probably GPS-chip my surfboard if I tried.”

Cleo clinked her flask lightly against her cup. “To saving your problems for another night, girl. Forget about it for right now”

It wasn’t long before they scattered—Pope setting up his improvised tournament zone, John B hauling logs to the fire pit like it was a noble quest, JJ stealing the speaker to hijack the playlist with something aggressively nostalgic and just a little too loud.

Kiara leaned against the hood of the Twinkie, half a Solo cup in hand, letting the heat of the fire soak into her skin. Sarah was already spinning in the sand like she was auditioning for a perfume commercial, John B trailing her like a dumb puppy.

Classic.

Cleo was perched on the tailgate nearby, legs swinging, a flask in one hand and a wicked grin on her face as she heckled Pope mid-turn. “That’s your big move? I’ve seen sand crabs with more strategy, my guy.”

Pope, to his credit, didn’t miss a beat. He held up a flip-flop like a trophy. “You doubt the master, and yet here I am, reigning champ of beach beer pong-slash-cornhole-slash-whatever this is.”

Cleo rolled her eyes, but she was laughing.

Kiara smiled faintly and took another sip. Nights like this, when Cleo showed up, the chaos of the group felt a little more manageable. She liked having another girl in the mix—someone sharp and unbothered who could match the boys jab for jab and didn’t flinch when JJ got loud or Pope got over-explainey. Cleo made it easier to breathe. Like maybe Kiara wasn’t the only one trying to hold her own in a sea of boys and bravado.

It felt good. Warm. Familiar.

Then, like clockwork—

“Carrera, please tell me you didn’t just yell at that kid for dropping a beer tab in the sand.”

Kiara didn’t have to look to know who it was.

She exhaled slowly and turned her head. JJ was walking up, grin crooked, cutoff tee off kilter, a beer dangling from two fingers like he was allergic to holding anything properly.

“I politely reminded him that the ocean doesn’t need more aluminum, thanks,” she replied coolly.

JJ leaned beside her, far too close for someone she was perpetually annoyed by. “You’re like an eco terminator,” he said. “Sworn enemy of six-pack rings. Probably have a recycling symbol tattooed on your ass.”

She rolled her eyes. “Wow. Original. You come up with that on your ride over or just now while trying not to trip on your own shoelace?”

His grin only widened. “No, that was off the cuff. But I’m adding it to the set list.”

She shook her head, but her lips twitched.

Goddamn him.

It wasn’t that the joke was that funny—it wasn’t. But the way he delivered it, the stupid tilt of his head, the smug little pause like he knew he was annoying—it was almost charming. Almost.

Still, she couldn’t give him that.

She took a slow sip from her cup. “Do the world a favor and don’t quit your day job.”

“I don’t have a day job.”

“Exactly.”

JJ let out a bark of laughter, and for a moment, it wasn’t combative. It was something else. Something almost easy.

Too easy.

It reminded her—annoyingly—of how things used to be. Before they were enemies. Before everything got tangled and sharp-edged. Back when she still hung out with the boys on purpose and JJ hadn’t yet proven himself to be the kind of mistake she regretted.

They weren’t friends, not really. Not anymore. But sometimes—when the beer was cold and the fire was high and he wasn’t actively pissing her off—it almost felt like they could’ve been.

There was always this push and pull between them. Like even when she tried to hate him—and God, she tried—something in him kept tugging at something in her. Like gravity. Like a bad habit.

She fired back without thinking. He grinned like he knew she would.

And that was the problem.

Because sometimes, when he wasn’t being a jackass, he was almost fun. Almost the version of him she’d once maybe liked.

Almost.

But not quite.

They were two beers past competitive beach cornhole and one Sarah chant away from chaos when someone finally shouted it:
“Truth or dare!”

Sarah lit up immediately, already half-drunk and barefoot, sprawled across the blanket like a sun-worshipping cat. “Yes. Finally. We are doing this.”

Pope groaned. “I think I’m too old for this game.”

“You’re eighteen,” Cleo deadpanned. “Calm down, grandpa.”

The circle gathered loosely around the fire—cans in hand, cheeks flushed from booze and sun and whatever passed for a breeze that night. JJ flopped back onto the sand like he owned it, arms behind his head, grinning like someone who fully intended to cause trouble.

Sarah pointed her beer straight at Kiara. “You first.”

Kiara narrowed her eyes. “What, truth?”

“Duh,” Sarah said sweetly. “Let’s start strong.”

Kiara shrugged. “Fine.”

“Who’s the guy?”

Kiara blinked. “What guy?”

“The guy,” Sarah pressed. “The one you’ve been texting nonstop. Smiling at your phone like it’s feeding you compliments and forehead kisses.”

Pope looked up from his drink. “Wait, what guy?”

“There is no guy,” Kiara said immediately, the words automatic.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Mm-hmm.”

Cleo leaned in, grinning. “You’ve been acting real shady lately. All those secret little smiles? You’ve either got a man or you’ve joined a cult.”

“I text you all the time,” Kiara said, pointing at Sarah. “Does that make you my secret lover?”

Sarah shrugged. “Would explain a lot.”

Kiara rolled her eyes. “Okay, for the record: there is no mystery boy. I’m not secretly dating anyone. I’m not sexting anyone. I’m not even flirting.”

“Lies,” Cleo said under her breath.

“I’m serious!” Kiara insisted. “If I’m smiling at my phone, it’s probably because I saw a video of a raccoon using a slip-n-slide. Not everything is about boys.”

JJ didn’t say anything.

Didn’t look at her.

But Kiara felt him not looking.

Sarah smirked. “Alright, alright. Chill. Deny your little love affair. But when I catch you grinning at your phone again, I’m checking your lock screen.”

Kiara groaned and flopped dramatically into the sand. “I hate you.”

Sarah winked. “That’s a yes.”

“It’s a no!”

Everyone laughed. The game rolled on.

But JJ wasn’t laughing. Not really. His gaze flicked to her—quick, unreadable—before he looked back at the fire. Kiara didn’t notice. Not consciously. But something under her skin buzzed.

“Next,” she muttered.

Sarah smirked like she’d already won and turned to JJ. “Your turn, hotshot. Truth or dare.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Truth.”

Sarah leaned in, predatory. “Who’s the last person you hooked up with?”

That wiped the smirk clean off his face.

Cleo let out a low whistle. “Yikes. That’s a landmine.”

Kiara’s heart stopped. Just for a second.

She didn’t even mean to hold her breath, but she did—waiting, tense, unsure which answer would be worse.

If he said her name—spilled it, casually, out loud—she’d kill him. Probably.

But if he said someone else? Someone random?

She wasn’t sure she could stomach that either.

Her gut twisted in a way that made her want to be mad about it. But mostly it just made her confused.

JJ blinked once. Smirked. And then—

“Pass,” he said, brushing a hand through his hair. “Ask a different one.”

Kiara let out the tiniest breath. Relief, sharp and unexpected, hit her in the chest like a punch.

“Fine,” Sarah said, drawing it out. Then, with a slow smile: “Who in this group would you hook up with?”

Kiara looked up just in time to see JJ hesitate.

Just for a beat.

Like he was actually thinking about it. Like he was debating whether to say something stupid or something real.

And then—

“Kie.”

Silence.

Sarah cackled. “Knew it!”

JJ shrugged, all casual arrogance. “She’s the only one here who’s single. And mean to me. Which we all know is my type.”

Kiara’s stomach did something she refused to acknowledge. She forced a laugh, casual and dismissive. “Flattered, really. But I’d rather make out with a jellyfish.”

JJ just smirked. “Please, Carrera. You’d be lucky. I’d rock your world.”

She just rolled her eyes and didn’t dignify him with a response. Refusing to acknowledge that he did that once already.

John B made a gagging noise. Pope threw a beer tab at JJ’s head. Cleo raised her drink like she was watching a soap opera.

But Kiara couldn’t stop thinking about the look on his face before he said it.

And the even weirder part?

She wasn’t sure it was a joke.

The moment passed. The game rolled on.

Sarah dared Pope to shotgun a beer while standing on one foot. He managed it—barely—then fell sideways into the sand, triumphantly belching like it was an Olympic finish.

Cleo was dared to prank-call Topper and pretend to be his long-lost cousin. She went full Southern drawl, claiming she was coming to town for the “family hog rodeo,” and had him genuinely confused for a full sixty seconds before hanging up in a fit of laughter.

John B, grinning, got dared to give Sarah a lap dance to the next song that played—which unfortunately ended up being Nickelback. He committed anyway, much to everyone’s horror.

Then Pope got hit with a truth.

“Alright, Pope,” Sarah said, eyes twinkling. “Who was your first real crush?”

Pope groaned. “Like… ever?”

“Ever.”

He sighed dramatically. “Mrs. Fleming. Third grade. She read us Charlotte’s Web and wore cardigans with elbow patches. I was in love.”

Everyone howled.

JJ got dared to speak in a British accent for the next three rounds and immediately went full Shakespearean tragedy, narrating his beer like it was poisoned mead.

Kiara couldn’t stop laughing. But every time JJ glanced her way—still smirking, still riding the high from his earlier comment—her stomach flipped in a way that wasn’t entirely from the alcohol.

Eventually, the game dissolved—someone yelled about needing a beer refill, someone else wandered off to make out behind the dunes, and a new wave of Kooks started trickling in from another bonfire down the beach.

The circle unraveled.

Music surged louder, the vibe tipping from goofy to chaotic. A few people danced. Someone lit a second fire pit, and Sarah disappeared toward it, dragging John B behind her.

Kiara ended up by herself near the coolers, trying to fish out something that wasn’t warm Modelo. She was bent at the waist, half in the ice, when she heard:

“Well, if it isn’t the life of the party. Found the VIP section, huh?”

She turned, unsurprised.

JJ stood a few feet away, cup in hand, smirk softer now—less cocky, more familiar. His shirt hung loose, damp at the collar like he’d just lost a drinking game or gotten pushed in the surf.

Kiara straightened up, letting the cooler lid thud shut. “If this is you trying to be charming, you might want to try again.”

“Wasn’t trying,” he said easily. “Just figured you looked like you could use a better drink.”

That gave her pause. Not snark. Not a dig. Just… something close to nice.

She arched a brow, tone dry. “And you just wandered over out of the goodness of your heart?”

JJ shrugged. “Call it a peace offering.”

Her lips twitched. She didn’t take the bait.

“Well,” she said finally, cracking open the new can he nudged toward her, “miracles do happen.”

He clinked his cup lightly against hers. “Don’t get used to it.”

But she held his gaze for a beat longer than usual. And didn’t walk away.

Not yet.

She was about to turn back toward the fire when it happened.

Some random Kook she didn’t recognize stumbled up—tank top, too tan, clearly drunk—and leered at her over his drink.

“Damn,” the guy said, swagger lazy and voice too loud. “You’re way too hot to be hanging with these Pogues.”

Kiara didn’t even blink. “Try that line on someone dumber,” she snapped, brushing past him.

He laughed like she was joking. She wasn’t.

“Relax,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m just saying—if you want to ditch the charity case friends, I could show you a good time.”

She gave him a flat look. “I’d rather die.”

That should’ve ended it.

But then he muttered, loud enough to sting, “Bitch.”

JJ got there before she could turn.

“What did you just say?” JJ said evenly, stepping between them.

The guy blinked. “Chill, man. Just messing around.”

JJ stepped forward. “Yeah? Maybe try fucking off before I mess around with your jaw.”

It was loud enough to draw attention, quiet enough to sound dangerous. His whole body had gone still—tight, braced, like a switch had flipped.

Pope was already moving toward him. John B grabbed JJ’s shoulder from behind, pulling him back half a step.

“JJ—dude, not worth it.”

JJ didn’t budge at first. Just kept staring the guy down with that look he got when his hands itched to do something reckless. But then he huffed a breath, shook his head, and stepped back.

The guy scoffed, muttered something under his breath, and disappeared into the crowd.

Kiara stared, stunned.

JJ didn’t look at her. Didn’t wait for thanks. Just said, low and offhand—

“Some guys don’t know how to take no for an answer. That’s on them. Not you.”

And then he walked off, like he hadn’t just short-circuited her entire emotional defense system.

Kiara stared after him, unsure what the hell just happened.

And even more unsure why it kind of made her heart skip.

__________________

Later, the party started to blur at the edges—bonfire smoke curling into the sky, someone’s speaker half-dying mid-song, empty cans rattling underfoot like wind chimes made of trash. The crowd had thinned out, most of the Kooks already peeled off, too soft for the Boneyard past midnight.

Kiara lingered near the fire, nursing her drink and trying not to keep glancing around like she was looking for someone.

JJ was still being… JJ. He’d taken over someone’s tailgate like it was his personal throne, holding court with Pope and a few other guys. But he wasn’t turned up to eleven the way he usually was.

She caught it in a quiet moment—JJ tossing a shell at Pope, laughing too hard at some dumb inside joke, his whole body leaning in with easy affection as he slung an arm around his friend’s shoulder. His smile was wide and real, unguarded in a way that made her chest go tight.

It was disarming.

Because the JJ she knew—hell, the JJ she loathed—was all sharp edges and chaos. This version? This glimpse of something softer? It was confusing.

He was still a dick. Still cocky and impossible and way too good at getting under her skin. But…

Maybe also a little protective.

And still stupid hot, unfortunately.

She watched as he drifted from the group, headed toward the tree line. Probably to piss or just escape the chaos for a minute. His silhouette flickered between light and shadow as he walked, solo and quiet in a way that made her pulse skip.

And for reasons she didn’t care to unpack, her feet were already moving before she could stop herself.

She found him a little ways off, leaned against the side of his dirt bike. One foot in the sand. Head tilted up toward the trees like they might offer answers.

When he noticed her, his expression didn’t shift. But he didn’t tell her to leave, either.

“Carrera,” he said, voice low. “Should’ve known you’d find the only quiet spot and ruin it.”

She folded her arms, but didn’t rise to it. “Just came to say thanks.”

His head tilted. “For what?”

She gave him a look. “Earlier. The guy with the white hat and the walking STD energy.”

“Oh.” He blinked, like it hadn’t really registered. “Didn’t like how he was talking to you.”

Kiara raised an eyebrow. “That’s… shockingly mature of you.”

“Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation. Plus, I was overdue for a bout of fisticuffs”

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth before she could stop it. Dammit.

He caught it. Grinned. “See? At least I’m funny when I’m an asshole.”

She didn’t laugh. But she didn’t walk away either.

For a second, the air between them settled. No barbs. No noise. Just that weird, fragile space where neither of them knew what they were doing anymore.

“It was cool of you,” she said finally. “Unexpected. But cool.”

JJ shrugged, looking out at the water. “Yeah, well. You didn’t need me. But… figured it couldn’t hurt.”

It wasn’t much. But it felt real.

She nodded, shoving her hands into her hoodie pocket, silence stretching again—lighter this time. Not so sharp around the edges.

Then, because she didn’t know what else to say—and hated the way her chest felt warm about it—she added, “Still hate you, for the record.”

That got him to look at her, smirk sliding in slow. “Obviously.”

She didn’t stay long. Just long enough to feel weird about leaving.

But not weird enough to stay.

Because whatever that was?

She wasn’t ready to name it.

________________________

The fire had burned lower now, more ember than flame. Music still buzzed from the speaker, but it had mellowed—something moody and a little sad sneaking onto the playlist. The wind off the dunes had picked up too, brushing against Kiara’s bare arms, tugging at the edge of her shirt.

She hadn’t moved from her spot in a while, just watched the night stretch and shift.

Pope was tucked close to Cleo now, her feet in his lap, both of them half-drunk and locked in some low, amused debate. Sarah was curled up next to John B, her head on his shoulder, his arm looped casually around her like it lived there. They were in their own world. Always had been, really.

And Kiara?

She wasn’t sure what world she was in tonight.

It wasn’t loneliness exactly—she wasn’t alone. She was surrounded by people who cared about her. Who knew her. But sometimes that just made it worse. Like standing in a crowded room and still feeling invisible. Or like everyone else had already figured it out—how to be part of something—and she was still out here floating.

She sipped her drink, throat dry.

Across the fire, JJ was talking to someone. Some girl she didn’t know. Just one of the randoms who’d tagged along. Nothing flirty, really. Just a conversation. But the girl laughed at something he said, tilted her chin in a way Kiara recognized. The way girls leaned in when they wanted to be noticed.

Kiara’s stomach twisted before she could stop it.

She looked away fast, hating herself a little.

It didn’t mean anything. JJ was a walking disaster. Loud and smug and reckless as hell. Not her type. Not her problem. And yet…

And yet.

Maybe that was why she liked talking to Birdshit so much. Why she kept going back to CarveLine like it was a secret she needed to feed. Because there was no mess there. No complication. No memories curled around old mistakes. Just banter and wit and the kind of connection that made her feel seen instead of stuck.

And maybe that scared her, too.

Because what if she was just reaching for something—someone—to fill a space she didn’t want to admit was empty?

Kiara exhaled, eyes tracing the edge of the firelight, the silhouettes of her friends growing blurrier against the dark.

She didn’t know what was going on with JJ. Didn’t know why the sight of him talking to someone else made her chest tighten. But she did know this:

She couldn’t stop thinking about Birdshit.

And that—more than anything—was why she needed a minute alone.

She found a cooler and crouched down beside it, dragging out a half-warm can and cracking it open.

“Running off already?” Cleo’s voice floated in from behind her.

Kiara glanced over her shoulder. “Hydrating.”

Cleo arched a brow, unimpressed. “With a borderline flat Modelo?”

Kiara shrugged. “It’s wet.”

Cleo grinned and plopped down next to her in the sand, stretching her legs out. “So. You and loverboy gonna fight all night again or just make out behind a dune and call it a draw?”

Kiara choked. “What?”

“You heard me,” Cleo said, all mischief. “The tension? Palpable. I could cut it with Pope’s rusty pocket knife.”

“There is no tension,” Kiara said firmly, too firmly.

Cleo hummed. “Okay.”

“There’s definitely no making out.”

“Mmhmm.”

“And he’s not my loverboy.”

Cleo took a slow sip from her flask, like she had all the time in the world. “Sure. Just your favorite person to insult. And stare at. And follow into the trees when he walks off alone.”

Kiara’s mouth opened. Closed.

“I wasn’t following him. I just—ugh.” She flopped backward into the sand. “He was being weirdly decent earlier and I didn’t know what to do with that.”

Cleo snorted. “Poor thing. A man shows an ounce of growth and you’re spiraling.”

“I’m not spiraling,” Kiara muttered, glaring at the stars.

But she kind of was.

Because JJ had said her name during truth or dare. Just thrown it out there like it meant nothing. Like it wasn’t a grenade he lobbed directly into her chest. And yeah, he’d been joking—he always was—but still. It left her rattled in a way she didn’t have words for.

“You sure you don’t like him?” Cleo asked, tone casual.

Kiara didn’t answer right away.

Because tonight, everything felt off-kilter.

JJ wasn’t being awful. Not really. And for all his usual chaos, he’d stepped in when that guy got too close. He hadn’t made a show of it. He hadn’t rubbed it in. He just… had her back. Quietly. Like it was second nature.

And now?

Now she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d looked when he smiled at Pope. Or the way his voice sounded when he said, You didn’t need me. But figured it couldn’t hurt. Like it mattered.

She exhaled slowly.

“I don’t hate him,” she admitted.

Cleo turned, one brow raised.

Kiara winced. “Tonight. I don’t hate him tonight. That’s all.”

Cleo grinned. “Sure, Kie. Whatever you say.”

Kiara shot her a death glare.

But she didn’t deny it again. Not out loud.

Because the more she said it, the less it felt true.

_____________________________

Kiara’s skin still smelled like bonfire, and the salt air hadn’t left her hair. She peeled off her hoodie and flopped backward onto her bed, limbs heavy but restless. Her body was tired, but her brain was buzzing—too wired to sleep, too charged to settle.

And she knew exactly why.

She didn’t even mean to check CarveLine—it was just a habit now. Tap, scroll, breathe. Something about the forum calmed her. Maybe because it felt like the only space where she didn’t have to pretend.

She scrolled through the comments on a thread from yesterday:

@SaltyDog got banned again. Free speech or nah?

She and Birdshit had been talking about it earlier:

Birdshit: RIP @SaltyDog. Gone but never forgotten.

Karma: Guy was one surfboard short of a full set anyway. Natural selection.

Birdshit: Lmao. Still. Mods are drunk with power.

Karma: Sounds like someone’s next 😈

The replies were already unhinged. Memes. Theories. Someone had edited a GIF of him surfing into the burning meme dumpster.

She clicked into the comments, then into her DMs before she could stop herself—like she wasn’t already hoping there was one waiting for her.

One new message.

Birdshit.

Her stomach flipped.

It wasn’t like this was new—he messaged her all the time. But something about it tonight felt… anticipatory. Maybe it was the post-party adrenaline still humming through her veins. Maybe it was the way JJ had looked at her earlier. Or maybe she just wanted this—the version of the night where she didn’t leave the party annoyed, but came home to something electric.

She opened the chat.

Their most recent messages were still on the screen.

Birdshit:
You ever get that feeling like someone was mentally undressing you with their eyes… and then realized it was just because you had seaweed in your hair?

She let out a laugh—sharp and surprised—and kicked her feet up, biting her lip.

God, he was so stupid. And somehow? It totally worked.

Karma:
Literally happened to me last week. Except it wasn’t seaweed, it was one of those jellyfish balloons. So much worse.

Birdshit:
Nah, I feel like that makes you look dangerous. Like “she’s hot but probably poisonous.”

Karma:
So… your type then?

Her heart beat a little faster. She wasn’t sure when she stopped playing it safe with him, but the flirty edge was there now—undeniable and thrilling. She could feel it in the tips of her fingers.

Birdshit:
Definitely my type. Sharp tongue, scary ocean vibes, kinda hot and a little unhinged. 10/10 would risk drowning.

She covered her mouth to smother the sound that came out of her. This was ridiculous. She was grinning at her phone like a twelve-year-old with a crush.

Because that’s exactly what this was, wasn’t it?

Karma:
Sounds like you’ve got a death wish. I bite, you know.

Birdshit:
I was hoping.

Jesus.

She sat up straighter, the warmth spreading under her skin now a low, slow burn.

It was different tonight. More direct. There wasn’t the usual smoke screen of sarcasm. He was still being clever, but there was a heat behind it now. Like he was actually interested. And maybe testing to see if she’d bite back.

Spoiler: she would.

Karma: Careful. I might start to think you’re flirting.

Birdshit: Might? Girl, I’ve been flirting. You’re just a slow reader.

She should have rolled her eyes. But instead, her chest fluttered and she let herself smile. Really smile.

Karma: You’re trouble.

Birdshit: Finally. She gets it.

Pause. Then—

The screen lit up with a new message just as she settled deeper into her blankets.

Birdshit: You’re the kind of person I wish I knew in real life.

Because I’d be all over that. Like, no way I’d play it cool.

Kiara’s breath caught in her throat.

Shit.

There was something about the confidence in it—not cocky, exactly, but intentional. Like he’d meant every word. Like he wasn’t afraid to say it and see what she did next.

And what she did… was melt.

Her heart thudded in that annoying, traitorous way. Warmth pooled low in her belly, half thrill, half tension. This wasn’t just playful anymore. It was bordering on dangerous.

Not because she didn’t like it.

Because she really did.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second longer than usual before she replied.

Karma:
Is that so?

You gonna tell me what “all over that” looks like?

Hypothetically, of course.

She hit send before she could overthink it—and then grinned as the typing bubble popped up immediately.

The typing bubble blinked.

Disappeared.

Came back.

Paused again.

Kiara grinned at her screen.

Got him flustered, huh?

Then—

Birdshit:
Hypothetically?

Obviously I’d know it was you—because you’d be the hottest and coolest chick in sight.

Probably talk shit just to make you look at me.

Then I’d keep you laughing until you forgot you were trying not to like me.

Kiara’s stomach did a full somersault.

Jesus.

Who was this guy?

Her fingers moved before she could talk herself out of it.

Karma: So your whole game plan is annoying me into falling for you?

Bold move.

Birdshit: It’s worked before.

Karma: Pretty confident for someone named after seagull poop.

But okay. I’m listening.

His reply came fast.

Birdshit: I’d find an excuse to walk you home.

Even if you lived ten feet away.

And I’d definitely kiss you if you let me.

Kiara stared at the screen, heart hammering.

The worst part?

She wanted that.

All of it.

Which was insane. She didn’t know him. Not really. But somehow it felt like he already knew her—in a way no one else did.

Her thumbs hovered. Then typed.

Karma:
You talk a big game, Birdshit.

But maybe I’d let you.

The pause this time was longer.

She could almost see him thinking on the other end. Could almost feel it.

And then—

Birdshit:
Careful, Karma.

I fall hard for girls who give me trouble.

Kiara bit her lip, trying not to grin like a total idiot.

God, he was good at this.

Confident, but not sleazy. Sweet, but not soft. The kind of flirty that made her stomach do flips and her brain forget every reason she shouldn’t be smiling at her screen right now.

She sank deeper into her blankets, fingers hovering.

And then she typed:

Karma:
Trouble seems to be following me lately.

Told some guy I wasn’t interested tonight and it nearly broke out in fisticuffs.
Weird night.

It wasn’t a big deal. Not really. She could’ve left it out. Could’ve kept it surface-level and cheeky like always.

But it felt natural. Easy.

Like sharing something real with someone who’d get it.

Someone safe.

The typing bubble popped up instantly… then flickered out. Popped up again. Paused.

She tucked her chin into her pillow, watching it.

_______________________________

***JJ***

By the time JJ made it back to the Chateau, the night had cooled into something quiet.

He kicked his shoes off at the door, his pockets full of sand and something heavier. From the back room, he could hear the low murmur of John B’s voice and Sarah’s softer laugh—TV flickering, floorboards creaking under familiar weight. Homey. Loud in its own way. But JJ didn’t stop.

He padded through the kitchen without a word, opened a cabinet, stared blankly at a box of cereal, then shut it again like that had answered something.

Then he ducked straight into his room and closed the door behind him.

Because he wanted to be alone.

Kind of.

What the hell was that tonight?

He replayed it as he paced—bare feet, slow steps, back and forth like he could wear a groove in the floor.

Kie.

He’d said Kie.

It wasn’t even supposed to be a real answer. When Sarah hit him with that dumb truth or dare follow-up—“Who in this group would you hook up with?”—he’d planned to dodge it. Make a joke. Say Pope, just to make him squirm. Or Cleo, for the reaction.

But then he’d looked across the fire and seen her.

Kiara, flushed from the heat and half-smiling like she didn’t mean to be.

And for some reason—maybe the beer, maybe the way she was looking anywhere but at him.—he said her name.

Kie.

Just like that. Like it was obvious.

And her face—God. That second of flicker, just before she masked it. She’d looked... thrown. Like she didn’t know whether to slap him or laugh. And weirdly, that made him feel good. Like maybe he wasn’t the only one constantly trying not to look too long.

And then she came over. Thanked him.

He didn’t even know what to do with that.

She wasn’t mean. Wasn’t sarcastic or prickly or pissed. Just… there. Real. And when she said he didn’t need to step in but it was cool that he had? He couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

Not everything. But something.

It felt like progress.

He replayed it all in his head as he collapsed onto the couch, kicking his legs over the side. His phone was already in his hand before he even realized it.

CarveLine. Karma.

He opened the thread and just… looked at it.

The last few messages were still sitting there, waiting. That perfect kind of banter they’d slipped into so easily—her calling him out, him pushing just enough to make her smile. He didn’t even have to try that hard with her. It was just fun. Simple. Comfortable in a way that almost scared him.

He started typing.

Paused.

Backspaced the first line. Too much.

Typed again.

Still too honest.

Finally, he landed on something flirty. Teasing. Something he could say without feeling like he was handing her his entire heart on a silver platter.

Birdshit:
You ever get that feeling like someone was mentally undressing you with their eyes… and then realized it was just because you had seaweed in your hair?

He smirked to himself as soon as he sent it. Dumb. But good dumb.

And when she messaged back almost immediately—laughing, matching his rhythm, tossing his words back like a volleyball—he felt the tension ease from his shoulders.

God, she was quick. Sharp. Every reply better than the last. She made him feel like he was actually funny, not just loud. Like someone worth bantering with. Someone worth knowing.

Her message lit up the screen:

Karma:
Sounds like you’ve got a death wish. I bite, you know.

He grinned—couldn’t help it. Thumb already moving.

Birdshit:
I was hoping.

It was so easy with her. Easy in a way nothing ever was with real people. In real life.

Except maybe… tonight. With Kiara.

He shook that off before the thought finished forming.

They kept going—fast, flirty, warm. She teased him about his name. He told her he’d kiss her if she let him. She said maybe she would. And for a second, the world quieted.

He let himself smile like an idiot.

But then…

A new message popped up. Short. Casual.

Except it wasn’t.

Karma:
Trouble seems to be following me lately.

Told some guy I wasn’t interested tonight and it nearly broke out in fisticuffs.

Weird night.

JJ sat up straighter.

And just like that, the air shifted.

He read it once. Then again. Slower.

Fisticuffs.

Does everyone still say fisticuffs?

His thumb hovered over the keyboard, frozen mid-reply. A weird tension coiled in his chest. Not bad. Not good either. Just… tight.

It was familiar.

Too familiar.

It hadn’t even been two hours since the bonfire—since Kiara had roasted some douchebag for trying to hit on her, since JJ had nearly decked the guy for not backing off. No hesitation. Just impulse. Instinct.

And now this girl—this anonymous, impossible not to like girl—was describing a situation that sounded a lot like that?

Coincidence. Had to be. It was a small island. Weird shit happened every day.

Except…

Karma was smart. Sharp-tongued. Knew her surf breaks and didn’t take crap from anyone. She dragged people with surgical precision and could make him laugh without trying. She didn’t flirt like she was trying to win—she flirted like she already had. She was too clever, too confident, too familiar.

And JJ’s stomach turned.

Because what if—

No. No way.

He pushed off the wall, sat up straighter, stared harder at the phone like it might blink out an answer. His pulse picked up. His brain started lining up every back-and-forth they’d ever had. Every weird overlap. Every joke. Every instinct he’d brushed off.

There was no fucking way Karma was Kiara.

That would be twisted.

Because Kiara? Kiara hated him. She didn’t laugh at his jokes, she scoffed. She didn’t flirt, she rolled her eyes. She looked at him like he was a mosquito she hadn’t quite gotten around to swatting yet.

So if Karma was Kiara… that meant the girl he liked in real life—the one who barely tolerated him—was the same girl he was falling for online?

What the hell was he supposed to do with that?

It’d ruin everything.

If it was true, if he confronted it… he could lose the one person who actually made him feel like himself. Karma liked him. The real him. JJ without the armor. JJ without the jokes. If she found out who he really was—and it was Kiara—would she still talk to him?

Would she ghost him all over again?

He clenched his jaw, shoved a hand through his hair, forced himself to breathe.

This couldn’t be real.

It was just a weird overlap. A coincidence. There were plenty of sharp girls in OBX. Plenty who surfed and talked trash and hated being hit on by Kooks.

It didn’t have to be her. He didn’t want it to be her.

Because if it was? He’d be fucked.

Not just because he might lose Karma, but because…

He might already be halfway in love with both of them.

And if they were the same girl? He didn’t think he could survive that.

So he shut it down. Tucked the thought away. Locked the door and threw away the key.

He wasn’t ready to find out.

Instead, he thumbed back into the thread and replied like his heart wasn’t doing backflips.

Birdshit:
Damn.

Remind me never to piss you off in public.

I don't want to get fisticuff’d.

(Also, you okay?)

That guy sounds like a certified tool.
Birdshit:
I’d have backed you up.

No question.

Even if it got messy.

He hesitated. Then added:

Birdshit:
(Not that I condone violence…

Unless it’s on your behalf.

Then it’s obviously justified.)

He meant it. Every word.

Karma:
I mean, I can fight my own battles.

But…

good to know you’d have my back. 😌

That means more than you probably think.

When her response came back, he felt it hit, low and solid in his chest.

His fingers hovered.

He wanted to say something honest. Something real. But not too much. Not yet.

Birdshit:
It feels like you see me different than my friends do.

And I like that

A beat.

Karma:
Maybe I do.

And maybe I like what I see.

JJ swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck even though no one could see him.

Birdshit:
That’s either really good news

Or really dangerous.

And fuck, he meant that too.

The quiet that followed didn’t feel empty. It felt… safe. Like neither of them wanted to break it. Like sitting next to someone in the dark, both of them staring up at the same stars, not saying anything, but knowing.

Her last message came a few minutes later.

Karma:
Sleep tight, Birdshit.

Try not to dream about near-bar fights.

His lips twitched.

Birdshit:
Too late.

Already dreaming about a girl.

She bites.

He hit send before he could overthink it.

Then locked his phone and stared at the ceiling, that stupid warm feeling blooming in his chest like a bruise he didn’t mind pressing on.

Whoever she was… He liked her.

More than he should.

And if it was Kiara?

God help him.

Chapter Text

***JJ ***

The yard at the Chateau was already buzzing by the time JJ rolled up, dirt bike coughing in protest as he cut the engine and kicked down the stand. The late sun was melting down behind the trees, casting everything in a warm, lazy glow. Somewhere out back, Pope was arguing with John B about lighter fluid ratios, and music filtered through the open windows like it had been playing for hours.

JJ was late. Not that anyone cared—least of all him.

He grabbed a beer from the half-buried cooler by the porch, cracked it one-handed, and leaned against the railing like he’d been there the whole time. He was already a couple deep from earlier—boredom drinking, mostly—but the buzz was settling just right. Soft around the edges. Loose in his bones.

And then he saw her.

Kiara was sitting cross-legged on a lawn chair, hoodie sleeves pushed up, bare knees dotted with faint bruises from god-knows-what. She had a Solo cup in one hand and a smirk just starting to bloom as she laughed at something Cleo said.

JJ didn’t hesitate.

“Wow,” he drawled, sauntering closer. “Didn’t realize this was a charity event for uptight princesses. Should’ve brought a crown.”

Kiara blinked. Looked up.

For a split second, her face went still. Like she wasn’t sure which version of him she was about to get. Then, just as fast, her eyes narrowed.

“Didn’t realize this was a clown convention. Where’s your red nose, Maybank?”

JJ grinned, a little too wide. “Oh, sweetheart. You’ve been staring at it all night.”

“Gross.” She deadpanned it, but her mouth twitched. Barely.

Cleo snorted. “Jesus. Do y’all ever just say hi like normal people?”

JJ dropped into the nearest lawn chair with a dramatic sigh. “Where’s the fun in that?”

It was routine now—this thing they did. Quip, jab, smirk, repeat. And maybe he should’ve been over it. Maybe it should’ve felt tired by now. But it didn’t. If anything, it felt more charged lately. Like sparring with live wires. Like one wrong move would burn them both.

Pogue banter flowed around them—John B showed up with skewers, Sarah tried to light one with a dying Bic, Pope heckled from the porch.

But JJ didn’t stop watching her.

Kiara tossed a jab his way about his tragic excuse for a playlist last week. He volleyed back with a comment about her “eco-warrior superiority complex.” It was easy. Familiar.

Until it wasn’t.

Because then there was a pause—just half a second too long—where she held his gaze. And he held it back. And it felt like something was actually happening.

His chest tightened. Not in a bad way. Just... in a way.

She looked away first, brushing hair from her face like she hadn’t noticed. But her leg bounced once, restless.

JJ took a sip of his beer to cover the weird heat in his throat.

The next beat came fast—Pope said something dumb about JJ’s inability to do literally anything useful, and JJ, without thinking, shot back:

“Please. I’ve got great instincts and questionable morals. That’s peak husband material.”

The group cracked up. Even Cleo gave a reluctant snort.

But Kiara blinked.

She stared at him for a beat, brow furrowing slightly. “You’ve definitely said that before.”

JJ froze for a half second. Shit.

He had said that before. In a message. To Karma.

She’d replied: “So… you’re basically a walking red flag with charm?”

He’d grinned about that one for way too long.

Now?

He forced a laugh. “What can I say? I’m consistent.”

Kiara tilted her head, eyes still narrowed—not annoyed. Just… curious.

JJ smirked like it didn’t bother him. “You’re just mad because it’s true.”

She rolled her eyes. “You wish.”

She said it like a joke. But the look lingered a little too long. And JJ could feel something shift under his skin.

Did I seriously just quote Birdshit out loud to Kiara?

Jesus.

And she noticed.

His brain short-circuited.

That line. Her reaction. The way her brow had furrowed like she was piecing something together—it wasn’t nothing. And now, the static that had been buzzing in the background for weeks was suddenly screaming in his skull.

Holy shit. It is her.

Karma. Kiara.

They were the same. He knew it now. Felt it like a punch to the chest.

Every message, every late-night tease, every bit of warmth he’d let himself fall for behind a screen—it had always been her.

His fingers curled tighter around his beer to keep them from shaking.

He didn’t let it show. Couldn’t.

Not yet.

So he took a longer pull from his drink, forced his expression to stay loose, and tried not to let the adrenaline in his chest give him away.

Because now he wasn’t just walking a fine line.

He was straddling a landmine.

“You good?”

JJ blinked and turned—Pope was watching him with an eyebrow raised, already suspicious.

“Yeah,” JJ said. Too fast. Too flat. “Peachy.”

John B wandered over from the fire pit, dragging a half-lit skewer of marshmallows behind him. “You’ve been weird lately, man.”

JJ scoffed. “Define ‘weird.’”

“Like…” John B tilted his head, squinting. “Less feral. More… distracted?”

“Yeah,” Pope added, crossing his arms. “Like your brain’s somewhere else. Or someone.”

JJ rolled his eyes. “Jesus. Is this an intervention?”

“We’re just saying,” Pope said, lowering his voice. “You and Kiara have been... different.”

JJ’s jaw tensed. “We’ve always been like this.”

“Not like that,” John B said, frowning. “You used to flirt with her like, for real. Back in the day.”

JJ barked a laugh. “No I didn’t.”

“Dude,” Pope said, flat. “You brought her flowers one time.”

“They were from someone’s front yard!”

“You still picked them,” John B said, smiling now. “You totally liked her.”

JJ shook his head. “I was just being nice.”

Pope didn’t look convinced. “So what happened? You two used to hang. Now it’s like, all daggers and tension.”

JJ shrugged. Forced casual. “Guess we grew up.”

Bullshit.

They didn’t know. About that night. About how he’d wanted her for real. About how badly it had blown up in his face.

They didn’t know that sometimes, when she laughed just a little too close, it pressed into a bruise that never fully healed. That he’d replayed her walking away more times than he could count.

They definitely didn’t know he might’ve been messaging her for weeks under a dumb anonymous handle—and she didn’t even realize it was him.

How the fuck was he supposed to explain that?

“Hey, remember when I said I didn’t like her? Turns out I never got over her. And now I’ve been sexting her by accident. She just doesn’t know it’s me.”

Yeah. That would go over great.

There were too many secrets now. Too many tangled threads he couldn’t pull without unraveling the whole thing.

So he did what he always did when things got too close to real.

Deny. Deny. Deny.

“Seriously,” Pope said, narrowing his eyes. “There’s something going on with you two.”

JJ threw back the rest of his beer and stood up. “Nothing’s going on. Drop it.”

They exchanged a look behind his back.

He ignored it.

Because the truth was complicated. And secret. And so far past the point of normal that JJ didn’t even know what he was protecting anymore.

Just that it was his.

And he wasn’t ready to let it go.

_________________________

The group started to thin out just as the sun dipped behind the trees. Someone shouted something about a food run, and John B offered to drive, dragging Pope along with him to “supervise.” Sarah climbed into the back of the Twinkie to hunt for napkins and promptly forgot what she was doing, legs dangling as she chatted with Cleo.

JJ didn’t move.

And neither did Kiara.

She’d migrated to the edge of the porch at some point, just a few feet from where he was leaned against the railing, arms crossed. Closer than usual. Close enough that he could smell the smoke in her hair.

Not that he was paying attention.

Definitely not.

“So,” she said after a moment, casual but not really. “Still proud of that playlist?”

JJ raised an eyebrow. “You mean the one that carried the entire vibe last weekend?”

Kiara scoffed. “If by ‘carried the vibe’ you mean almost made me climb into the ocean and never come back—sure.”

JJ tilted his head. “Admit it. You liked the 2000s deep cuts.”

Before she could shoot a response back, her phone dinged and she glanced down.

He caught the way her smile faltered—just a flicker—and he knew exactly what that was.

Her parents. The pressure. The college stuff she pretended didn’t bother her but kept bleeding through at the edges.

It killed him that she didn’t talk about it out loud—not to him, anyway. Not as JJ.

But she had. In pieces. Late at night. In messages she thought were anonymous.

And now he was standing here, watching her carry the weight he already knew was there, and pretending he didn’t see it.

Because what the hell was he supposed to say? “Hey, I know you feel lost about your future because you told me last night when I was pretending to be a faceless beach god”?

No. He just smiled instead. Played along.

And tried not to let it show how badly he wanted to take that weight off her.

She gave him a sidelong glance. “One good Paramore track doesn’t redeem a Nickelback spiral.”

He clutched his chest like she’d stabbed him. “Wow. That’s rich coming from someone who unironically listens to lo-fi whale noises while she drives.”

“It’s relaxing,” she said, defensively.

“It’s haunting. I thought my engine was possessed.”

That earned a laugh from her.

It caught him off guard—low and real and nothing like the sharp-edged sparring they usually fell into. He didn’t hear that laugh often. Not from her. Not directed at him.

He grinned, but something about it felt… different.

Like they weren’t fighting.

Not really.

And maybe that should’ve been weird. But it wasn’t. It was easy. Warm, even.

Which was exactly why JJ didn’t trust it.

He looked at her—really looked—and for a second, she met his gaze.

No smirk. No eye roll.

Just this quiet little look, like she wasn’t sure what they were doing either.

JJ’s stomach did this slow, unsettling flip. He didn’t know what the hell to do with that.

So he broke eye contact. Fast. Reached for his drink. Tried to pretend like he hadn’t just caught a feeling he wasn’t supposed to have.

This wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

Right?

Just Kiara. Just banter. Just… whatever the hell they were.

Except now, he was wondering why it felt more like a beginning than another round of their usual back and forth.

And that? That was dangerous.

__________________________

***KIE***

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

Her hoodie hit the floor in a lazy heap. She kicked off her shoes, tugged her hair out of its loose braid, and flopped backward onto her bed without bothering to turn on the light.

The scent of bonfire still clung to her skin. Smoke and sea air and sunscreen. Her legs were sore from sitting cross-legged too long, and there was sand in her sheets—again—but she didn’t care.

She should’ve been asleep by now. It wasn’t even midnight. But her brain wouldn’t shut up.

She kept thinking about him.

JJ had shown up like he always did—late, loud, already halfway buzzed. He’d tossed some smug comment at her within ten seconds of arriving, like it was his version of a greeting. Like he couldn’t help himself.

And what pissed her off the most was… she hadn’t hated it.

Not really.

She’d clapped back like she always did. But the banter? The rhythm of it tonight? It felt different. Sharper, sure—but also lighter. Like they were toeing a line neither of them wanted to name.

And when he made that dumb “husband material” joke?

It shouldn’t have stuck. But it had. Because she knew she’d heard it before. Somewhere.

The thought itched behind her eyes.

She rolled onto her side, tugged the blanket up to her chin, and stared at the glow of her phone charging on the nightstand.

She didn’t mean to reach for it.

But her hand moved on its own.

CarveLine was already open.

But instead of checking her messages right away, she found herself lingering on the homepage.

The main thread was still blowing up—something about the underground summer comp getting out of hand.

“Should be invite-only. Too many Kooks trying to tag in.”

“Y’all gatekeep harder than a country club.”

“Mods should let anyone sign up. Skill speaks louder than lineage.”

Kiara rolled her eyes.

God, they were exhausting.

But she didn’t scroll past.

She skimmed the comments, caught a few familiar usernames, half-scanned a list of rumored entrants—some real, most probably trolling.

Still... something about it itched under her skin.

She hadn’t competed since she was fifteen. Junior bracket. One shitty heat, too much pressure, and her mom talking about “wasted potential” the whole drive home.

But she could.

And part of her wanted to.

Just to shut them up.

Just to prove she could.

She spotted Birdshit’s username deep in the thread, tagged in someone’s reply, and her stomach did something stupid.

She wondered if he’d compete.

She wondered if JJ would.

Not that she’d ever admit that out loud.

She clicked into her messages before she could overthink it.

One new message.

Birdshit:
You’ve been running through my mind all day, Karma.

I don’t know how I’m even attracted to like… words. Or pixels.

But damn.

Kiara stared at the message, pulse tripping.

God, he really said that.

And the worst part?

She’d been thinking about him all day too.

Her thumbs flew before she could overthink it.

Karma:
That’s funny.

Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you either.

Might be contagious.

The typing bubble popped up instantly.

Birdshit:
Dangerous game.

You sure you wanna start this?

She bit her lip, grinning into the dark.

Karma:
Who says I’m starting anything?

I’m just curious.

What exactly were you thinking about?

There was a pause.

Longer than usual.

She stared at the screen, heart pounding.

Then:

Birdshit:
Mostly what you’re like outside of my screen.

What your mouth tastes like after a beer.

What your body feels like pressed up against mine.

She swallowed hard.

Her thighs shifted under the covers. Her whole body buzzing now.

That was… yeah. That was something.

She didn’t even stop to second-guess.

Karma:
Bold of you to assume I’d let you get that far.

Birdshit:
I don’t know.

You haven’t told me to stop yet.

Her breath caught.

Fuck.

He was right.

And the worst part?

She didn’t want him to stop.

Her fingers hovered, heartbeat thudding a little too loud in the quiet. She knew she could pull back. Keep it light. Pivot. But something about tonight—about him—made her reckless.

So she threw him a bone.

Karma:
Maybe I want to see what else you’d say.

Hypothetically.

Unless you’re out of ideas already.

She hit send before she could regret it. Then flipped her pillow over, pressing her face into the cool side like that might stop the flush rising up her neck.

The bubble popped up almost immediately.

Birdshit:
Oh, I’ve got plenty of ideas when it comes to you.

Kiara let out a sound she didn’t mean to—something soft and startled, like the wind had been knocked out of her.

Her body was suddenly very aware of itself. Of the way her tank top clung to the slope of her shoulder. Of the way her thighs were pressed together under the blanket, every nerve on alert.

Jesus.

She stared at the screen, trying to regulate her breathing.

And then—because her restraint had limits—she typed:

Karma:
I thought you said you were bad at this.

Liar.

Birdshit:
I never said I was bad.

Just that I behave.

(Usually.)

Karma:
And tonight?

Birdshit:
Tonight I keep thinking about your hands in my hair.

That’s probably not allowed, right?

Kiara’s heart skipped. Full skip. Then kicked hard.

She read it twice. Then a third time.

Holy shit.

She’d flirted before. Texted. Teased. But this?

This was different. Because she wanted it. Every word.

She could ignore it. Play it safe.

Karma:
Depends.

Would you groan when I pull on it?

She stared at what she wrote, shocked at herself—but didn’t delete it.

Didn’t even want to.

The pause that followed was longer than usual.

Then:

Birdshit:
Not answering that.

You’re trying to kill me and I respect it.

She grinned.

Really grinned.

God, she liked this. The banter. The build-up. The way he knew exactly how to toe the line without ever making her feel like he’d push it.

He was careful. But not timid.

And she was so, so far gone.

Karma:
Get some sleep before you say something that makes me spiral.

Birdshit:
No promises.

You’re already in my head. Might as well stay for the night.

Kiara exhaled, slow and shaky, the words buzzing behind her ribs.

God help her.

She wanted him.

She closed her eyes to let the fantasy bloom. His hands. His mouth. The heat of his body pinning her to the wall while she tried not to moan his name.

And somehow, every time she imagined it—really imagined it—it wasn’t just Birdshit she saw in her head.

It was JJ.

“God,” she muttered into the dark, dragging a hand down her face. “What is wrong with me.”

This was Birdshit. Anonymous. Safe.

JJ was reckless and real and way too close.

And yet—her brain didn’t care.

Her body definitely didn’t.

It lit up the second he walked into a room, even when she was pissed at him. Especially then. He said one stupid line and she couldn’t stop thinking about it for hours.

What are you doing, she scolded herself. This is literally the opposite of smart.

He was trouble. Always had been. Just when they were finally starting to bridge the gap to something civil—something that didn’t end in shouting or eye-rolls—she had to go and start imagining his hands under her shirt?

It would be stupid to engage in anything with him.

If he even wanted to.

(But he said he did, didn’t he? The other night. The way he looked at her. The things he didn’t say.)

That’s exactly what ruined it last time.

A moment. A kiss. A line crossed. And everything went to shit.

She’d barely been able to look at him after that.

So no. She wasn’t doing this again. She couldn’t.

She reached over and turned her phone screen down, like that might dim the fire inside her too.

But it didn’t.

Because now he was in her head.

And no part of her knew how to make him leave.

Okay, she told herself. Deep breath. Reset.

She wasn’t actually into JJ. Not really. That was just her imagination messing with her—borrowing a body to fill in the blanks. He was a face, a voice, a presence she couldn’t ignore, and with how steamy things had been getting with Birdshit lately, her brain had apparently decided to slap JJ’s stupidly hot face onto the fantasy reel. That was all.

JJ was real. Birdshit was safe.

JJ had already hurt her once.

Birdshit made her feel wanted without making her feel small.

This was just about chemistry. That’s it. JJ happened to be the nearest warm body with a jawline and a reputation, but that didn’t mean anything.

And at least with Birdshit, she didn’t have to explain herself. Didn’t have to justify why she wasn’t applying to colleges like her parents wanted, or why she still felt like she was treading water while everyone else had a plan.

He didn’t care about any of that. He just liked her. As she was.

It was easy to want someone who made her feel enough.

She wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

No more blurring the lines.

She was choosing Birdshit.

Her connection with him was stronger, deeper. And whatever this confusing JJ thing was—ghost of a past mistake or fluke of proximity—it didn’t deserve to derail something that actually felt good.

Tomorrow, she'd be cool. Civil. Distant, if she had to.

JJ could flirt all he wanted.

She wasn’t biting.

She rolled onto her back with a groan, staring at the ceiling like it had answers.

She needed to tell someone.

Not him—obviously. And not Cleo, who’d absolutely drag it into the group chat.

That left Sarah.

Her fingers hovered over her phone before she gave in and tapped open their messages.

She typed:

Turns out I have been sexting a faceless beach god and I think I’m in too deep.

Paused.

Deleted.

Too much.

Too dramatic.

(Too true.)

She tried again:

Okay but hypothetically…

Nope. Backspaced that too.

Because the second Sarah caught even a whiff of this, she’d ask a thousand questions. There’d be winks. There’d be teasing. There’d be comments in front of the group that made Kiara want to dig a hole and live in it.

And God forbid JJ found out.

He would never let her live it down.

Online crush? Secret flirty messages?

She could already hear him: “Damn, Kie, couldn’t get anyone to fall for you with that scowl on your face so you had to catfish some sucker online?”

She’d die.

Actually die.

So she locked her screen and chucked her phone across the bed like it betrayed her.

No more spiraling.

She was fine.

This was fine.

She just needed to stop thinking about him. Both of them.

She shut her eyes tight.

Counted backwards from ten.

It didn’t help.

Because behind her eyelids, JJ was still there.

The real JJ.

His voice in her ear that one night, low and raspy: “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

And how she hadn’t said a word.

How her hands had clutched at his shirt like she never wanted him to.

She remembered the way his breath had stuttered when she kissed him first.

The way he’d looked at her like she was the most confusing thing he’d ever wanted.

The way he ran. And she pretended like it never hurt.

Her stomach twisted.

God.

She was in over her head.

___________________________

***JJ***

JJ lay flat on his back, one arm draped over his forehead, the glow of his phone casting blue shadows across the ceiling.

He hadn’t moved in ten minutes. Just kept rereading her last message, pulse thudding like he’d jogged a mile.

Maybe I want to see what else you’d say. Hypothetically.

Bold.

Flirty.

So her.

Not just Karma—Kiara.

He knew it now. No more maybes. No more almosts.

Every line, every tease, every razor-sharp joke—he could hear her in all of it.

He swiped up, scrolling through older messages, slower this time. Like the words meant something different now. Like they were glowing with a light he hadn’t seen before.

She had called him “feral.”

Joked about guys who couldn’t light a bonfire.

Dropped that line about Red Bull and childhood trauma like it wasn’t straight out of her mouth.

It was her.

It had been her the whole time.

And now that he knew—really knew—he couldn’t unsee it.

His heart kicked hard against his ribs. Not in panic. Not even entirely in fear.

Just awe.

Because the girl who lit him up in real life was the same one who’d been keeping him up at night.

And somehow, that made everything way more complicated—and ten times harder to walk away from.

And the realization made his brain short-circuit.

On one hand: holy shit. He’d been talking to Kiara. Flirting with her. Bantering and building this slow, addictive rapport with her night after night, thinking she was some random girl behind a screen. But it was her.

The same girl who’d once told him he had the emotional depth of a pothole.
The same girl who made him feel like gravity shifted whenever she got too close.

What were the odds?

The universe had a sick sense of humor.

He should’ve been panicking.

Actually—he was panicking.

Because now he didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do. Say something? Tell her? Risk imploding whatever the hell they were rebuilding in real life and whatever was sparking online?

Not a chance.

He wasn’t stupid.

He needed a plan.

He needed to think.

And selfishly? He didn’t want to stop. Not with Karma. Not with Kiara. He wanted both—words and glances, late-night pings and real-life smirks that left him wrecked for hours.

She was under his skin in two damn dimensions and he didn’t know how to get her out.

The typing bubble appeared.

He froze.

Watched it pulse.

Three dots. Pause. Vanish.

Come back again.

Like it was holding his fate in limbo.

He could feel it all inching closer to the edge—like one more message might blow the whole thing open.

And maybe it should’ve scared him.

But it didn’t.

Not enough to make him stop.

He was already in way too deep.

And the worst part?

He liked it.

Every time she flirted back, his pulse spiked like a live wire. But tonight? Tonight she’d given him more.

“Bold of you to assume I’d let you get that far”

That one alone made him grin like a lunatic. She wanted it. She wanted him—or at least the version of him she thought she was talking to. Either way, it made his head spin.

It was a sick fucking thrill, knowing it was her.

That he was saying things to Kiara she’d never let him say in person.

Not yet, anyway.

And that she wanted it. Wanted him.

Because he could tell. In her replies. In the way she didn’t shut him down. In the silence between her messages—how long it took her to send them, like she was thinking about it. Like she was feeling it, too.

He could picture her in bed, baggy t shirt hanging off her shoulder, cheeks flushed, fingers hovering over the keyboard while she decided how much to give him.

Then she pushed it even further.

“Would you groan when I pull on it?”

That message had nearly killed him. He had to bite his knuckle when it came through—half to keep from making a sound, half because of the mental image it triggered.

Because fuck—yeah.

That was exactly the type of guy he was. With her, at least.

Rough hands. Gentle voice. His fingers tangled in her hair while her breath caught in his ear. Holding her down and checking in with just a look. Feeling her body arch under his and knowing she wanted everything he had. That exact moment—rough colliding with gentle.

The thought of Kiara like that—needing him like that—was enough to make his hips shift restlessly beneath the sheets. He wasn’t even pretending to play it cool anymore.

His dick was hard and throbbing and he didn’t care.

He was so far gone he was already imagining it—her mouth, her thighs, the way she’d sound when she said his name without venom in it. Just breathless, maybe a little desperate.

Jesus.

It was sick how much he wanted that.

How much he wanted her.

Not some faceless fantasy. Not a username.

Her.

Kiara.

He knew it now. Knew it down to the bone. Every line, every spark of attitude, every carefully dropped tease—it all tracked. It was her.

And saying dirty things to her without the mask of JJ Maybank?

It wrecked him.

Because she let him.

Because she liked it.

And because she had no idea it was him.

It was messed up. It was reckless. It was the most turned on he’d been in… probably ever.

And it made him feel alive.

JJ dragged a hand through his hair, barely resisting the urge to unzip his pants and take the edge off.

The typing bubble appeared again.

Paused.

Vanished.

Returned.

JJ stared at it like it held the rest of his night in its hands.

He could end this.

He could pull back before things spiraled too far.

But he wouldn’t.

Because Kiara wasn’t just under his skin anymore.

She was in his lungs.

His bloodstream.

Every fucking thought.

She was wrapped around every part of him—and she didn’t even know it.

And he had no intention of letting go.

Still, the question looped like static in his brain—what if she did find out?

Not in a blow-up way, not in a screaming and throwing her phone into the ocean way—though yeah, that was likely.

But what if she figured it out and didn’t hate him for it?

What if she put the pieces together and looked at him not like he was JJ, the guy who always got under her skin— but like he was Birdshit.

The one who made her laugh when she couldn’t sleep.

The one who said the things he never had the guts to say out loud.

Would her face soften?

Would she touch his arm and whisper, “It was you?” like she already knew?

Would she kiss him like he was the only thing that made sense in both versions of their stupid, tangled lives?

He had no gameplan. Not even close.

No strategy, no smooth next move, no clue how to untangle this without setting it all on fire.

Every version of a “next step” ended in disaster:

Tell her? She flips. She ghosts him. He loses Karma and Kiara in one shot.

Don’t tell her? He keeps skating this line, digging deeper into a lie he won’t know how to explain later.

Confess everything and hope for the best? Yeah, right. What was he supposed to say? “Surprise, you’ve been sexting your least favorite Pogue!”

It was a lose-lose scenario, and he was still in it. Still choosing it.

Because even with the odds stacked and his nerves frayed and zero clue what he was doing—
he couldn’t walk away.

Not when there was even the tiniest chance she could look at him—really look at him—and not just see the reckless idiot who pushed her buttons, but the guy who saw her. Who wanted her, in every version.

The guy she already wanted back.

She just didn’t know it was him yet.

And God help him—he wasn’t ready for the fallout.

But he wasn’t ready to give her up either.

Chapter Text

***Kiara***

The house was unusually quiet when Kiara slipped in through the side door—too quiet. She paused, keys still dangling between her fingers, a knot already forming in her stomach.

“Kiara?”

Her mother’s voice floated in from the living room, deceptively calm.

Shit.

She turned the corner and found both her parents waiting. Her dad was perched on the edge of the couch, arms crossed like he was about to pitch her a business deal. Her mom stood by the bookshelf, tablet in hand, brows pinched.

“We need to talk,” her mom said.

Kiara sighed and dropped her keys into the bowl by the door. “Can it wait? I was just—”

Her dad cut in. “Just five minutes. Sit.”

She didn’t sit. She leaned against the wall instead, arms crossed. Her armor.

Her mom took a breath. “Did you read the article I sent you?”

“The one about future-proofing your twenties?” Kiara raised an eyebrow. “Hard pass.”

“It was from Harvard Business Review, Kiara.”

“Wow. Even better.”

Her dad sighed. “Kie, this isn’t about pushing you. We just want you to start thinking seriously about what’s next. Everyone else has a plan.”

“That’s the problem,” Kiara muttered.

“What was that?”

“I said that’s the problem. Everyone else has a plan, and I don’t. And maybe I’m okay with that for now.”

Her mom set down the tablet, shifting gears. “Well, you can start by showing your face at the fundraiser Friday night. It’s at the club—coastal preservation.”

Kiara blinked. “What fundraiser?”

“I forwarded you the invite. It’s a good cause. And very relevant to your interests, I might add.”

“Right,” Kiara said flatly. “Because nothing says environmental action like shrimp cocktails and dress codes.”

Her dad cleared his throat. “It’s just a nice event. You’ll know some of the families there.”

“And by families, you mean investment portfolios with teenage sons,” Kiara said flatly.

Her mom didn’t even flinch. “It’s good exposure. The type of people who might help you make connections.”

“Connections? Or matchmaking?”

Her mom lifted her chin, unreadable. “Gregory Langston will be there. You two used to play in the same tennis league.”

“Oh my god,” Kiara muttered, already walking toward the stairs.

“He’s starting law school in the fall,” her mom called after her. “And his mother said he remembers you.”

“Of course he does,” Kiara said under her breath. “Every mom’s dream. Rich, white, boring.”

Her dad shot her a warning look. “Kiara.”

But her mom just exhaled. “It wouldn’t kill you to be polite. You might even enjoy yourself.”

Kiara turned back around, arms crossed tight. “I’d rather be dragged into the ocean by a rip current.”

“We’re working, Kiara,” her mom snapped, irritation finally slipping through. “We do this for you.”

Her dad’s mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but she was already done. She turned and walked toward the stairs, fists clenched, jaw tight.

“Oh, and don’t forget family therapy tonight,” her mom called after her. “Seven o’clock.”

Kiara didn’t answer.

“Kiara?”

“Got it,” she muttered.

She didn’t. Not really.

They were already checking their phones again as she turned the corner and disappeared upstairs. Already on to their next client, next meeting, next whatever.

She slipped into her room, heart tight.

And for the first time that day, she let herself feel it.

The ache of being loved by people who never quite got it right.

It was exhausting.

She was tired. Worn thin.

And every well-meaning nudge felt like another stone in her chest.

Right now, she just wanted to be outside. With her friends. With sand under her feet and no expectations clinging to her skin.

She didn’t have the capacity for a family intervention.

Not today.

Not when her whole world already felt like it was tilting sideways.

___________________

***JJ***

The backyard of the Chateau was golden and lazy in that late-afternoon way, all hazy light and slow laughter and sand in everyone’s shoes. Someone had dragged a cooler halfway out of the Twinkie, and Sarah was tossing beers like she was auditioning for a frat house. Pope was already mid-rant about someone cheating at cornhole. It was normal. Familiar.

But JJ felt off the second he saw her.

Kiara was perched on a stump beside Cleo, long legs stretched out, her hair still damp from the water. She had that look—relaxed, maybe even bored. Chin tipped toward the sun. Plastic cup balanced on her knee like it might drift away if she moved too fast.

And she hadn’t looked at him once.

Not when he strolled up with some loud-ass joke. Not when he made a crack about John B’s cargo shorts. Not even when he dropped a perfectly crafted dig her way—something about PETA and her becoming a shellfish vigilante after watching My Octopus Teacher.

She’d just hummed. Smiled a little. Sipped her drink and turned back to Cleo.

JJ blinked.

Okay.

That was new.

She wasn’t mad. He could tell when she was mad—there’d be fire in her eyes, venom in her voice, and at least one insult that made his blood fizz for hours. But this? This was worse.

Cool. Detached. Like she’d finally stopped giving a shit.

He hated the way she could shut down like that—like a flipped switch.

But part of him got it.

People only got that good at pretending when they had practice.

JJ knew a thing or two about that.

He used to stare down the barrel of his dad’s rage with a deadpan face and calm hands—like if he didn’t flinch, it wouldn’t count. Like bruises weren’t proof if no one saw them land.

And maybe Kiara didn’t have the same kind of mess at home, but pressure was its own kind of violence. Her parents didn’t scream or hit. They just expected—demanded—like love came with conditions. College. Plans. Obedience.

She was drowning in all of it, and she didn’t even talk about it.

At least not to him.

But she had to someone.

Birdshit got the truth in fragments. About the emails her mom forwarded. About how “figuring it out” felt like suffocating.

JJ dragged a hand through his hair.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered. “I already have all the answers and I still don’t know what to do.”

He waited for it to shift. For her to take the bait and throw it back with a sharper edge. But it never came.

Even when he leaned in closer, voice dipped low, casual as hell—“What, too good to banter now, princess?”—she just rolled her eyes and kept talking to Cleo like he wasn’t even worth the effort.

And damn if that didn’t sting.

The weird thing was—just the other day, they’d been… not fine, exactly. But better. Sparring again. Laughing. She’d looked at him like she saw something underneath the bullshit. And he'd thought maybe—maybe—they were building something back.

Now?

She was miles away. Aloof. Perfectly polite. Not cold, but calculated. Every interaction edited down to the bare minimum.

And JJ was losing his goddamn mind.

He stood there, watching her, beer sweating in his hand, wondering what the hell he’d done to make her retreat again.

Because he knew the truth now.

He knew Kiara was Karma.

He knew the girl who messaged him sweet filth at midnight and told him she wanted to pull his hair was the same one who wouldn’t meet his eyes from ten feet away.

And it was driving him insane.

Because if she wanted him—if she wanted Birdshit—then why the hell was she acting like JJ didn’t exist?

The longer he watched her laugh at some dumb joke from Cleo, the more it ate at him. Some part of him thought she’d see him. Glance up. Give him a smirk. Anything. But she didn’t.

Not once.

Then John B came up behind him, clapping him on the shoulder. “You good?”

JJ didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

And then he heard it—Kiara’s voice, too casual, tossing out a half-assed joke toward the group. Something like: “At least JJ finally learned how to wear matching socks.”

Laughter.

JJ blinked. That was it?

That was the only shot she was gonna take?

No heat. No venom. Not even a real insult. Just some light, recycled jab like she’d checked him off a list and was done.

It hit harder than it should’ve.

He muttered something about needing a smoke and turned away before anyone could say anything.

Because if she was gonna pretend he didn’t matter?

He wasn’t gonna sit there and let it show how much it did.

The sun had dropped low enough to paint everything orange. Long shadows. Soft edges. Not that he noticed much.

JJ leaned against the railing on the dock, cigarette burning slow between his fingers, the cherry flaring every time he took a drag. The noise from the yard was still drifting over—the crack of a can opening, Pope yelling about rules again, Kiara laughing.

Fucking laughing.

Not at him, obviously. Just... existing. Away from him.

He pulled his phone from his back pocket with a little too much force. The screen lit up, and there it was—her last message.

Karma:
You’re a menace.

I kinda like it.

JJ stared at it for a full ten seconds, thumb hovering.

She wanted him. Or at least thought she did. Karma was bold. Flirty. She got him. She made him feel like maybe he wasn’t completely messed up. Every message felt like a live wire—thrilling and intimate and addictive.

But then there was Kiara—the real her. And she wouldn’t even look at him tonight.

It made no goddamn sense.

He ground the cigarette out against the bumper, exhaling hard.

So what was it?

Did she only want the version of him that existed in pixels and sarcasm? The cleaned-up version—funny, cocky, dialed-in to her every quip? Or was this whole Karma thing just one big joke he hadn’t figured out the punchline to yet?

“She wants Birdshit but not me?” he muttered under his breath. “But I am him. So why the hell is she pulling away?”

JJ raked a hand through his hair and started pacing. Small, angry steps in a tight circle.

Maybe she was starting to figure it out. And maybe that scared her.

Or maybe she wasn’t and she’d just finally remembered why she hated him in the first place.

He hated this.

The whiplash. The quiet. The ache in his chest that felt too much like disappointment.

He thought they were getting somewhere. Yesterday, they’d joked. She looked at him like she meant it. And Karma? Karma was practically begging for more. For him.

And now he was stuck in this limbo—half fantasy, half reality—with no fucking clue what the rules were anymore.

JJ’s phone buzzed again.

Another message.

Karma:
Still thinking about last night.

He swore under his breath.

Because yeah. So was he.

And it just made everything worse.

She was right there, twenty feet away. Laughing like she didn’t know he was coming apart at the seams.

JJ shoved the phone in his pocket and stared up at the sky like maybe it would give him answers.

It didn’t.

Fine, he thought.

You wanna pretend nothing’s there? I can do that too.

By the time the last rays of sun had disappeared beneath the marsh, the mood had shifted.

The fire pit crackled lazily in the yard, casting soft light on half-drunk faces. Someone passed a bottle of rum around while Sarah scavenged for marshmallows inside. Cleo curled up in a blanket and tuned out Pope’s ramble about conspiracy theories. The whole scene was mellow, loose.

Except for JJ.

He was on edge. Still simmering.

Half of him wanted to disappear. The other half wanted Kiara to look at him.

She didn’t.

She settled into the chair farthest from him, tucked her legs under her and made a quiet joke to Pope. Not even a glance in his direction. It was like he wasn’t there. Like he didn’t exist.

That stung more than he’d admit.

JJ tipped his beer back and tried not to show it. But he could feel it—the bitterness rising in his chest. He wasn’t used to being ignored. Not by her. Not after everything.

So he poked.

“Guess eco-princess is too busy saving sea turtles to talk to us peasants now,” he muttered, voice just loud enough to carry.

No reaction.

She sipped her drink, leaned over to murmur something to Pope, and still didn’t look at him.

JJ clenched his jaw. His knee bounced. He told himself to let it go.

He didn’t.

“You know,” he said louder, “it’s impressive. The way you manage to make everyone feel like they’re annoying you just by breathing near you.”

John B blinked. “Dude…”

Kiara glanced over then. Not with fire. Not with that sharp wit he could usually count on. Just… blank. Mildly unimpressed.

“You done?” she asked, tone breezy.

That hit wrong. Worse than a real comeback would’ve. It was indifference. And JJ didn’t know how to deal with that.

So he pushed harder.

“What? Can’t handle it when someone actually calls you out?”

Kiara raised an eyebrow. “Calls me out for what? Existing near your delicate ego?”

Pope let out a quiet “yikes” and looked between them.

JJ’s pulse kicked up. That was more like it. That spark.

He leaned forward in his seat. “Nah, just wondering when you decided to go back to pretending like I don’t exist.”

That got her.

Her eyes snapped to his—sharp now. Defensive. “Maybe when you started acting like a dick every time I spoke.”

“You always do this,” she said, rising to her feet. “Start shit you don’t even mean just to get a rise out of me.”

“Oh yeah?” JJ shot back, standing too. “Well maybe I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t act like you’re too good to even look at me anymore.”

The words were loud. Too loud.

The rest of the group froze.

Even the fire seemed to go quiet.

Sarah’s eyes went wide. John B opened his mouth and then shut it again. Pope looked like he wanted to teleport.

Kiara’s face flushed, but not with embarrassment—with fury.

“Grow the fuck up, JJ.”

She turned on her heel and stormed inside, the screen door snapping shut behind her.

Silence.

No one spoke. No one moved.

JJ stared after her, chest heaving. Heat rushing up the back of his neck.

John B finally cleared his throat. “Dude… what the hell was that?”

He didn’t answer.

Cleo shook her head. “She didn’t even do anything, man.”

“I know,” he snapped, pacing a few steps before stopping short. “I know.”

He scrubbed a hand down his face.

God, what was wrong with him?

He waited a full minute. Tried to talk himself out of it.

But the look on Pope’s face. Sarah’s frown. John B’s disappointment.

It was too much.

JJ muttered, “Shit,” and headed inside.

The second he stepped inside, the air felt different.

He didn’t go looking for her—he didn’t have to. She was in Big John's room, pacing like she owned the place, arms folded so tight across her chest it looked like she was holding herself together.

JJ leaned against the doorframe, arms loose at his sides, but his jaw was tight.

“I’m not in the mood, JJ.”

He didn’t flinch. “Too bad.”

Kiara turned, eyes sharp. “Seriously? What do you even want from me?”

He didn’t have an answer. Or maybe he had too many.

“I don’t know,” he said, voice low. “Something real.”

She barked out a laugh. “Oh, now you want something real?”

JJ’s pulse kicked up. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” she demanded, stepping closer. “Act like you didn’t just humiliate me in front of our friends for no goddamn reason?”

“I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did!” she snapped. “You started shit. You poked and pushed because what—because I didn’t flirt back? Because I didn’t fall over myself to entertain you like usual?”

“You shut me out,” he shot back, tone hardening. “Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

Kiara shook her head. “I had to. I’m trying to be smart for once.”

“Right,” he muttered. “Because wanting me is obviously the stupid option.”

Something broke in her expression. Frustration, pain—he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“You think this is about you?” she said, voice lower now. Raw. “You don’t know shit about what I want.”

“Don’t I?” JJ stepped forward. “Because I think I do. I think you want me just as bad as I want you—even if you hate yourself for it.”

Her mouth parted like she was going to yell again. Maybe deny it.

Instead, she shoved him.

Hard.

He barely stumbled—but it was enough.

Enough to snap the last thread holding them in place.

He grabbed her wrist, not rough but firm, grounding them both. They stared at each other, breath heavy. Something dangerous humming in the space between.

And then she said it—quiet, but vicious.

“You don’t get to act like this is some mutual thing when you were the one who ghosted me.”

JJ blinked. “What?”

“After that night,” she snapped, voice shaking. “You didn’t text. You didn’t call. You pretended like nothing happened. Like I was nothing.”

His chest caved in.

“You think that didn’t fuck with me?” Her voice cracked. “I was so stupid to think it meant something.”

JJ’s breath caught. “Kie…”

“No,” she bit out. “You don’t get to say my name like that.”

He didn’t know what to say. Because she was right.

He had ghosted. He had panicked.

And he’d never stopped regretting it.

“I was stupid,” he admitted, throat dry. “I thought… I don’t know what I thought. But you weren’t the only one who suffered after that night.”

Her eyes searched his face like she didn’t believe him.

Like she wanted to pull away. Like she should.

And maybe she even took a half-step back. But JJ followed.

His heart slammed against his ribs. Every part of him screamed not to do it—don’t make it worse, don’t fuck this up again—but he couldn’t stop himself.

“I mean it,” he said, voice low. “You weren’t nothing.”

And then—god help him—he kissed her.

He leaned in fast, reckless. One hand on her jaw, the other slipping behind her neck. Like if he didn’t anchor her, she might vanish.

She stiffened. For half a second, she didn’t kiss him back.

But then she did.

With heat. With teeth. With all the fury and ache he’d felt simmering in her all night.

Her hands balled into fists against his chest, like she was still fighting it—fighting him—but they didn’t push him away. They pulled.

He deepened the kiss, desperate now. He tasted salt on her skin—maybe sweat, maybe tears. He didn’t care. He just needed more. Her lips. Her body. Her goddamn forgiveness.

It was a disaster.

It was everything.

And when her breath hitched against his mouth, when her nails dug into his shirt and she gasped his name—he knew.

This wasn’t going to stop.

Not now. Not until she made him.

The kiss turned feral.

One second, her hands were fisted in his shirt, tugging him closer, the next he was pushing her backward until she hit the edge of the bed. JJ followed, breath ragged, mind already gone. He didn’t know where his thoughts ended and instincts began—he just knew she was kissing him like she meant it. Like she’d been starving for it.

His body burned with it.

She gasped when his hand slid under her shirt, fingertips grazing bare skin. Not stopping him. Not even hesitating. Her own hands were everywhere—his jaw, his neck, pulling at his shirt like it offended her.

He tugged it off in one swift motion.

Her legs parted just enough and he was right there, between them, grinding down through the denim—fuck—his whole body lit up. She arched into him, chasing the pressure. Her mouth was hot, open, needy against his throat.

JJ cursed under his breath, gripping her hip with one hand and dragging his thumb along the waistband of her shorts with the other.

“Say the word,” he rasped, voice wrecked and low.

Kiara’s eyes met his, pupils blown wide.

She didn’t say it.

That was all the permission he needed to hook his fingers under the edge of her shorts and shove them down.

He pushed aside her panties, sliding his hand between her thighs like he already knew the way—like he’d dreamed about this. Because he had. So many fucking times. And nothing—nothing—compared to the way she felt under his fingers now.

She was wet. Warm. Barely holding back the sounds clawing out of her throat.

JJ’s mouth dropped to her neck, to her collarbone, lower. He licked a slow line along the swell of her breast just above her bra and felt her shudder. Her hips bucked.

He loved it.

He craved it.

And still, somewhere in the back of his mind, he couldn’t stop thinking—this is Kiara. Kiara. And she was letting him touch her like this. Wanting it just as badly. And he didn’t know what to do with that.

Didn’t know what to do with how much it meant.

Because yeah, it was messy and rushed and maybe they’d hate themselves tomorrow—but it felt real. It felt inevitable.

Then, suddenly—she stilled.

JJ lifted his head, breath catching. “Kie?”

She blinked up at him, lips parted, flushed and glassy-eyed—but something shifted.

Her hands pushed at his chest. “Stop.”

JJ froze. Instantly.

She sat up fast, tugging her clothes back into place, still breathing hard. “That was a mistake,” she muttered, voice barely steady.

“What?” His voice cracked.

“I can’t—” She didn’t finish.

She was already off the bed.

Gone.

JJ sat there, shirtless and stunned, heart hammering, the imprint of her body still burning into his skin.

She was gone.

The room felt hollow without her—like the air had been yanked out along with her footsteps. JJ didn’t move. Just sat there on the edge of the bed, one hand gripping the blanket like it might anchor him to something real.

His other hand still tingled from where it had been on her skin.

He dragged it through his hair with a muttered curse, breathing hard. His lips were swollen. His heart was thudding like he’d just gone twelve rounds.

And for what?

Nothing. That’s what she said.

A mistake.

JJ laughed once, dry and bitter, and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He didn’t even feel angry. Not really. Not at her.

Mostly?

He felt wrecked.

Because he’d known it was stupid. Knew it was a bad idea the second he opened his mouth. The second he pushed her, again and again, just to get a reaction. He should’ve backed off. Should’ve let her stay mad at him, stay distant, anything but this.

But then she’d kissed him back.

Like she needed him.

Like she’d been holding onto that kiss for years.

And now?

Now she was gone, and all he had was the phantom burn of her mouth on his, the echo of her gasp in his ears, and the bruising reminder of her fingers digging into his shoulders like she couldn’t stand being without him.

JJ’s chest cracked open a little more with each breath.

He sat in the quiet, staring at nothing.

Trying to figure out how the hell to get her out of his system.

But she was everywhere.

In his bed. In his phone. In his goddamn head.

And still—he didn’t move.

Didn’t chase her.

Because maybe she meant what she said. Maybe it really was a mistake.

But as he sat there, wrecked and wide-eyed in the silence she left behind, the only thought pounding through his head was:

“If that was a mistake, then why did it feel like the only thing that ever made sense?”

__________________________________________

***KIE***

She couldn’t sleep.

Obviously.

Kiara lay flat on her back, eyes wide, the ceiling spinning lazy circles above her in the dark. Every nerve in her body still felt fried. Her skin too hot, her thoughts too fast. Her thighs? Still clenched like they were trying to hold onto the ghost of something that hadn’t quite happened.

God.

What the hell had that been?

One second JJ was throwing verbal daggers at her in front of everyone, and the next he had her shoved up against his bedroom door, kissing her like he wanted to ruin her.

And worse?

She'd let him.

She didn’t stop him when his gaze dropped to her lips.

Didn’t flinch when his fingers dug into her waist.

Didn’t say a word when his thigh pressed between hers or when his hand pushed her panties aside like he owned her.

No. She’d arched into it. Clawed at his shirt. Moaned into his mouth like she needed it.

Because she had.

Fuck.

She curled onto her side with a groan, gripping the pillow like it might ground her.

But god, her messages with Birdshit had been driving her out of her mind for days. And now—after all the teasing, all the fantasy—she’d gotten a taste of something real and physical and hot enough to fry her nerves.

And she was starving.

She should’ve felt guilty. Dirty. Out of control.

Instead, all she could think about was the sound JJ made when she gasped into his mouth. The pressure of his body between her legs. How close he got to pushing her over the edge with nothing but his fingers and a hard grind.

And now?

Now she was alone.

Still aching.

Still soaked.

Still spiraling.

She opened the chat with shaking hands.

Karma:
Can’t sleep. Still too keyed up.

It was vague. Innocent. But not really.

Because they both knew what she meant.

The reply came almost instantly.

Birdshit:
You need someone to wear you out?

Her thighs clenched automatically.

Karma:
That supposed to be you?

Her breath hitched as she typed it—cheeky, sure, but inviting. Daring him to say it out loud.

He didn’t disappoint.

Birdshit:
I wouldn’t leave you able to type.

She let out a shaky laugh. Then dragged her hand down, under the hem of her shirt, over her stomach.

Felt the heat waiting for her.

God. She was already soaked.

She bit her lip and replied.

Karma:
That a promise or a threat?

She didn't wait this time.

Her fingers slid lower.

One slow stroke down the center.

Her back arched, just slightly.

And then—

Birdshit:
You. Flat on your back. Hands pinned. My name in your mouth over and over.

A soft moan broke from her lips.

Fuck.

Fuck.

She read the message twice, like it might hit differently the second time. It didn’t. It just got worse—hotter. She parted her legs, let her fingers drag through wetness and back up again, barely grazing where she needed it most.

Karma:
Fuck. Why does that turn me on so much.

She wasn’t even trying to hide it now.

Her fingers pressed in, slow and purposeful.

She let her head fall back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut.

And then another message pinged.

Birdshit:
Tell me what you’re wearing. Or what you’re not.

She let out a breathless laugh, hips twitching up into her hand.

He had no idea.

Or maybe he did.

Karma:
T-shirt. No bra. No panties. You’d lose your mind.

She was moving now, steady and slow. She knew how to tease herself. Knew how to hover right there—on the edge of something stupid and inevitable.

The reply came.

Short. Deadly.

Birdshit:
You got me rock hard picturing it. Keep going.

Her breath hitched.

Oh my god.

A wicked thrill skittered down her spine.

She could see it now—his hand wrapped around himself, jaw clenched, eyes fluttering shut. She didn’t even know what he looked like and yet the image branded itself into her brain like fire.

An image of JJ’s swam in her head again, his fingers sliding inside her, unable to hide how wet she was for him.

She clenched around nothing.

God, she was losing it.

Karma:
And I’m touching myself.

Thinking about your mouth everywhere.

She sent it before she could second guess. Bold. Raw. Honest.

And when the read receipt popped up almost instantly, her pulse spiked.

Birdshit:
Fuck I wish it was me touching you instead.
Gimme one minute alone with you, baby and I’ll blow your mind.

She whimpered.

No control left.

No shame either.

She dropped the phone beside her and used both hands—one teasing circles, the other palming her breast, nails dragging over her nipple until she gasped again.

Birdshit’s voice was in her head now. JJ’s too—his real voice, from earlier, whispering against her mouth:

“You’re so fuckin’ hot, Kie”

She cried out, legs shaking, the orgasm catching her off guard—sharp and sudden, like a wave breaking at high tide. She bit the pillow to keep quiet, muscles tensing, fingers buried, heart pounding.

When it passed, she stared at the ceiling again. Chest heaving.

Phone still buzzing next to her.

And for a moment, she didn’t know who she’d just come for.

Birdshit?

JJ?

Or both.

Chapter Text

***KIE***

The ceiling of her bedroom hadn’t changed, but everything else had.

She lay motionless, tucked beneath a blanket that felt too warm, staring up like the answer to what the fuck just happened might be spelled out in the plaster. Her heart thudded in a slow, annoying rhythm, just steady enough to remind her she hadn’t imagined it.

JJ Maybank had his fingers inside her last night.

And worse....

She’d wanted it.

God, she’d wanted it so bad she practically begged with her body—grinding up against him like she didn’t have a single ounce of dignity left. And he’d given it to her, all slick confidence and rough fingers and his mouth barely brushing hers when he whispered how wet she was. Her thighs clenched at the memory, a ripple of heat blooming low in her stomach.

She hadn’t even let herself finish. She’d stopped it—barely.

But not because she didn’t want to.

Because she wanted to so badly it scared her.

She turned her face into the pillow, groaned.

JJ was not supposed to be the one who did that to her. He wasn’t the one who made her feel soft and seen and like maybe the world wasn’t so heavy. That was Birdshit. Her Birdshit.

She sat up and reached for her phone with fingers that still felt shaky.

CarveLine.

A notification glowed at the top of the screen. Her stomach flipped.

Birdshit:

Just woke up. Dreamt about you again.

You were laughing. I liked the sound.

Kiara exhaled slowly. The tension in her chest unraveled by degrees.

There. That grounded her.

That was the connection that mattered. He made her feel calm. Safe. Emotionally understood. JJ was just a reaction—heat and impulse and chaos wrapped in a tan and a smirk. Birdshit was something else entirely.

She typed quickly, fingers flying before her brain caught up.

Karma:

You’re gonna make me blush before breakfast.

I missed you last night.

She hovered over send for a half-second, then tapped it.

A beat passed.

Then another message buzzed in.

Birdshit:

"Are you doing the surf comp next weekend?"

Kiara blinked at the screen, surprised.

Karma:

"Thinking about it. Might be good to shake things up. You?"

Birdshit:

"Maybe. If I can stomach the sea of Kooks."

She laughed, actually laughed, a soft sound in the quiet.

Karma:

"Bet you’d crush it."

"Maybe I’ll see you there ;)"

Her heart skipped.

Birdshit:

"You better hope not. I’d be too distracted to focus."

She bit her lip, warmth curling in her belly.

Karma:

"Flattery’ll get you everywhere."

Her lips parted slightly as she lowered the phone and leaned back on her elbows.

She could still feel JJ’s breath against her ear. Still hear the way his voice rasped when she gasped for him.

And still, Birdshit was the one on her screen.

But JJ?

But JJ was the one her body still wanted.

Her phone buzzed again, but she didn’t look.

Because underneath the soft glow Birdshit left in her chest… JJ still pulsed like a bruise.

She was going to have to talk to him.

She knew it.

She couldn’t just keep ignoring what happened, couldn’t keep walking into rooms pretending she hadn’t moaned his name into his shoulder while his hand was between her legs.

But the thought of saying it out loud made her stomach knot.

What was she even going to say?

“Sorry, JJ. That thing we almost did? That thing I clearly wanted? Yeah… can’t do that again. Not because I didn’t like it. But because I have feelings for someone else. Someone I haven’t even met.”

God, she hated how ridiculous it sounded.

She hated how much of a lie it wasn’t.

And worse—how much of a lie it felt like anyway.

Because even if Birdshit was the one who made her heart ache in that soft, dangerous way… JJ had made her feel. All over. And if she let herself think about it too long, she knew damn well she’d let it happen again.

But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

She’d tell him the next time she saw him.

Get it over with.

Make it clear.

Even if her body was already begging her not to.

____________________

***JJ***

The Chateau was quiet for once. No music. No yelling. Just the lazy hum of the ceiling fan turning unevenly above JJ’s head and the occasional creak of old floorboards settling in the heat.

Sunlight streamed through the slatted blinds, casting long stripes across the warped wood floors and the cluttered living room. The place smelled like beer, surf wax, and yesterday’s cigarettes—familiar, grounding, and doing absolutely nothing to stop the churn in JJ’s chest.

He was trying. Really, he was.

Trying not to pace the kitchen like a strung-out dog. Trying not to imagine what the hell Kiara was doing right now, if she was replaying it too. That kiss. Her gasping into his mouth. The way her nails dug into his arms when his fingers slipped beneath her panties.

Fuck.

He opened the fridge. Closed it. Opened it again like maybe there’d be some magical answer hidden behind last night’s leftover beer and a half-eaten sandwich.

There wasn’t.

He grabbed the beer anyway. Popped the cap and took a swig that didn’t help a damn thing.

His jaw tightened as his mind spiraled.

“You kissed her. She let you touch her. And then she left.”

He hadn’t slept much. Kept hearing her voice in his head, breathy and soft, whispering his name like it meant something. Every time he closed his eyes, it played on loop. And yeah, maybe it was stupid, but it was the first time he didn’t feel like some mistake she was trying to bury.

Until she bolted.

Until she didn’t say a damn word after.

And yet—hours later, she was online. Karma was lighting him up with the filthiest messages they’d ever exchanged. Brazen. Breathless. Begging.

JJ didn’t know what to make of it. Didn’t know what to make of her.

She wouldn’t even look at him in real life. But online? She let him break her open.

JJ collapsed onto the sagging couch, the cushions groaning under his weight, and pulled out his phone. Opened CarveLine on instinct. His inbox blinked with a new message.

Karma:

“How’s your day going?”

Just that. Simple. Casual. Like she hadn’t gotten him through half the sleepless night, like she didn’t unknowingly fill the space Kiara left behind.

He stared at the blinking cursor.

Typed:

Birdshit:

“Better now that you’re here, babe. Wanna trade pics?”

He stared at it. Then sighed and deleted the whole thing.

His fingers hovered again, and then he typed slower this time.

Birdshit:

“Kinda missing your voice today.”

He hit send before he could overthink it.

It was true.

Even if he wasn’t sure who he meant it for anymore—Kiara, Karma… or if there was even a difference.

He dropped the phone onto his chest with a groan, scrubbing a hand down his face.

And then dropped the phone onto his chest with a groan, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“Fucking loser,” he muttered.

He didn’t even know who he was talking about anymore—him or Birdshit.

_________________________

***KIE***

Kiara pulled into the gravel drive and parked like it was muscle memory.

She wasn’t supposed to be here for hours.

But after another blowout at home—after her mom threatened to pull her car insurance and they got into a screaming match over the country club dinner—she needed out. Apparently, refusing to wear the floral dress her mother picked out was “embarrassing,” and skipping the event entirely was “self-sabotage.” Her dad had sent her another article about “jump-starting your early twenties” like it was some kind of intervention. The walls of her house were lined with success stories and expectations. And she was starting to feel like the only thing she’d ever be good at was letting people down.

The plan had been simple: show up early, help Sarah set up, pretend last night never happened.

But Sarah wasn’t here.

Of course.

Kiara climbed the steps to the Chateau and pushed open the screen door, already bracing herself for JJ’s voice or a snide comment or something that would make her want to scream.

What she got instead?

Low bass from the dusty speaker in the corner. A single clink of glass from deeper inside. And then—

JJ.

Shirtless. Damp hair pushed back. A beer in his hand, condensation dripping slow down his stomach as he lounged on the couch like sin on vacation.

Her stomach dropped.

He looked up, eyes locking with hers. Lazy. Sharp. Unreadable.

“Hey,” she said, trying for casual, even though her pulse had just spiked hard enough to make her dizzy.

“Hey,” he echoed, voice low and rough as he sat up. “You’re early.”

“Was looking for Sarah,” she offered, stepping inside.

“Haven’t seen her or John B since this morning.” He didn’t get up. Just watched her.

She opened the fridge mostly to keep her hands busy. JJ’s gaze flicked over her, not in a flirty way—for once—but careful.

“You okay?” he asked. “You look like you just walked out of a war zone.”

She brushed him off. “I’m fine.”

“Sure,” he said, unconvinced, but didn’t press.

Kiara lingered in the kitchen, the hum of tension settling between them like humidity. Her whole body felt tight. Tired. Like one more push from any direction might knock her sideways.

She really didn’t want to have this conversation—but she had to. So she bit the bullet.

She crossed her arms. Took a slow breath.

“We need to talk about what happened,” she said.

His brows lifted, lazy. “What, the part where you kissed me back?”

She scowled. “Don’t.”

He leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, and there was that spark again—his gaze too sharp, his smirk too cocky.

“I’m just saying. I wasn’t hallucinating, was I?”

“I’m serious, JJ.”

That softened something in him. His smirk wavered. His jaw clenched.

But he didn’t speak. Just waited.

“It can’t happen again,” she said.

“Why not?” Too fast.

“Because…” She hesitated, cheeks hot. “I have feelings for someone else.”

JJ blinked once. “So why did you let me touch you?”

The bluntness hit like a slap.

“Because I’ve been horny, okay? That’s it.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “So your vibrator wasn’t cutting it and I was the next best option?”

“Don’t make this harder,” she said, voice tight.

“I’m not the one making it complicated,” he snapped.

Kie folded her arms, like she could hold herself together with sheer force.

JJ stood now—close enough to count the freckles on his chest, to see the faint sheen of sweat at his collarbone, to feel the gravity between them pulling hard and fast.

And goddamn it, he was shirtless. Barefoot. Loose board shorts hanging low on his hips. Everything about him screamed bad idea.

“You liked it, didn’t you?” he asked, stepping closer.

Her mouth opened. Closed. She couldn’t deny it. Couldn’t even lie if she tried.

“You said you were horny,” he said again, voice dropping low and dangerous. “So why can’t it just be that? You needed something. I was there. No big deal.”

She stared at him, heart thundering. “And you think you can handle that? No big deal?”

He shrugged, easy and reckless. “Sure. I’ve got feelings for someone else too, anyway.”

That stopped her cold.

“…Who?”

He looked away, rubbed the back of his neck. “Doesn’t matter.”

“JJ—”

“I said it doesn’t,” he cut her off. “Point is, you’re not the only one who can keep things casual. We don’t have to make it a thing. Just…” He stepped closer, voice lowering to a hum. “Scratch the itch. That’s all.”

Scratch the itch.

The words sank into her gut and lit something molten.

Because the truth was—she hadn’t stopped thinking about his fingers. The way he’d touched her. The pressure, the rhythm, how wet she’d been. Her body still buzzed with it. Ached.

And now? With him standing this close? She could already feel her thighs clenching again.

This was dangerous.

But maybe she could handle it. Maybe this was better—cleaner—if they both knew the rules.

JJ leaned in, voice softer now. “We don’t have to pretend it meant anything. It didn’t, right?”

She hesitated.

Because it had.

A little.

Too much.

But she wanted it. She wanted him.

So she exhaled. Forced her expression neutral.

“No feelings.”

JJ’s jaw twitched. His arms tensed—but he nodded.

“No expectations.”

A beat.

“No one finds out.”

Silence.

Then JJ smiled. That cocky, crooked smile that always made her stomach twist in betrayal of her brain.

“Kooks need stress relief too, right?”

It stung. She flinched—but only for a second.

He saw it. Smirk deepening.

“Well, at least I’m not worried about catching feelings,” she shot back.

JJ turned, grabbing his beer like it didn’t matter. Like this was no big deal.

But she saw the way his shoulders were set too tight. Saw the ripple of something unreadable move through him.

And standing there in the thick heat of the living room, Kie felt it—that pull. That spark. That stupid, stupid craving.

This is fine, she told herself.

I’m in control.

But god help her, the way her body reacted to him said otherwise.

__________________________

***JJ***

She said yes.

He didn’t show it—barely moved—but JJ could feel the pulse thudding in his throat, loud and hot and impossible to ignore. She agreed. Fuck. She actually agreed.

No feelings. No expectations. No one finds out.

She said it so easily. Like it wasn’t a blade to the gut.

She might as well have stabbed him with a fork and told him to smile.

But JJ smiled anyway.

Because he’d take it.

Any version of her.

Even if it meant lying through his damn teeth.

He didn’t want no strings. Didn’t want to pretend last night didn’t shake him sideways.

But he also didn’t want to scare her off—didn’t want to say too much too soon and lose whatever this was before he could figure out how to fix it.

Because it was complicated. Okay?

He just needed a little more time.

Time to figure out how to tell her that it was him—Birdshit.

How to say it without blowing everything sky high.

So yeah. He panicked.

Said he had feelings for someone else, just to level the playing field.

Said he was chill with keeping it casual, just to get her lips on his again.

And maybe that made him a selfish asshole. Maybe it made him a coward.

But right now?

She was standing so fucking close.

Wearing that tight gray tank tight enough that he could see the faint outline of her nipples. She hadn’t worn a bra—again. On purpose? Cutoff shorts hugging her hips, hair loose and wild like she didn’t even know what she was doing to him.

And her cheeks were pink. Blushing. Flushed.

She said yes.

He grabbed his beer—still mostly full—and handed it to her.

He offered it to her—half a dare, half a peace treaty—and she didn’t hesitate. Just shrugged, took it, and drank.

And god, watching her? Head tilted back, lips wrapped around the lip of the bottle, tongue flicking out to catch the taste?

JJ nearly blacked out.

She met his eyes as she licked her lips. Slow. Thoughtless. Lethal.

And she was standing too close.

Close enough that he could smell her sunscreen and that coconut shampoo she used that made his brain short-circuit.

Close enough that if he reached out, his fingers would graze the hem of her shirt. The one she always knotted at her waist like she didn’t know what it did to him.

She didn’t back away. Didn’t say a word.

That blush on her cheeks was still fresh. Her breath just a little faster than before. Her lips parted like she was about to say something but didn’t.

JJ’s pulse thudded in his ears.

He should’ve walked away. Should’ve made a joke. Should’ve done anything else.

But he didn’t.

Fuck it.

He leaned in—no preamble, no warning—and kissed her.

Just to seal the deal.

That’s what he told himself.

But the second his mouth touched hers, all that restraint snapped like brittle driftwood.

It was a little unsure at first, like they were both waiting for the other to break the spell.

Then her fingers ghosted across his chest—light and curious—and he groaned low in his throat. His hand slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him.

Her mouth opened under his like she was starving. Like she’d been waiting for this all day.

Tongues, teeth, heat. The kiss turned messy fast—grinding, gasping, her back bumping against the kitchen counter before he lifted her up onto it. His hands slid down to her thighs, then up under her shirt, palms skimming bare skin. She arched into him, soft sounds tumbling from her lips that made his knees go weak.

“Fuck, Kie…” he breathed against her mouth, drunk on her, every nerve on fire.

He dropped his lips to her neck, brushing them lightly at first—teasing. But when she gasped and tipped her head to the side, giving him more, he sank in.

He mouthed at the curve of her jaw, down to the place just beneath her ear where her skin was warm and pulse-heavy. She raked her fingers through his hair with a sharp inhale, tugging when he sucked a little harder. The noise that came out of him—low, raw—was barely human.

Her hands slipped wandered over his chest, nails dragging over the ridges of his abs like she needed to memorize every line. But when her palm slid lower, fingers grazing the waistband of his jeans and cupping him through the denim—everything in him jolted.

She felt him.

And fuck, the sound she made—quiet and surprised and wrecked—made his ego practically detonate.

“Jesus,” she whispered, biting her lip.

He growled under his breath, fingers diving under her shirt to find her nipples already tight. He rolled one between his fingers and she arched into his chest, a soft whine caught in her throat.

“Off,” he rasped, tugging at the hem of her top. She lifted her arms without question.

No bra.

JJ nearly groaned out loud.

His eyes swept over her bare chest, skin flushed, nipples peaked, chest rising and falling like she couldn’t quite catch her breath. Neither could he.

“Fucking hell, Kie,” he murmured, voice thick.

He bent his head and pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to her collarbone, licking a slow stripe across the top of her breast while his fingers worked the button of her shorts. She squirmed on the counter, hips shifting as he gave her a quick tap on the thigh.

“Up,” he said, husky.

She raised her ass off the counter just long enough for him to slide the cutoffs down her legs. They caught on her knees briefly—he laughed, she giggled—and that sound did something stupid to his heart. Made it ache and stutter like it didn’t know whether to melt or combust.

“God, I love that sound,” he muttered, tossing the shorts somewhere behind him.

And then he dropped to his knees in front of her.

She stared down at him, eyes blown wide, lips parted.

He was utterly, completely entranced.

And starving.

He hooked her legs over his shoulders, hands splayed wide on her thighs as he took a breath—just a second to take her in.

So wet. So fucking perfect.

He leaned in and kissed the inside of her hip, slow and deliberate, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin there. She jolted slightly, fingers twitching at the edge of the counter.

“Um,” she started, breath hitching. “Should we really be doing this in the—?”

But her voice cut off in a strangled moan the second his mouth landed on her.

JJ groaned against her, swiping his tongue over her clit in one smooth, hungry motion. She bucked under his mouth like her body had betrayed her.

He pulled back just enough to mutter, “No one’s here, Kie. Relax.” His voice was hoarse, almost guttural. “Let me taste you.”

Truthfully, he didn’t want to stop. Not ever.

He buried his face between her thighs, licking slow and deep, alternating strokes with firm sucks that had her head dropping back against the cabinet. She was already panting, already trembling—hands diving into his hair and tugging like she couldn’t decide if she needed more or couldn’t handle it.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet,” he rasped against her, eyes flicking up to catch her expression—wrecked, lips parted, eyes blown wide. “Could eat you for hours.”

She whimpered something incoherent in response.

He flattened his tongue, dragged it hard over her clit, and slid a finger inside her—just to see how she’d react.

The answer?

A moan so loud it echoed in the empty kitchen.

“Shit, Kie…” he growled, adding another finger, thrusting them slow, then faster, curling them just right as his tongue worked in tandem.

“JJ—fuck, oh my god—”

“That’s it,” he coaxed, voice ragged. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel it.”

She was gasping now, writhing on the counter, heels digging into his back, fingers fisting his hair so tight it hurt—in the best way.

“I’m—I’m gonna—”

Her whole body clenched, a cry tearing from her throat as she came around his fingers, hips bucking and breath ragged. JJ held her through it, fingers and mouth easing her down until she was shaking, twitching, completely undone.

And fuck, feeling her pulse and flutter around him—he nearly lost it himself.

He pressed a kiss to her thigh before rising, slow and steady, dragging his mouth up her torso, brushing his lips over her stomach, her chest, her collarbone.

When he reached her face, she grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him in for a kiss—greedy, messy, breathless.

“That was…” she tried, voice dazed and wrecked.

JJ’s grin was pure sin.

“So fucking hot,” he finished for her.

She nodded, eyes glassy, lips swollen, looking completely, beautifully ruined.

And her hands?

Already sliding down to his belt.

She made quick work of his belt, fingers nimble even though her breath was still shaky. He let her do it—barely breathing as she popped the button and tugged down the zipper, knuckles brushing against him with every movement. His jeans slid to the floor with a heavy thud.

Then her hand pressed against the bulge in his boxers.

JJ groaned—loud, needy. The kind of sound he didn’t even mean to let out.

“Fuck, Kie…”

She smirked, like she liked having that kind of power, like she knew exactly what she was doing to him. Her palm rubbed slow circles, teasing pressure through the thin cotton.

He couldn’t take it.

He helped her shove them down, hips lifting, and then—he flopped free.

For a beat, neither of them moved.

Just stared.

JJ looked down, half dazed, breath caught in his throat as Kiara’s wide eyes dropped between them.

Her lips parted.

Her hand came up, tentative at first, then confident—running slowly along the length of him, delicate, almost curious. Like she was appreciating the weight and heat of him in her palm.

JJ’s abs flexed, a curse slipping past his lips.

Sparks shot straight through him at her touch—light, barely-there strokes that still had him seeing stars.

Then—before he could fully process what the hell was happening—she slipped off the counter.

He blinked. “What are you—”

She turned around and leaned forward over the counter, elbows braced, back arched—putting herself fully on display.

Then she shot him a look over her shoulder. A wicked one. Pure sin and sunshine.

JJ’s mouth went dry.

Her toned ass, round and perfect. Her slick folds glistening in the kitchen light. The curve of her spine as she shifted her weight back, just slightly, inviting him.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

He couldn’t breathe.

“Are you…” he started, voice cracking. “Are you serious right now?”

She looked back again, cocking a brow. “There a problem?”

“No. No problem,” he muttered, already wrapping his hand around himself, guiding his cock to her heat like he was in a trance.

It felt like a dream. A wet, filthy, no-fucking-way-is-this-real dream.

He grabbed himself, thick and throbbing in his hand, and ran the tip slowly through her folds.

Soaked. Warm. Fucking heaven.

He swiped over her clit, just once, and watched her hips jolt—watched her brace harder against the counter like she needed him.

He’d dreamed of this. Every night since high school, probably. Bent over a counter, wet and willing and his.

Maybe he was dreaming now.

And then—

Crunch.

Tires on gravel.

The Twinkie.

His heart stopped.

Kiara whipped her head around. “Shit—”

“Fuck!” JJ hissed, already moving.

Voices. Close. John B’s laugh. Sarah’s voice chasing after it. Too close.

“Shower. Now.” JJ snapped, already grabbing for her clothes off the floor.

“What?”

“Shower!” he repeated, tossing her tank top at her before hauling her shorts off the tile. “I’ll stall them—go!”

Kiara scrambled, clutching the bundle of fabric to her chest as she darted toward the hallway, bare feet slapping against the floor.

JJ snatched his own shirt and boxers, bolted into his room, and slammed the door shut just as the screen door creaked open.

John B’s voice echoed through the Chateau.

“Yo! JJ? Where the hell is everyone?”

JJ leaned against his bedroom door, chest heaving, pulse thundering in his ears.

Clothes still in hand. Half-hard. Completely wrecked.

He scrubbed a hand over his face.

So. Damn. Close.

And now there was a soaking-wet Kiara hiding naked in the shower.

JJ’s heart was still pounding like a jackhammer as he tugged his boxers up and yanked his t-shirt over his head. His hands were shaking.

The front door creaked louder this time—someone actually stepping inside.

He was barely decent, his dick still half-hard and his brain fully fried, when—

Shhhh.

The sound of water starting in the bathroom made him close his eyes in relief.

Thank you. God bless smart, fast-thinking women.

He took a breath, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and forced his face into something that resembled normal before stepping into the main room.

John B was rummaging in the pantry already. Sarah had flopped onto the couch.

“Yo,” JJ said, aiming for casual.

John B peeked out. “Hey, where’ve you been?”

JJ shrugged. “Here. Kie just got here too—went to shower real quick.”

Sarah squinted. “She came over to shower?”

JJ shrugged like it was no big deal. “She came over to help you set up for the bonfire, I think. Said you were late. Shower’s her own call—I've been in my room.”

Sarah frowned. “I didn’t tell her to come early.”

JJ kept his expression smooth. “Guess she was being proactive.”

John B didn’t question it. Sarah looked suspicious, but bless her, she let it go.

JJ walked to the fridge just to keep his hands busy.

“So…” John B’s voice was slower now. “You and Kiara good? After yesterday?”

JJ stilled. “What?”

“You followed her inside after the party. Then she left lookin’… I dunno. Not stoked.”

JJ made himself chuckle. “Yeah. We talked. We’re cool. Back to normal.”

Right. Normal. Totally.

Sarah gave him a look he ignored while John B rummaged in the pantry.

That’s when the bathroom door opened, and Kiara padded out in a towel, fresh-faced and somehow even hotter now that he’d had her moaning under his tongue not ten minutes ago.

JJ didn’t let himself look too long.

But then—

“Fuck yeah,” John B said, victorious as he pulled out a jar of jelly. “I’m starving.”

He grabbed two slices of bread, plopped them directly on the counter—the same spot Kiara’s bare ass had been with JJ’s face buried between her legs—and started smearing jelly like nothing mattered.

JJ froze.

So did Kiara.

Their eyes met across the room. Hers went wide. He bit the inside of his cheek so hard he might bleed.

Kiara’s mouth twitched.

JJ swallowed the laugh bubbling up in his throat, barely keeping it together as John B happily licked jelly off his thumb.

“You guys want one?”

Holy shit.

They were going to hell.

JJ choked out, “Nah, I’m good.”

Kiara was already turning away, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Yeah. This pact?

So fucked.

_______________

***KIE***

The house was quiet. The party had ended hours ago—smoke clinging to her hair, the faint echo of laughter still buzzing in her ears.

But Kiara wasn’t tired.

She lay curled on her side, one leg tangled in the sheets, screen brightness dimmed low. CarveLine was open on her phone, Birdshit’s profile glowing at the top of her messages.

She’d read their old exchanges three times now.

Some flirty.

Some thoughtful.

Some downright filthy.

But tonight, she didn’t want to flirt.

She just… wanted him. Not sexually—well, maybe a little—but mostly emotionally.

That comfort. That ease. That strange, digital honesty that had become the only thing in her life that didn’t feel tangled.

Karma:

“Sometimes I feel like there are two versions of me… Like the one everyone sees, and then the one that’s just... yours?”

It only took a minute for his reply to come in.

Birdshit:

“Yeah I feel that. You’re the only one who knows this side of me.”

Her chest ached.

She stared at the screen, fingers hovering for a long moment before she typed again.

She didn’t owe him this.

Not really.

They weren’t dating. They weren’t anything, technically. Just usernames in the void. Digital tension and late-night truths. And yet… it felt wrong not to tell him.

Like a betrayal.

Like cheating on something that didn’t exist—but meant something anyway.

She needed him to know. Maybe to feel closer. Maybe to prove to herself that this thing they had wasn’t all in her head.

That he wasn’t.

Her thumbs moved on autopilot, heart hammering in her chest.

Karma:

“I kissed someone tonight.”

“But I was thinking of you.”

She hit send before she could chicken out.

Instant regret. And relief. Tangled together and punching straight through her chest.

God, why did that feel like a confession?

What if he got weird? Or jealous? Or thought she was playing him?

What if he didn’t care at all?

She swallowed hard, the nerves hitting low and sharp in her gut.

She didn’t want to lose him.

Not Birdshit.

He felt safe. Real in a way nothing else did right now.

And admitting that scared the hell out of her.

But the typing dots appeared almost immediately.

Birdshit:

“Was he worth thinking about?”

She bit her lip.

Karma:

“I don’t know. I didn’t feel nothing. But it wasn’t what I feel when I talk to you.”

Another pause.

Birdshit:

“I wish it had been me.”

“But you don’t owe me anything. Not really.”

“I’m just glad I get this version of you, even if it’s through a screen.”

Kiara blinked at that.

Something about the way he said this version of you made her stomach twist in that way that always came before something important.

She smiled—soft and sad.

And then the questions started creeping in, quiet and sharp.

Why hadn’t they tried to meet up yet?

Why hadn’t she asked?

She told herself it was about timing. Logistics. Nerves.

But the truth? She was scared.

What if it wasn’t the same?

What if Birdshit wasn’t who she thought he was?

Worse—what if he was, and it made everything else in her life impossible?

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard.

I want to meet you.

She didn’t type it.

Not tonight.

Soon, she promised herself.

Then she turned off her phone and closed her eyes, the glow of his words still warming her in the dark.

Chapter Text

***KIE***

The morning sun was still low, burning through the mist in soft gold streaks as Kiara popped the tailgate of her car and dropped her board inside. Her curls were wet, the salty kind of tangled that only happened after a real ride, and her skin was already warm from the early rays. Her chest rose and fell with that clean, post-surf high—steady, full, better than any meditation app could promise.

God, she missed this.

Surfing used to be second nature. Something she did without thinking, just like showing up at the Boneyard or borrowing JJ’s hoodie without asking. Back when the boys were always around, before everything got complicated. Summer mornings had been sacred—sprinting into the ocean half-awake, screaming insults at each other between sets, racing to see who could land the sloppiest trick. She didn’t realize how far she'd drifted from it until today.

She’d only meant to paddle out for a few minutes. Clear her head. But it was like muscle memory took over. The way her body moved on the board felt… right. Familiar in a way nothing else had lately.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, she toweled off her hair and reached for her phone. The CarveLine notification was already waiting.

“Underground Surf Comp - OBX Style. Invite-only. Bring your A-game or get wrecked.”

She rolled her eyes at the phrasing, but not at the idea.

Her thumb hovered. She clicked.

And of course, there he was:

Birdshit: “Can’t wait to humble everyone in OBX in a couple weeks. Especially the kooks.”

Kiara grinned. She tapped into their DMs.

Karma: “Thinking about entering. You ready to get smoked by a girl before noon?”

Birdshit: “If you join, I’d hate to beat you. But I’d do it gracefully 😏”

Karma: “Graceful’s not the word I’d use for someone with your ego.”

Birdshit: “You’ve never seen my ego in action.”

Karma: “Or anything else, for that matter.”

Birdshit: “You say that like you’re curious.”

Karma: “Just saying… if a certain mystery man were at the comp, I might keep an eye out.”

Birdshit: “👀👀👀”

Birdshit: “Is this your way of asking me to show up shirtless and victorious?”

Karma: “It’s OBX. Everyone’s shirtless and dumb. You’ll blend right in.”

Birdshit: “You wound me.”

Karma: “I haven’t even started.”

Kiara smirked at the screen, the thrill settling somewhere low and addictive in her stomach. She hadn’t meant to go there—not really—but the idea had slipped out like it was waiting for her to admit it. And now it was out there.

Maybe she was curious.

Maybe she wanted to know what he looked like. What it would feel like to watch him across a crowd and know. To recognize him from something deeper than a face.

Or maybe she just wanted to see who could make the other sweat more.

She didn’t mean to start anything.

She really didn’t.

But the second Karma typed “if a certain mystery man were at the comp, I might keep an eye out”, something shifted. The tone. The tension. A fuse quietly lit.

And now she was curled up on her bed, still damp from the ocean, still sandy at the ankles, trying not to bite through her lower lip as her phone buzzed again.

Birdshit: “You keep saying things like that and I’m gonna have to ask—what exactly do you want from me, Karma?”

Her thumbs hovered.

Karma: “You really want to know?”

Birdshit: “You have no idea. Tell me what you like”

She hesitated. Not because she didn’t know what to say—but because she did.

Karma: “I like the build up. The anticipation. The teasing. I like when you make me want it so bad it feels like my skin’s too tight.”

She stared at it for a second before hitting send. Her heart thudded.

The reply came fast.

Birdshit: “Jesus.”

Birdshit: “That’s dangerously hot.”

Birdshit: “What else do you like?”

She let her head drop back against the pillows, exhaling through her nose. Then she typed slowly, deliberately.

Karma: “I like dirty talk. And a guy who knows what he wants.”

Karma: “Rough doesn’t scare me. I don’t want to be worshipped. I want to be wrecked.”

Karma: “You?”

There was a beat. Then:

Birdshit: “Fuuuuuck.”

Birdshit: “You’re unreal”

Birdshit: “I like a hot body, obviously. (I’m an Ass guy). But attitude matters more.”

Birdshit: “I like confidence. A girl who knows how to tease but isn’t afraid to beg.”

Birdshit: “Going down on a woman is a spiritual experience. Don’t @ me.”

Birdshit: “But yeah. I lean dominant. I like pushing a girl right to the edge. Then pulling her back just to see her beg.”

Kiara swallowed. Her hand was already sliding lower beneath the waistband of her shorts. God, she was soaked.

She typed with her free hand.

Karma: “You’re seriously killing me.”

Birdshit: “Are you touching yourself right now?”

Karma: “Yes.”

Her breath hitched. A new message blinked onto the screen.

Birdshit: “Good girl.”

She whimpered aloud. Her breath caught. She bit her lip and arched her back, phone in one hand while the other pushed her closer, closer—

Birdshit: “What do you fantasize about?”

Birdshit: “Like, if you let go of every filter—what’s the thing that really gets to you?”

Kiara hesitated.

Then, slowly—

Karma: “You. Mostly.”

Karma: “Your mouth. Your hands. The things you say.”

She paused, thumb hovering.

Karma: “But lately... I keep thinking about sneaking around.”

Karma: “Doing something filthy while my friends are in the next room.”

Karma: “Feeling my panties soaked and trying to act normal.”

Karma: “Keeping a big, dirty secret.”

She watched the three dots blink. Then disappear. Then blink again.

She didn’t know why she typed it—except that it was true.

Lately, she felt like she was burning from the inside out. Everything was too much and not enough all at once. Her skin felt tight. Her thoughts, unhinged. She couldn't stop wanting.

Maybe it was the sneaking around with JJ. The way they’d almost been caught. The high of tugging her clothes back on with her pulse still pounding, pretending nothing happened with his hand still on her hip. That secret lived under her skin now—hot and pulsing, impossible to ignore.

Or maybe it was the messages with Birdshit. The taboo of it. The anonymity. The tension in not knowing who he was.

She’d been keeping so many secrets lately. Sexy secrets.

And they were driving her insane.

She thought sleeping with JJ would take the edge off. Scratch the itch.

But instead, it cracked something wide open.

Now all she could think about was how it felt to be interrupted.

How badly she wanted to finish what they started.

How much she needed more—rougher, messier, riskier.

Like trying to ignore a mosquito bite and ending up clawing at it until your skin burned.

She wanted more from JJ.

She wanted more from Birdshit.

And it was getting harder to separate the two.

Harder to pretend she didn’t crave both.

She was wet all the time. Distracted. Horny in a way that felt unmanageable.

And she was losing her mind trying not to come undone.

Birdshit: “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Birdshit: “You’re gonna kill me.”

Birdshit: “You want to be my dirty little secret?”

Karma: “I already am.”

More messages flashed.

Birdshit: “I want your thighs around my head.”

Birdshit: “I want to hear you beg for it.”

Birdshit: “I’d worship you AND wreck you”

Karma: “You think I’d let you?”

Birdshit: “I think you’d love it.”

The next messages blurred—quick, breathless taps between her moans. He told her what he’d do to her if she were in his bed right now. She told him how he wouldn’t last five minutes with her on top. He said he’d grip her hips so hard she’d have finger-shaped bruises. She admitted she’d leave her panties on under her dress and pretend nothing was happening while he dragged them aside in public.

She wasn’t sure where the words were coming from. Only that they were real. That she meant them. That she needed this.

When she finally came—hand buried between her thighs, phone buzzing beside her, a strangled gasp caught in her throat—it felt like shattering and release all at once.

Kiara lay there for a long moment, flushed and panting, her body soft and liquid. Sated.

And then her screen lit up.

1 New Email: “Reminder: Application Deadlines Approaching!”

1 New Text: Mom: “We need to talk, Kiara. You cannot keep skipping our therapy sessions”

The bubble in her chest deflated.

Just like that.

She threw the phone onto the bed beside her and stared up at the ceiling, breath shallow again. Not from pleasure this time—but pressure. Reality. The ever-present weight of who she was supposed to be.

Being Karma was easy.

Being Kiara Carerra was exhausting.

She rolled onto her side, hair clinging to her cheek, skin still humming from the high.

For a moment, she let herself pretend the only thing that mattered was how good it felt to be wanted. To be seen. Not for her grades or her resume or some “future” she wasn’t even sure she wanted—but for the parts of her that pulsed and ached and burned.

Birdshit wanted her. No expectations. No judgment. Just raw, honest, filthy want.

And God, that was addicting.

But it wasn’t real.

Not in the way it counted.

Because in the real world, she wasn’t Karma. She was Kiara. Daughter of the Carreras. Serial underachiever. College procrastinator. The girl who kept skipping therapy, ducking her mom’s texts, pretending she had a plan when she didn’t even know what she wanted for lunch.

And maybe that’s what made it worse.

Because half the time, she didn’t know if Birdshit liked her for who she was—or who she pretended to be.

And the other half?

She was scared they were the same person.

She dragged the covers over her bare legs and shut her eyes tight, the guilt pressing against her chest like a hand.

She wanted JJ.

She wanted Birdshit.

She wanted someone to make it easier to be her.

And right now? That felt like the most impossible thing in the world.

_________________________

***JJ***

The sun hung high overhead, baking the yard in golden heat as lazy voices floated through the air like smoke. JJ leaned back in a splintered lawn chair, beer balanced on his stomach, sunglasses low on his nose. It was one of those rare, perfect afternoons—no plans, no drama, no expectations. Just the Pogues doing what they did best: nothing.

Cleo was braiding tiny beads into Sarah’s hair. John B was trying to rig a shade tarp using two surfboards and a rope that definitely wasn’t long enough. Pope was fiddling with the speaker, muttering about playlists and how no one appreciated his taste in old-school hip-hop. Kie was off to the side, legs stretched out on a towel, head tilted to catch the sun, curls catching fire in the light.

JJ watched her like he wasn’t.

John B’s voice snapped him out of it.

“Dude,” he called, grinning as he waved JJ’s phone in the air. “You’re literally always on that surf forum—what is it again? CarveLine? You trying to find your soulmate or just arguing with twelve-year-olds about barrel height?”

JJ sat up, fast. “Hand it over, jackass.”

John B laughed but tossed the phone back. “Didn’t peg you for the message board type.”

JJ shrugged, feigning casual. “Just trying to make sure no one dies doing dumb shit. Kooks are out in full force lately.”

It was a decent dodge. Still, his eyes flicked toward Kiara.

She hadn’t reacted—too busy laughing at something Cleo had said. But that didn’t stop his stomach from twisting. God forbid she finds out he’s been sexting her under a bird-themed alias.

He cracked his neck and took a sip of beer.

Pope dropped into a nearby chair with a groan. “I swear, if my dad brings up the scholarship deadlines one more time at dinner, I’m moving into the woods. He printed out a schedule. A schedule, dude.”

JJ smirked, but Pope kept going.

“And my mom’s on this kick about family bonding or whatever—she wants to do this big dinner thing this weekend. Like, sit-down, candles, matching plates, no phones.”

Then Pope hesitated. Just a flicker.

His mouth opened like he was going to say more—complain about the menu, maybe—but then his eyes landed on JJ.

And just like that, his voice died.

JJ caught it. The shift.

Pope looked down at his hands. “Anyway. You guys are all invited. Should be fun.”

JJ forced a smile. “Yeah. Cool.”

But the pit was already there. Heavy. Familiar.

He hated how fast it happened—how a single sentence could gut him before he even saw it coming.

Because Pope wasn’t wrong. His parents were a lot.

But at least they gave a shit.

JJ could barely remember the last time someone set a plate out for him without asking for something in return. The last time someone asked if he was okay and actually meant it. Cookouts, family dinners, matching plates—they were things that belonged to someone else’s life. Someone like Pope.

And he didn’t blame him. Not really. But it still burned.

He let his grin linger, kept it loose and sharp around the edges. Didn’t say a word about why he was always at the Chateau. Or why he flinched when someone slammed a door too hard. Or why his knuckles were scabbed again this week.

It was easier this way.

Especially around Kie.

She looked up just then, eyes catching the subtle tension that passed between him and Pope. She didn’t say anything. Just watched. Quiet. Clocking it like she always did.

JJ shook his head once, like it was no big deal. Like it didn’t matter.

And she let him have that.

Didn’t press. Didn’t ask. Just shifted her gaze and went back to her conversation.

He exhaled slowly.

He wanted her to believe it—that he was just reckless, not broken. That his split lip was from fights he chose, and not from a house that still smelled like spilled bourbon and stale fear.

Because letting her believe that meant she didn’t have to feel sorry for him.

And JJ Maybank didn’t want pity.

Especially not from the one person whose softness could split him wide open.

Kiara shifted in her seat, pulling her knees up like the silence had gotten too loud.

“Tell me about it, Pope,” she said, with a dramatic sigh. “Apparently I’m being dragged to some fancy fundraiser thing at the country club next weekend.”

JJ looked over, brows raised. “Seriously?”

She groaned. “Yeah. My mom’s on the board or whatever. Coastal conservation, but really it’s just an excuse to parade me around in a floral dress and introduce me to every eligible Ivy-bound tool in a blazer.”

Sarah made a face. “Ew. So, like… suitors?”

Kiara pointed at her. “Yes. That exact word was used. I’m not even joking.”

John B snorted. “You should bring a date. Fend them off with someone scary.”

“Like who?” Kiara scoffed. “It’s a good idea in theory, but I don’t exactly have anyone to ask.”

“I would,” John B said, glancing at Sarah with a grin. “But I’m already taken.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Chivalry lives.”

JJ didn’t say anything.

He kept his expression bored, like it didn’t mean a damn thing. Like he wasn’t suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that she hadn’t even looked his way when she said it.

Not that he wanted to go to some uptight, overpriced Kook banquet. He hated those things. Ties, expectations, whispered judgment. He’d rather set himself on fire.

But still.

She could’ve asked.

He might’ve said no.

But he might’ve said yes.

If she looked at him with that half-smile. If she said she didn’t want to go alone.

If she wanted him there, even if he didn’t belong.

But she didn’t ask.

And he wasn’t going to volunteer. Not when she clearly didn’t see him that way—not when he still couldn’t figure out if they were something or nothing or just trapped somewhere in between.

He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve and kept quiet.

Let her laugh with the others. Let her joke about tennis boys and Kook moms and being paraded around.

It was easier this way.

Even if it still stung.

_______________

The game started with Pope talking shit and ended with JJ knocking him flat on his back.

JJ had won the first round—feet locked, core tight, pushing Pope off balance with a well-timed shoulder check. Pope hit the grass dramatically, limbs flailing like a soccer player taking a dive, and everyone laughed.

JJ raised his arms in mock victory. “Still got it.”

But then Kiara stood up, that glint in her eye—the one that always spelled trouble for him.

“My turn,” she said, already toeing off her shoes.

JJ grinned. “You sure you’re ready to lose in front of an audience?”

“Please,” she scoffed, tying her curls back with a flick of her wrist that he definitely noticed more than he should’ve. “You barely beat Pope. I’ve seen stronger stances from baby goats.”

“Ouch,” Pope said from the ground.

The others whooped as they squared off. Feet planted. Hands at their sides. Eyes locked.

JJ leaned forward. “I don’t wanna break you, Princess.”

“Try me.”

It was close. She was feisty, smart with her attacks, unpredictable. JJ was holding back at first, not wanting to hurt her—not that she needed his protection—but the moment she threw a fake-out feint and nearly toppled him, he stopped playing nice.

They laughed the whole time, giggles slipping out between taunts. JJ could feel the warmth of her body just inches from his, the tension sparking even in a dumb game like this. Her smirk. His grin. Their shoulders brushing. It was nothing.

But it wasn’t.

In the end, he made a last-second sweep that nearly took them both down—her arms waved wildly to regain balance while he flew past her, landing hard enough to bruise his ego more than anything else.

“Illegal move!” he shouted, pointing at her accusingly.

“I won fair and square,” Kiara beamed, arms raised like a champ.

“You stepped out of bounds.”

“There are no bounds.”

“Exactly!” he said, as if that made any sense at all.

The group booed him affectionately. Sarah tossed him a koozie from the cooler. “Let her have this, JJ.”

Kiara spun dramatically and flopped into the hammock like it was a royal throne. “The Champion retires.”

JJ hesitated. He knew how it looked—him walking over, trailing her like a lost dog. Knew the jokes were probably already being lined up in Pope’s head.

But he went anyway.

When he tried to sit, Kiara lifted one leg to block him. “This is champions-only seating.”

He grabbed her ankle gently. “I beat Pope. That counts for something.”

She squinted at him. “Half a point.”

“Half’s enough.” He sat down beside her anyway, and she let him. The hammock swayed slightly under their weight.

Their banter quieted. But only for a second.

“Admit it,” Kiara said, nudging his knee with hers. “You’re just mad you got beat by someone half your size.”

“I’m mad I got hustled,” JJ replied. “You played dirty.”

“Oh my god, I outbalanced you, not stabbed you in a bar fight.”

“Same thing,” he deadpanned. “Honestly I’m lucky to be alive.”

She snorted. “So dramatic.”

“Sorry, I forgot I was talking to the self-declared champion of backyard foot-fighting.”

“Backyard balance dueling,” she corrected, all mock-serious. “Say it with respect.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Carrera.”

She let out a light giggle, the kind that crinkled the corners of her eyes. He wanted to bottle that sound. Wanted to be the only reason she ever laughed like that.

They sat in the hammock, the sway making them lean a little too close on each pass. Her knee brushed his thigh. Neither moved away.

He didn’t know when his hand drifted to her leg, just that it felt like gravity pulled him there. Resting on her shin, thumb grazing bare skin.

She didn’t stop him.

His fingers moved without thinking, tracing slow, idle shapes over her calf. A circle. A line. A lazy figure eight. He wasn’t even sure if he was still breathing.

God, he liked her.

Not just wanted her—though he did, with every bone in his body—but liked her. The kind of like that crept up slowly and then all at once. The kind that made his chest feel too full and his brain too soft.

She made him laugh. She called him on his bullshit. She didn’t flinch when he was angry or shut down when he was quiet. She saw through him in a way that was terrifying and addictive.

He could sit in this hammock with her forever and never say a word, as long as he got to keep tracing those tiny, invisible shapes on her skin. As long as she kept letting him.

____________

The group migrated inside once the sun got high, the kind of sticky, sleepy heat that made everyone collapse in slow motion.

Inside, the energy had shifted—mellowed into something lazy and low-key. Afternoon sun filtered through the Chateau’s busted blinds, casting dust motes through the living room like tiny falling stars. The TV was on, some video game Pope and John B were halfway into, but JJ wasn’t paying attention.

He was watching her.

Kiara was at the table with the girls, chin propped on her hand while Sarah scrolled through Pinterest boards like it was a full-time job. Cleo threw in the occasional comment, but Kie looked checked out—like she was pretending to care for Sarah’s sake.

Then her phone buzzed.

She lit up, just barely, and JJ grinned to himself.

He pulled his own phone out under the guise of checking a notification and opened CarveLine.

He thought about what she’d told him that morning—how the idea of sneaking around in plain sight got her off. That tension. That secret. Doing something filthy with friends in the next room. Just thinking about it made his pulse jump.

So he gave into the impulse. Let the idea bloom fully, wicked and electric.

Birdshit:
“Got a feeling you could use a distraction.”

He sent it and watched.

She blinked at her screen, lips twitching into a smile. Not the polite kind—the real kind. She tucked her hair behind her ear and crossed one leg over the other.

His phone buzzed again.

Karma:
“Wow. So chivalrous. Should I swoon?”

Birdshit:
“I’d rather you squirm.”

JJ bit his lip, hiding the smirk with his hand. He shifted on the couch, careful not to draw attention. A heat was already curling in his gut.

Karma:
“You’re unbelievable.”

Birdshit:
“Tell me what you’re wearing.”

She snorted quietly, shaking her head like she was exasperated—but typed back anyway.

Karma:
“Shorts. Tank top. Zero underwear.”

JJ coughed into his fist. He was already half-hard.

Across the room, Kiara shifted in her seat, biting her lip as her fingers danced over the screen.

Karma:
“I’m sitting at a table with my friends, half bored. Fully turned on.”

“Wish you were under this table right now. Bet I’d come before dessert.”

He swore under his breath, adjusting the hem of his shirt over his lap.

She glanced up casually—eyes drifting right over him like nothing was happening. He wanted to drag her into the next room and show her exactly what was.

Birdshit:
“You’re playing with fire, Karma.”

Karma:
“You started it.”

She was squirming now. Subtle, but he saw it. She pulled one leg up onto the chair, phone angled just-so in her lap, like she was shielding their conversation from the others.

God, he could see it happening in real time—see the effect he had on her without even touching her. Without her knowing it was him. That the guy making her blush and bite her lip and shift in her seat was the same one watching her from ten feet away, already obsessed.

It was fucked up.

It was perfect.

This is how he always imagined her behind the screen—flushed and breathless, talking shit and asking for more. But now he didn’t have to imagine. Now he got to watch her fall apart in real time, and she didn’t even know he was the one making her come undone.

JJ leaned back against the couch, eyes glued to her.

He should feel guilty.

Instead, he just wanted to keep going.

Birdshit:
“What would you do if I was under that table right now?”

He watched her read it. Her lip caught between her teeth. The flush crept up her neck like spilled wine.

Karma:
“Depends. Are your hands on my thighs or your mouth between them?”

JJ’s heart thumped. Loud and low and impossible to ignore. He shifted again, trying to look casual, but every inch of him was wired with tension.

He’d thought about this. Every night, pretty much. What she’d say if he asked. How far she’d take it. But this? This was beyond even his favorite fantasies. She was right there. Flushed and fidgeting and completely unaware that he was watching her fall apart over him.

He almost laughed. It was so surreal, so fucking wild, that she didn’t know.

Birdshit:
“Both. Hands first—spreading your legs nice and slow.”

“Then I’d kiss up your thighs until you’re begging.”

“You’d try to stay quiet. But I’d make it impossible.”

Karma’s reply came slower this time.

Karma:
“Fuck, this isn’t fair”

“You’re driving me insane.”

“I’m soaking through my shorts.”

JJ swore under his breath and tipped his head back against the couch. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, let the rush of blood anywhere but his brain level out just enough so he didn’t embarrass himself in front of Pope and John B.

If they knew what was happening—not ten feet away—if they even guessed...

JJ cracked his eyes open again, looking at her like he couldn’t not. Kiara was biting the edge of her nail, blinking at her screen like she couldn’t read fast enough. Her legs were crossed again, pressed tight.

He wanted to ruin her.

Birdshit:
“Tell me exactly how wet you are.”

He watched her pause. Her thumbs moved.

Karma:
“I keep clenching. My thighs are sticky. My pussy is aching for you.”

JJ nearly choked on his own breath.

He adjusted again—this time less subtly, dragging a pillow into his lap under the excuse of stretching. It didn’t help. His dick was steel.

And still—still—he wanted more.

She said she liked sneaking around. Liked the risk. The heat of doing something filthy with her friends in the next room. He wasn’t going to waste that.

Birdshit:
“You want to touch yourself right now, don’t you?”

“Bet you’re dying to.”

“Do it.”

Kiara blinked. Glanced at the girls. Then back down.

Karma:
“I can’t. They’ll notice.”

JJ smirked.

Birdshit:
“Didn’t you say you liked sneaking around?”

“That you’re my dirty secret?”

“Touch yourself for me. Just for a second.”

“Pretend it’s my fingers.”

He stared shamelessly now. Her fingers dipped beneath the table, hidden from view. She stilled. Her shoulders twitched—just the slightest shift—but he knew.

JJ’s head spun.

This was torture. This was the hottest thing he’d ever seen in his life.

He tugged the pillow closer, every muscle tight.

He wasn’t just hard—he was unraveling.

The game, the secret, the way she looked like she wanted to burst—he could barely sit still.

And through it all, one thought pressed at the edges of his chest like a bruise:

He wanted to be the only one she talked to like this.

Not Birdshit. Not some screenname. Him. JJ.

The one who knew every face she made, every breathy sound she tried to stifle. The one who held her in his arms and made her gasp. The one who had her right now—and still had to pretend he didn’t.

He hated that he had to share her, even with himself.

JJ exhaled hard, thumb hovering over the next reply. He wanted to say it. Wanted to tell her.

But instead:

Birdshit:
“Good girl.”

“Don’t stop.”

Karma:
“You’re making me lose it.”

Birdshit:
“Then let go.”

“Just imagine it’s me under the table right now.”

He watched her grip the edge of the table, knuckles whitening. Her lips parted. She closed her eyes for half a second, like she needed to steady herself.

JJ’s heart hammered. His dick throbbed. This wasn’t just hot—it was fucking dangerous. One slip and the whole thing would explode. But god, watching her come undone in real time, knowing she had no clue it was him—it was the most addictive thing he’d ever felt.

Karma:
“God. I’m throbbing.”

“I want you inside me so bad I could cry.”

JJ nearly groaned aloud. His brain short-circuited. The heat in his spine turned molten.

JJ bit down on the inside of his cheek, hard. His vision blurred for half a second. He’d never wanted anything more. Not just the sex—though yeah, holy shit, that too—but the way she talked. Like she was fearless. Like she wanted to be wrecked.

By him.

And she didn’t even know.

And then—

“Yo.”

Pope nudged him. “You alive, man? You haven’t moved in like twenty minutes.”

JJ blinked. “Huh? Yeah. Zoned out.”

“You high?” John B asked, eyeing him with a smirk.

“Nah,” JJ said, voice cracking. “Just…conserving energy.”

Meanwhile at the table, Sarah leaned into Kie with a grin. “What’s got you all flustered? Is this about the mystery guy again?”

Kiara startled. Her phone clattered against the wood.

“I’m not flustered,” she said, too fast. “And there’s no guy.”

Cleo raised a brow. “Sure, princess. Your face is ten shades of not my business.”

Kie snatched her phone back, face flushed, eyes down. “I’m just hot, okay?”

Sarah snorted. “Yeah. That’s definitely what he thinks too.”

Kiara shot her a look, and that was it. The thread had snapped. The moment was gone.

JJ exhaled, shoulders dropping like he’d just missed the wave of the century. He pulled his phone closer, read her last message one more time.

Throbbing.

Wanted him inside her.

Fuck.

He’d remember this for the rest of his life.

The room slowly drifted back into focus—like coming up for air after holding his breath too long.

JJ shifted, letting the pillow drop casually back to the couch and stretching like he’d just woken up from a nap, trying to shake the heat still pooling in his spine.

Across the room, Kiara wasn’t looking at him anymore. She was fiddling with a hair tie around her wrist, all innocent and unaffected. He knew better. He felt better.

And then John B clapped his hands once. “Alright. Sharky’s?”

Cleo perked up. “Yes. Yes, please. I need something cold and full of bad decisions.”

“Someone’s gotta flirt their way into free fries again,” Pope added, already digging around for his shoes.

Sarah stood up too, stretching. “Come on, Kie, you’re coming. We haven’t been out in forever.”

JJ didn’t say anything.

Not yet.

He caught Kiara’s eye for a split second. That look. That tiny flicker of communication. He played innocent—blinking slow, stretching his arms with a lazy yawn.

She tilted her head just slightly, like she was thinking it over.

“I think I’m gonna head home,” Kiara said, like it had just occurred to her.

Too casual. Too convincing.

JJ shrugged. “Yeah, I’m wiped. Think I’m just gonna stay in. Crash early.”

“Wow,” John B said. “Look at the two of you, turning into senior citizens.”

JJ threw him a middle finger, but he barely heard the rest of the chatter. He was already watching Kiara stand, already tracking the slight flush still on her cheeks as she grabbed her phone and slid it into her back pocket.

Just before she turned to leave, her phone lit up with a text.

She didn’t even check it at first. But when it buzzed again, she pulled it out and glanced.

From Mom:
If you’re not home by 9, we need to revisit your independence.

Her jaw tightened.

She locked the screen and shoved it deep into her bag like it didn’t exist.

Then she looked up.

And JJ was still sitting, faking a yawn.

But they both knew exactly what they were doing.

And it had nothing to do with going home early.

“Alright, losers,” John B said, throwing his arm around Sarah’s shoulder as he herded the group toward the front door. “Don’t burn the place down.”

Cleo snorted, pointing at JJ. “You especially.”

Pope raised a hand. “Wait—JJ, you sure you don’t wanna come?”

JJ waved him off without looking. “Nah. I’m good right here.”

Kiara was across the room, fiddling with the zipper of her bag like she wasn’t eavesdropping. Like she wasn’t timing it out in her head.

“Suit yourselves,” Sarah said, eyeing them both with just enough suspicion to make JJ sit up straighter. “See you tomorrow.”

The door shut behind them with a thunk, and the house fell instantly quiet.

JJ exhaled slow, dragging a hand through his hair. He didn’t look at her. Not yet.

Let her come to him.

He sank deeper into the couch, legs spread, one arm thrown across the back like he hadn’t been fully hard and spiraling for the past half hour. Like he wasn’t acutely aware of every movement she made.

He could hear her still—bare feet padding across the floor. The shuffle of her bag hitting the table. A pause.

Then footsteps. Closer.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t have to.

JJ looked up just in time to see her standing in front of him, arms crossed, one brow lifted like really?

He grinned, smug as hell. “Thought you were going home.”

“I was,” she said coolly, stepping between his knees. “But then I saw you sitting here looking all smug and thought—maybe I should do something about it.”

JJ shrugged, cocky. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

Before he could get another word out, she swung one leg over his lap, settling on top of him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her hands slid up his chest, eyes locked on his like a dare.

JJ’s pulse stuttered.

Her voice dropped. “What’s that look for? You seemed pretty confident a second ago.”

JJ swallowed. “Still am.”

“Good,” she murmured, nails dragging lightly over his shoulders. “Because I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

She leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “Yeah. And I’m not in the mood to play nice.”

JJ’s smirk crumbled.

Yeah. He was completely, utterly screwed.

JJ was already hard, the moment she straddled him—before she even leaned in close, before her fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt like she owned him.

But now?

Now she was whispering things in his ear.

Filthy things.

She rolled her hips against him, slow and deliberate—feeling exactly how hard he was beneath her.

If only she knew why.

Her lips brushed his jaw, breath warm against his skin. “I see you’ve been thinking about me too,” she whispered, smug and sultry all at once.

JJ’s breath hitched. She had no idea.

She didn’t know that ten minutes ago she was messaging him about how wet she was. About how she wished he was under the table. About how she wanted him inside her so badly it hurt.

And now here she was—rubbing against the very dick she’d been sexting.

He swallowed hard, fingers digging into her hips like he needed the anchor.

“I’ve been thinking about what your mouth would feel like between my legs,” she breathed, voice like a fucking prayer.

JJ exhaled through his nose, teeth clenched. Jesus fucking Christ.

She didn’t even know what she was doing to him.

Or maybe she did—and that was worse.

“Wondering if you’d fuck me slow,” she continued, voice low and wicked, “or if you’d bend me over and make me take it.”

JJ made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

Every muscle in his body tensed like a wire pulled too tight. Her words—her exact fantasies—were the ones she’d just told Birdshit. Told him.

And now she was saying them to his face like it was some new game. Like she didn’t already have him wrecked and throbbing beneath her.

His hands gripped her thighs, grounding himself, trying not to completely lose it.

He was going to die. There was no other option.

She had no idea how badly he wanted to give her both.

And he would.

All she had to do was keep talking like that.

He gripped her hips tighter, every muscle strung tight beneath her. “You’re dangerous, Kie.”

She smiled, slow and wicked. “Then do something about it.”

God, she had no idea what she was asking for.

But he did.

He knew exactly what she liked. What she’d been fantasizing about. The way she wanted to be wrecked. How turned on she’d been earlier, just from messaging him. From sneaking around.

She didn’t know that he was Birdshit, but JJ wasn’t above using that knowledge to make her fall apart.

Not even a little.

Challenge accepted.

He crushed his mouth to hers, all teeth and heat and open want, and then—before she could get cocky—he flipped them. One sudden shift and her back hit the couch cushions with a surprised little gasp, his body covering hers like a promise.

“Hey—” she started, breathless.

JJ hovered over her, grinning down. “Changed my mind. Not doing this here.”

She blinked. “Wait, what?”

“You deserve a bed, babe,” he said, eyes dark and gleaming. “Somewhere I can actually ruin you properly.”

Kie let out a breathy laugh, clearly dazed from the sudden flip. “Wow. Chivalry really isn’t dead.”

JJ leaned in close, mouth brushing her ear, his voice low and firm.

“After last time,” he said, fingers tightening on her thighs, “I am not gonna get interrupted.”

That did something to her—he felt it in the way her breath caught, the way her hips rolled instinctively against his.

“I’m serious,” he murmured, nipping at her jaw. “No distractions. No friends. No bullshit. Just me. And you.”

Her eyes were dark, almost daring. “Then stop talking, Maybank and show me.”

He grabbed her waist in one smooth motion and tossed her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.

“JJ!” she shrieked, laughing as she kicked her legs.

“Shhh,” he teased, smacking her ass lightly. “You’re gonna wake the neighbors.”

“You’re such an asshole!”

He was grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. “Yeah, but I’m your asshole.”

“You’re literally insane—put me down!”

“Nope. You made your move, sweetheart. You’re mine now.”

Her laughter was loud and messy and real, her fists beating at his back with zero force.

And JJ?

JJ was floating.

He had her. He had her.

Not just as Karma. Not just as a fantasy.

He had her here, now—wrapped around him, laughing, flushed, alive.

And he was about to give her everything she’d been begging for.

He kicked the bedroom door shut behind them and dropped her onto the bed like he was staking a claim.

Kie bounced once, hair wild, tank top rumpled, and shot him a glare. “You are such a caveman.”

JJ just grinned. “Bite me.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, but she didn’t say anything.

“Actually,” he murmured, crawling up the bed after her, voice dark and low, “please do.”

And just like that, it shifted. That sharp look in her eyes turned molten. Her body arched to meet him as he settled between her legs, palms braced on either side of her head. He pinned her down—not roughly, but firmly, like he needed her still. Like he wasn’t going to let her slip away again.

“You want me to fuck you like I mean it?” he whispered, mouth brushing her ear. “Then take it. Just like you said you would.”

She shivered beneath him, thighs tightening around his waist.

“I’m gonna make you come so hard you forget your own name.”

He kissed her, deep and hungry, and then slid down her body, dragging his mouth across every inch of skin like he couldn’t get enough.

And god, he couldn’t.

He wanted her ruined. Shaking. Desperate.

His hands gripped her thighs and pulled them wide, and then his mouth was on her—hot and greedy and relentless.

She gasped, hips bucking up, fingers tangling in his hair like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to pull him closer or shove him away.

JJ groaned against her, tongue working in slow, firm circles, just how she liked it.

He’d imagined this a hundred times.

But the real thing?

The real thing destroyed him.

Her taste. Her sounds. The way she trembled and moaned and tried so hard to stay quiet and couldn’t. It was better than any fantasy. Better than anything he'd ever known.

Her thighs clamped around his head suddenly, a sharp gasp punching from her lips.

“JJ—fuck—don’t stop—”

He didn’t.

He kept his rhythm, his grip tightening on her hips as she started to unravel.

She was close. He could feel it in the way her legs shook, the way her moans turned into broken little whimpers, the way her hips kept chasing his mouth like she couldn’t help it.

And then—she shattered.

Her whole body arched, a sharp cry escaping her lips before she bit down on her knuckle to muffle the rest.

JJ held her through it, mouth slow and steady until she was squirming, twitching, too sensitive to take more.

He pulled back, licking his lips, eyes dark with heat.

She was panting. Glowing. Her chest rose and fell in quick, uneven bursts, and her eyes—when they finally opened—were hazy and wrecked and beautiful.

JJ just grinned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought” he said, voice rough with want. “Now tell me what you want.”

She looked wrecked—lips swollen, eyes glazed, chest heaving.

“You,” she breathed. “I want you inside me. Now.”

JJ’s heart slammed against his ribs.

Finally.

Finally.

He didn’t make her wait.

He kissed her hard, lined himself up, and slid into her in one deep, slow thrust.

His whole body shuddered.

She was so warm—tight, wet, welcoming—he nearly lost control right there. Her walls clenched around him, like her body had been waiting for him, like it already knew him.

She gasped—a sharp, breathless sound, high in her throat—as her back arched beneath him. Her legs wrapped tight around his waist, her arms pulling him in like she wanted to drown in him. Like she couldn’t get close enough.

JJ groaned low in his chest, forehead pressed to hers. “Fuck, Kie.”

He thrust again—deep, rough, intentional—and she cried out, her nails digging into his shoulder blades.

The sound she made was somewhere between a moan and a whimper, raw and unfiltered, the kind of sound that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“God,” she gasped, “you feel so—so fucking good—”

He did it again. And again.

Every thrust drove her higher, made her voice catch, made her eyes flutter open just to lock on his like she couldn’t believe it either. Her mouth hung open, lips swollen from kissing, her cheeks flushed and damp with sweat, her hair spread like a halo on the pillow.

And the way she felt around him—slick, tight, like silk and heat and heaven—it was killing him. Breaking him down piece by piece. No one had ever felt like this. No one had ever been like this.

She whimpered again, louder this time.

“You’re fucking perfect,” JJ rasped, unable to stop himself. “You’re gonna kill me.”

He reached between them, fingers finding her clit, rubbing firm little circles in time with his thrusts. She cried out, body jolting like she couldn’t handle the extra pressure.

And still—he didn’t stop.

Her thighs trembled around him. Her whole body shivered like a live wire.

He kissed her, hard and messy, moaning into her mouth as she started to fall apart beneath him.

Her voice broke on a sob. “JJ—JJ I’m—”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, driving into her faster now. “Come on, baby. Give it to me.”

And she did.

She shattered again—loud and gorgeous, moaning his name like it was the only word she knew, her entire body convulsing around him as she came, clenching down so hard he nearly lost it too.

JJ cursed, low and desperate, barely holding on.

Her moans were breathy and broken, her nails dragging lines down his back, her head thrown back against the pillow. Every thrust knocked a gasp from her lips, and every time he looked down and saw her face—glowing, dazed, mouth parted in perfect bliss—he had to bite back the urge to say something stupid.

Like I love you.

Or You’re it for me.

But he didn’t. He held it in. Just barely.

She clenched around him, hips rocking up to meet every thrust, her face flushed and eyes glassy with want.

He couldn’t stop looking at her. Couldn’t stop kissing her. Couldn’t stop needing her.

And when she finally cried out his name, body trembling under his, he let go. He came with a groan, deep and raw and ragged, burying his face in her neck like he could hide from what it meant.

He didn’t say anything.

Just held her tighter than he probably should’ve and hoped she couldn’t feel the way his heart was racing.

Because if she did—if she knew—he wouldn’t be able to take it back.

And he wasn’t ready to lose her.

Not yet.

After, they didn’t speak.

Not right away.

Just the rise and fall of breath, the press of bare skin against tangled sheets, the warm silence that followed something too big for words.

JJ lay on his back, one arm behind his head, the other still lazily draped over her waist. His heart was still slowing. His body still thrumming. And next to him—curled in the crook of his shoulder, lips parted in that blissed-out haze—was Kiara.

He could feel her breathing against him. Could feel the weight of what just happened settle between them.

She tilted her head slightly, eyes still closed. “Miss me?” she said jokingly, like she didn’t expect a real answer.

JJ’s jaw ticked.

His heart jumped straight into his throat, and for a split second, all he could think was yes.

God, yes.

Of course he missed her. He missed her when she wasn’t around. Missed her when she laughed at someone else’s joke. Missed her in the space between one kiss and the next. He missed her like she belonged next to him and something was always slightly off when she wasn’t. He wanted to say that.

But he didn’t.

Because that would be too much.

Too soon.

Too real.

Couldn’t say I missed you and mean it like he meant it, not when they’d never said that kind of thing before. Not when she might take it the wrong way—or worse, the right way. Not when it might scare her off.

So instead, he forced a breath through his nose and played it cool.

“I missed this,” he said.

Just that.

And when she didn’t respond, didn’t even look at him, he pretended it was fine.

They both pretended it meant less than it did.

And JJ immediately regretted it.

God, he was such a fucking coward sometimes.

He’d said the wrong thing on purpose, and now it just sat there—flat and fake and painfully small between them.

He wanted to take it back. Wanted to tell her the truth. That he missed her. That it wasn’t just about sex or stolen moments or adrenaline highs.

It was her.

But he hesitated. And hesitated too long.

It was so much easier when he was Birdshit. So much easier to say what he felt when he had a screen to hide behind. When he could spill everything without the risk of her looking at him and seeing too much.

But here—real life, skin to skin, nothing to hide behind—he froze. Always had. Especially when it mattered.

He didn’t want to come on too strong. Didn’t want to ruin what this was—whatever this was.

Still, the silence stretched. And JJ couldn’t leave it there.

He turned slightly, brushing her hair back from her cheek, voice quiet. “I mean… yeah. I did miss you.”

That earned him a glance. Soft. Puzzled. But not unkind.

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

The moment softened.

Her fingers traced lightly across his chest, trailing over his sternum. She moved lower, brushing along his ribs—and he flinched.

Not much. Just enough.

She paused.

Her hand stilled over the spot, gentle. Her eyes opened.

He didn’t say anything. Neither did she.

But the bruise was there. Ugly, yellowed, and spreading under the surface. Another leftover from a night he didn’t want to explain.

She didn’t ask.

And that—more than anything—meant something.

JJ swallowed, his throat tight. He couldn’t remember the last time someone gave him the space to not talk about it. To just… exist.

If she asked, he’d tell her. If she wanted to know, he’d let her in.

But she didn’t.

She just curled closer, pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, and rested her cheek there like nothing was wrong at all.

Eventually, she sat up and started pulling on her clothes. Not in a hurry. Not with regret.

But not with ease either.

JJ watched her. Watched the way her brows pinched a little, the subtle flicks of hesitation in her movements.

She wasn’t sure what the rules were now.

And that meant something, too.

Her phone lit up on the floor, screen flashing with missed calls and unread texts.

Kiara sighed. Loud and long and tired.

JJ raised a brow. “Everything okay?”

She pulled her tank top over her head. “It’s my mom. She wants me home.”

He frowned. “Something serious?”

Kiara hesitated, then shook her head. “She’s just… got this whole idea of what my life should look like.
And I’m not really fitting the mold right now.”

JJ didn’t press. He just nodded, sitting up a little, arm resting casually on his bent knee. “You don’t have to explain.”

She looked at him. Soft. Cautious.

“I mean,” she said, almost flippant, “it’s not your job to listen to that crap. I’m not gonna burden you with it.”

JJ met her eyes. “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

That landed. Quiet and solid between them.

Kiara blinked. Her expression softened. She gave him a long, searching look—like she was trying to figure him out all over again.

Then: a tiny, crooked smile. “Thanks.”

She grabbed her bag, but not before stealing one of his shirts and tugging it over her head.

JJ said nothing.

They didn’t talk about what it meant.

Didn’t define what they were.

She paused at the door, hand on the frame, and glanced back with that teasing smile he already felt addicted to. “See you later.”

Like it was nothing.

He watched her go like it was everything.

Later that night, his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Karma:
“If I disappear tomorrow, it’s because my mom drafted me into LinkedIn bootcamp.”

JJ smiled, thumb hovering before typing back.

Birdshit:
“I’d break you out. Just say the word.”

He didn’t send anything else.

Didn’t need to.

She was already in his head. In his chest. Everywhere.

And she had no idea.

Chapter Text

***KIE ***

Three dresses lay sprawled across her bed like a crime scene.

One was blush pink, covered in tiny beads that caught the light and made her feel like a chandelier. Another was navy satin, backless, with a neckline that made her feel like she was being prepped for auction. The third—her mom’s “compromise”—was simple black silk, slip-style, with delicate straps and a low scoop in the back.

She tried on the black one.

It skimmed her hips softly, the fabric cool against her skin, dipping just low enough in the front to make her wonder if her mom had seen the irony in picking something that could pass for clubwear. The color contrasted against her caramel skin in a way that might've made her feel powerful… if she didn’t also feel like she was about to walk into a room full of Landersons and Thorntons.

The mirror didn’t help. It didn’t lie.

She looked like someone else in this dress. Like the version of herself her mom kept trying to mold—quiet, elegant, agreeable. Someone who could bat her lashes and laugh politely at bad jokes from old men in golf shoes. Someone who wouldn’t flinch at being paraded in front of lawyers’ sons and hedge fund heirs like she was part of the wine selection.

Kiara turned to the side, frowned, and let out a slow breath.

She hated these nights. The fake smiles. The forced small talk. The pressure to blend in when all she wanted to do was light the room on fire and leave without saying goodbye.

This wasn’t her world. It never had been.

Which was exactly why she’d started hanging out with the Pogues again in the first place—well, Sarah had pulled her in when she started dating John B. But it hadn’t taken long for it to feel like something real. Like home.

John B, Pope, Cleo… even JJ.

Especially JJ, sometimes.

They didn’t care about dress codes or networking or whispering about people’s divorces behind manicured hands. They surfed and shot beer cans and got stoned in the back of the Twinkie with music too loud and no one telling her to sit up straight. The Chateau smelled like mildew and bad decisions, but it was the only place she didn’t feel like she was performing.

And god, JJ. He could be the biggest pain in the ass on the planet, but when he wasn’t being completely infuriating, he made her feel seen in a way that surprised her. Not doted on. Not handled. Just… seen.

She caught her reflection again.

Briefly, stupidly, she wondered what he’d say if he saw her like this.

And then, even more stupidly, she wondered if he’d go with her.

The thought was barely formed before she shut it down. He’d laugh in her face. Or say something sarcastic and dismissive and probably call her Princess again. She wasn’t even sure the guy owned anything with buttons, let alone something country club–appropriate.

And anyway… that wasn’t what this was.

They weren’t dating. This wasn’t a date.

It was a stupid fundraiser her mom had volunteered her for because she thought Kiara needed to “practice being social” with people who “might help her future.” Translation: rich, snobby suitors with Ivy League haircuts and family boats.

She groaned and dropped onto the edge of the bed.

Even Birdshit crossed her mind for half a second.

He always knew exactly what to say to calm her nerves, even when he was being a cocky little shit. She could already imagine the text he’d send about her dress: something halfway between teasing and filthy, but still weirdly sweet underneath. The kind of thing that made her cheeks burn in the best way.

But she wasn’t meeting him like this. Not in some glass ballroom with shitty wine and judgmental stares and her mother’s fake laugh echoing through the walls. No. When she met Birdshit, it would be on her terms. Private. Real.

With a final huff, Kiara stood and reached for her shoes.

Fine. She’d go alone. Grit her teeth, fake a smile, let her mom introduce her to some future stockbroker, and try not to throw herself into the koi pond by dessert.

At least Sarah and John B would be there, probably making out behind a potted plant. That would help. Kind of.

But the pit in her stomach wouldn’t go away.

She was used to being uncomfortable at these things. But this year, for some reason… it felt a little lonelier.

With a final huff, Kiara flopped back onto her bed and kicked off the shoes she wasn’t even planning to wear yet. She’d deal with the dinner later. For now, she was going to pull her hair into a bun, grab her board, and chase waves until she forgot what time it was.

She wasn’t built for fake smiles. But saltwater? Saltwater always made sense.

______________________

***JJ ***

The Chateau was in its usual state of sun-drenched disarray—open windows, sand tracked across the floor, a box fan buzzing against the sticky heat. JJ was slouched in one of the mismatched kitchen chairs, tipping it back on two legs and balancing a spoon on his nose while Pope scrolled on his phone.

John B leaned against the counter, lazily sipping from a can of Coke. “Hey, fundraiser’s tonight. Don’t forget Sarah said there’s a champagne fountain.”

JJ snorted. “Oh no. Tragic. Wouldn’t wanna miss watching Kooks sip overpriced bubbles and pat each other on the back for existing.”

John B grinned. “Come on, man. They usually have shrimp skewers.”

JJ tipped the chair forward and let the spoon clatter onto the table. “Y’all are so easily bought.”

Pope glanced up. “You going?”

“Hell no.”

But his tone came out sharper than intended. Too clipped. Pope raised a brow.

JJ grabbed the spoon again, spinning it between his fingers like a fidget.

Because it wasn’t that he wanted to go.

It was just…

She didn’t even ask.

Didn’t joke about it. Didn’t tease. Didn’t even pretend like it might’ve crossed her mind.

She’d rather go solo—suffer through an entire evening of forced smiles and suffocating small talk—than risk showing up with him. What did that say?

Nothing he didn’t already know.

“You good?” Pope asked, squinting at him.

JJ shrugged. “Peachy. Just choking on the stench of old money and moral decay.”

John B laughed. “Damn. Who pissed in your cereal?”

JJ leaned back again, foot hooking around the table leg. “Nobody. I just think it’s funny how all these Kook events are the same people in the same suits pretending they’re better than everyone else.”

“You sound jealous,” Pope said with a teasing grin.

JJ’s smile was tight. “Yeah. Totally jealous of sweater vests and comb-overs.”

But he felt it anyway—that low simmer of something sour in his gut. Not jealousy. Not exactly. Just that familiar weight of being left out before you even had the chance to say no.

He didn’t want to go.

But it would’ve been nice to be wanted. Even just a little.

The screen door creaked open without warning, followed by the clatter of a takeout bag hitting the counter.

“Hope you idiots are hungry,” Kiara called out.

JJ didn’t even have to look to know it was her. That voice always hit him sideways. The low, effortless confidence in it. The way she could sound bored and amused at the same time.

She breezed into the room, barefoot and still damp from the ocean, the sleeves of her oversized Wreck T-shirt rolled up past her elbows. Her hair was wet and curling wildly around her shoulders, salt still clinging to her skin. She was humming something—off-key, a little too loud—and it grated on him for no good reason.

Which just made it worse.

Because she looked good. Stupidly good. And happy. And JJ hated that it made something sharp twist in his chest.

Pope perked up at the smell. “Is that fried shrimp?”

“And hushpuppies,” she confirmed, digging in the bag. “Apparently being a Carerra still counts for something over there, even after my dad sold it.”

JJ kept his eyes on the table. He didn’t trust himself to look at her yet.

Kiara flopped onto the couch, stretching her legs across Pope’s lap like she owned the place. “Waves were killer this morning. I almost didn’t come by, but I figured you all needed sustenance.”

John B grinned. “You’re our favorite, obviously.”

She rolled her eyes, grinning. “Flattery accepted.”

Then her phone buzzed on the arm of the couch—sharp and insistent.

Mom: Don’t forget to be ready by 6:30. And wear that pink dress.

Then she paused, like remembering something, and let out a dramatic groan. “Ugh. That fundraiser thing is tonight.”

JJ’s jaw ticked before he could stop it.

John B shrugged. “It won’t be that bad. Sarah and I’ll be there. You can hide behind us.”

Kiara gave him a look so dry it could’ve withered crops. “You don’t know my mom.”

JJ dared a glance then. She looked exhausted just thinking about it. He wanted to say something, but his tongue stayed glued to the roof of his mouth.

Then she stood, brushing crumbs off her shorts, and wandered over to where he sat.

“Hey,” she murmured, voice teasing but low. She leaned in a little, shoulder brushing his—and let it linger this time, warm and deliberate. Her hand briefly touched his knee like it was nothing, casual, but it made JJ’s stomach flip.

She smiled at him—close-up, unguarded—and it nearly knocked the air out of his lungs.

“You look extra broody today.”

JJ forced a crooked smirk, eyes skimming her face like it was the first time he’d seen it. “Must be the ambiance.”

Kiara’s brows pinched together, just slightly. She opened her mouth like she might say something else—but then thought better of it. She stepped back with a shrug and a half-smile that didn’t quite meet the last one.

“I’m stealing the shower,” she announced to the room, already heading toward the hall. “Don’t eat all the shrimp.”

JJ stared at the space she left behind, heart in his throat and bitterness coiled like barbed wire in his chest.

She was glowing. Surf-dazed. Smiling like nothing had changed.

And all he could think was—

Why the hell didn’t you ask me?

________

JJ found himself hovering outside his bedroom door like an idiot.

He didn’t even remember walking over. One second he was pretending to watch whatever rerun Pope had left on the TV, and the next he was standing in the hallway, heart thudding in his throat, fist loosely curled like he might knock. Like that would make this any less weird.

What the hell was he even doing?

She was the one who didn’t ask. She made that clear.

He pushed the door open anyway.

Kiara stood by his bed, facing away, a towel wrapped low around her hips, her damp curls falling in dark ropes down her back. She was drying her hair with an old shirt—his, probably—moving slowly, lazily, like she had all the time in the world.

JJ stopped cold.

His mouth went dry.

She turned at the sound of the door, eyes catching his—like she’d been expecting him.

“Oh hey,” she said, casual. Like she wasn’t standing half-naked in the middle of his room, drops of water trailing down her spine.

That smug little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“You here to supervise?” she teased. “Or just hoping I’d owe you a thank-you kiss for the hot water?”

JJ blinked.

Right. Words.

“I—uh. Just—” He cleared his throat. “Wanted to talk.”

She arched a brow, amused. “You sure that’s all you wanted?”

Then she stepped closer. Toward him. Slowly.

JJ’s feet stayed rooted to the floor.

“I mean,” she went on, feigning innocence as she let the towel drop, “you’ve been kind of a grump today. Thought maybe you needed… stress relief.”

His eyes dropped—just for a second. But it was enough. Enough to see her smirk deepen.

“Jesus,” he muttered, turning his gaze toward the ceiling like that would help.

It didn’t.

Because then she was right in front of him. Standing there in nothing but that faded T-shirt she hadn’t been wearing two seconds ago, and holy hell, it barely covered anything.

“Still wanna talk?” she asked, eyes glittering. Her skin smelled like his shampoo—coconut and salt and something uniquely hers. She tilted her head up, eyes locked on his, and smiled like she already knew the answer.

JJ’s pulse jumped. “Kie…”

But she was already lifting herself onto her toes, brushing her lips against his like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t setting every nerve in his body on fire. Her hands slid up under his shirt, fingertips skating along his stomach, cool and teasing.

He kissed her back.

Couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop the way he gripped her hips, let her press flush against him. She tasted like saltwater and something sharper—something sweet that burned. Her teeth scraped against his lower lip. She tugged at his belt.

And fuck, he wanted to let her.

God, did he want to let her.

But then her hand dipped lower, and something in him snapped tight.

JJ broke the kiss.

“Kie—don’t.”

She froze. Brow creasing. “Don’t what?”

He stepped back like she’d burned him. “I’m not in the mood.”

A beat passed. Her expression didn’t move. “You’re not in the mood?”

JJ didn’t answer.

She blinked, then laughed once—sharp and small. “Okay. Cool. Guess I misread.”

She turned away, grabbing a pair of shorts and tugging them on like she couldn’t get dressed fast enough. The easy confidence she’d worn seconds ago vanished, replaced with something colder. More guarded.

He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. And fuck, he hated it. Hated that he wanted her this badly and still couldn’t just let it happen. Couldn’t act like it didn’t matter. Couldn’t be casual, not when his chest felt like it was caving in every time she treated him like an option.

She sat on the edge of his bed, towel-drying her hair again like he hadn’t just blown up whatever the hell that was between them. Like she wasn’t blinking twice as fast now to keep something from showing on her face.

And JJ just stood there, heart hammering, wondering how the hell wanting someone this much could make everything feel worse.

JJ stood frozen in the doorway, fists clenching and unclenching, wondering how the hell they always ended up like this—wanting different things at the worst possible time.

And still wanting each other anyway.

JJ didn’t mean to say it out loud.

But his mouth had a mind of its own lately—especially when it came to her.

“So,” he said, tone sharper than intended, “I guess my invite just got lost in the mail?”

Kiara paused, halfway through pulling her shirt over her head. She yanked it down in one swift motion, eyes narrowing.

“What?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just stood there with his arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

Kiara turned, towel still slung around her neck, and caught the storm brewing in his eyes. “What?”

“The fundraiser,” he bit out. “Wasn’t even worth asking me, huh?”

She blinked. “Are you serious right now?”

He let out a low laugh, bitter and sharp. “Guess you figured I’d embarrass you or something. Not exactly black-tie material, right?”

Her eyebrows shot up, temper flashing. “JJ, what the fuck are you even talking about?”

He took a step closer, voice rising. “You didn’t even think about it, did you? Just decided I wasn’t the kind of guy you bring to that kind of thing.”

She stared at him, incredulous. “Jesus, you hate those events—I hate those events. You make fun of people who wear suits. I wasn’t gonna force you to put on a tie and play nice with a bunch of Kooks just so we could both suffer.”

“So you made the choice for me?”

“I didn’t think I had to!” she snapped. “You always act like you’d rather die than go to one of those things.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I would’ve gone,” he shot back, voice rough. “If you fucking asked.”

Silence crackled between them.

Kiara stared at him, stunned for half a second—then narrowed her eyes, voice tight. “Do you want to go, JJ?”

He hesitated. Just a beat too long.

Then scoffed, shaking his head. “No. Of course I don’t.”

Her jaw clenched. “Right. That’s what I thought.”

She turned on her heel. “Then don’t.”

The door clicked hard behind her.

And JJ stood there in the thick, suffocating quiet—wondering why he suddenly felt like shit.

Even though he got exactly what he said he wanted.

_________________________

JJ sat on the edge of the couch at the Chateau, chin propped in his palm, watching John B fumble with a crooked-ass bowtie in the cracked mirror like he was prepping for prom. His foot tapped restlessly against the floorboards.

“You look like a waiter,” JJ muttered, just loud enough to be annoying.

John B rolled his eyes. “You’re just jealous I clean up better than you.”

JJ snorted. “Keep telling yourself that, man.”

Sarah breezed in a minute later, wearing something sleek and sparkly and offensively expensive-looking. She looked like she belonged in a country club catalog, all effortless beauty and Pogue-taming charm. JJ groaned dramatically and shielded his eyes.

“Jesus Christ. A full-blown Kook princess,” he said. “We’re not gonna be able to bring you back after this.”

Sarah flipped him off with a grin. “You’re just mad no one asked you to be their prince.”

JJ smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Pope wandered through, adjusting his sleeves, and glanced at him. “Wait, why didn’t you go with Kiara, anyway?”

JJ didn’t answer right away. His jaw ticked.

Sarah tilted her head. “You know she didn’t wanna go alone, right?”

There was a beat of silence before Pope snapped his fingers. “Oh shit—yeah. That actually would’ve made sense.”

Sarah’s eyes widened like the realization had just dawned. “Wait, why didn’t we think of that before?”

Pope blinked. “I mean… you guys hang out all the time.”

Sarah nodded, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “Yeah, and you’ve actually been getting along lately. Like, weirdly well.”

JJ snorted, but it came out a little strangled. “Glad to know my social life’s a group project now.”

Sarah smirked, brushing past him. “Just saying. Could’ve spared her a whole night of fake laughs and tiny meatballs.”

He scoffed, deflecting. “She’ll survive. She’s good at playing dress-up.”

But the jab felt sour the second it left his mouth.

Eventually, Sarah and John B headed out, all dressed up and glowing like they belonged in some perfectly filtered lifestyle ad. JJ watched them go with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, muttering something under his breath about matching teeth and Stepford smiles.

And then the Chateau was quiet again. Too quiet.

He paced.

Checked his phone. Opened CarveLine.

Karma: wish me luck. tonight is gonna suck.

Karma: already being guilt-tripped into talking to some “eligible bachelors” 🥴

JJ’s stomach twisted.

He could picture her—tight smile, shoulders stiff, cornered by some trust fund reject in boat shoes and a smirk. Pretending to care about yacht club gossip. Pretending not to care that she was alone.

That thought—that image—unraveled him more than anything.

He stood abruptly. Ran a hand through his hair. Checked the time again.

“This is so fucking stupid,” he muttered.

Then, louder: “POPE!”

______________________________

***KIE ***

The heels pinched already, and she hadn’t even made it to the front doors.

Kiara paused near the edge of the parking lot, the low hum of chatter and clinking glasses drifting from the glowing event tent beyond the hedges. Warm light spilled across the lawn, soft and golden and fake. Like the whole night was dipped in something too sweet and too shallow.

She adjusted the strap of her dress—again—and smoothed her hands over the silky fabric, even though it didn’t help. Her hair was curled just the way her mom liked it, not the wild, sea-slicked waves she usually let dry in the sun. Her lips felt too glossy. Her ribs too tight beneath the subtle boning of the bodice. Her smile, when she tried one, didn’t reach her eyes.

God, she hated this.

The dress was fine. Nice, even. It hugged the curve of her waist, shimmered softly against her skin. Objectively, she knew she looked good. But she didn’t feel like herself. She felt like some airbrushed version her mother had sculpted—polished, composed, presentable. A debutante prepped for display.

She pulled in a breath and held it. Just a couple hours.

Just a couple hours of fake small talk and forced laughter and pretending she didn’t want to crawl out of her own skin.

Her fingers fidgeted at the edge of her clutch. She kept thinking about Birdshit—how much easier it would be if he were here. Not that she’d ever actually ask him. Not for this. Not for her first impression. She didn’t want him to see her like this. Underneath all the makeup and tension and expectation. This wasn’t how she wanted to be known.

And JJ—ugh.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked at her. The way his mouth said he didn’t want to go, but everything else screamed that he did. Or at least that he wanted to be asked. Like not being invited somehow proved something he was already scared was true.

It didn’t make sense.

She’d been trying to do the right thing. Trying not to push him into something he’d hate. And yet, he’d still looked at her like she’d punched him in the gut.

God, he was infuriating.

One second he was teasing her, pulling her close like he didn’t want anyone else to touch her, and the next he was shoving her away—figuratively, emotionally, whatever the hell. That little spat earlier had started small and spiraled fast. She hadn’t meant to upset him. She really hadn’t.

But the second she said he didn’t want to go, and he agreed with her, she knew—she knew—it wasn’t what he meant. At least not entirely.

So what did he want?

She didn't know. And that pissed her off almost as much as it hurt.

He made everything so confusing. With his stupid moody silences and flirty one-liners and the way he kissed her like he meant it and then acted like none of it mattered.

She rubbed her arms, trying to shake the memory of his voice, clipped and bitter. “No. Of course I don’t.”

Fine.

Whatever.

She was going alone. That was fine. That was what she’d planned from the start.

She pressed her lips together, jaw tight.

“Just a couple hours,” she muttered under her breath. “Smile. Nod. Don’t commit murder.”

And with that, she took a step forward—heart pounding, dread coiled low in her stomach—toward the night she was already counting down to escape.

She was just a few steps from the front entrance, head down and heart pounding, when she heard it—

“Yo, Kie!”

She stopped dead.

Turned.

And there he was—barreling across the parking lot like a man on a mission, half-jogging, half-tripping over the uneven pavement as he tried to catch up. He nearly wiped out on a crack in the concrete, arms flailing for a second before regaining his balance, a muttered “shit” under his breath.

He looked… flushed. Out of breath. Unpolished and messy and just as wildly out of place as she felt.

She blinked, stunned.

“JJ?”

He straightened up, dragging a hand through his hair like he hadn’t just sprinted across a parking lot and nearly eaten shit on the curb.

“Figured someone had to keep you from committing a felony in heels.”

Her laugh slipped out before she could stop it.

“You hate these things.”

He gave a nonchalant shrug, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his borrowed blazer.

“Hate a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you get cornered by some yacht brat named Thatcher.”

She stared at him, her heart giving an unexpected little jolt. He was acting like this was no big deal. Like he hadn’t just shown up in a damn suit for her.

She didn’t question it. Didn’t want to scare him off with feelings or make it weird.

So instead, she rolled her eyes and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.

“Well, don’t expect a thank you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he smirked.

She could feel how nervous he was.

“You clean up alright,” she said, looking him up and down, “Where’d you get that?”

He tugged at the collar like it was choking him.

“It’s Pope’s,” he muttered.

“No shit?”

“Yeah. Don’t get used to it.”

She didn’t say anything else, just squeezed his arm a little tighter as they turned toward the entrance together. Her heart still raced—but now, for a different reason entirely.

_______________________

The air inside the club was cooler than the sticky night air outside, but it didn’t help much. Kiara’s skin was flushed, her heart still thudding from JJ’s surprise appearance, and now they were here. Together. At one of these things.

She could feel it instantly—the shift in energy when JJ stepped through the doors beside her. The way heads subtly turned. The way a few whispers followed them as they moved deeper into the main room.

JJ felt it too. She could tell by the way his jaw tightened. The way his posture straightened. That subtle tilt of his chin, like he was daring anyone to say something.

God, she hated this place.

She glanced up at him, watching how his eyes scanned the crowd with practiced indifference. But she knew better. JJ hated attention unless he was in control of it. This—this quiet, sneering judgment from rich families with vacation homes and last names like Landerson—this wasn’t the kind of attention he liked.

And still, he was here.

Her chest tightened. She was already grateful he'd shown up. But now, seeing him surrounded by people who thought they were better, who didn’t know anything about him except rumors and bullshit—she was protective. Fiercely so. He didn’t deserve their looks. They didn’t know what he’d lived through, what he’d done for his friends. What he’d done for her.

They barely made it halfway across the room before her mother swooped in like a hawk in heels.

“Kiara.” Anna’s voice was warm, but tightly wound, like a thread about to snap. Her eyes skimmed over JJ, sharp behind the practiced smile. “We were wondering if you’d made it. You didn’t respond to my last message.”

“I’ve been busy,” Kiara said lightly, standing straighter. “You know, surfing, saving the planet, dodging RSVPs.”

Anna’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Clearly.”

JJ stayed right beside her, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable except for the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. When Anna’s gaze lingered too long, he finally offered a half-smile.

“Evening, Mrs. Carrera.”

Her smile faltered for just a second. “So glad you could join,” she said, tone sweet enough to curdle milk. “Though I don’t recall Kiara mentioning she was bringing someone.”

“She didn’t,” JJ said smoothly. “I’m just here for the tiny appetizers and judgmental stares.”

That earned him a sharp glance from Mike, who had just stepped up beside Anna. “Don’t push it, son.”

Kiara stepped in quickly, hand brushing JJ’s arm—not possessive, but grounding.

“We’re just here to be supportive,” she said, as diplomatically as she could manage. “And maybe steal some champagne.”

Anna’s smile tightened. “Well. I’m sure it’ll be... enlightening.” She turned to Kiara, tone dropping just slightly. “I’d hoped you might mingle a little tonight. There are a few families we haven’t introduced you to yet—”

“Mom.” Kiara cut her off, jaw tightening. “Not tonight.”

JJ let out a quiet breath through his nose. His fingers twitched at his sides. He didn’t like being spoken around like he wasn’t standing right there.

Anna, undeterred, gave a tight laugh. “I just think it’s important to keep your options open. A girl never knows who she might meet—someone charming. Driven. With a future.”

JJ raised his brows. “Damn. I left my résumé in the car.”

Kiara practically choked on her own amusement, though she covered it with a cough.

Mike looked between them, something unreadable crossing his face. “You’re free to stay, JJ. Just… keep it respectful.”

JJ’s smirk didn’t budge. “Always.”

Before another pointed comment could follow, JJ leaned in slightly toward Kiara.

“Come on,” he muttered. “Before I get grounded.”

She let him pull her away, still biting back a grin and adrenaline from the tension buzzing beneath her skin.

“That went well,” JJ said once they were out of earshot.

“Honestly?” she replied. “It could’ve been worse.”

“She scares me more than your dad,” JJ said, dry. Then he perked up at the bar. “Yo, Marcus!”

The bartender grinned. “JJ Maybank. I was wondering how long it’d take before you crashed one of these.”

JJ grinned and tapped the bar twice. “Hook us up?”

Marcus didn’t ask what they wanted. Just handed over two short glasses of something amber and strong. Kiara raised a brow.

“He doesn’t card?”

“He owes me,” JJ said, clinking his glass to hers. “Don’t ask.”

They downed them in tandem, grimacing at the burn.

“Okay,” JJ said, squinting at the room. “First one to find a pastel blazer loses.”

“You’re literally wearing one.”

“Nope. This is ‘dusty rose.’ Pope said so.”

She laughed—genuine, sudden. The first real one of the night.

“Alright, game on.”

_____________________

They downed their first drinks quickly and secretly before making a beeline for the bar—JJ with his hand lightly guiding the small of her back, like he thought she might bolt.

“Two more of the strong stuff,” he said, leaning an elbow on the counter. Marcus shook his head slightly but said nothing while pouring something amber and probably expensive.

“I don’t think this is what they meant by 'open bar,'” Kiara muttered.

“If they didn’t want freeloaders, they shouldn’t have invited me,” JJ said, tossing back the drink in one go. He winced. “Tastes like money and disappointment.”

Kiara snorted and followed suit. The alcohol burned, but the second it hit her stomach, she felt some of the tension start to unravel.

They moved along the perimeter of the room, hovering by a towering tray of hors d'oeuvres. JJ grabbed something round and weird-looking off a silver platter.

“What the hell is this?”

“A truffle-stuffed date, I think,” Kiara said.

JJ gave it a dubious look and popped it in his mouth anyway. His face contorted instantly.

“Why does it taste like a candle?”

Kiara burst out laughing, nearly choking on her champagne. “Oh my god, you’re such a dumbass.”

He made a dramatic show of grabbing a napkin and spitting it out behind a potted plant.

“I knew rich people were secretly suffering,” he muttered. “They just pretend it tastes good so no one thinks they’re poor.”

She was still giggling when they passed a group of stiff-looking donors in bowties. JJ leaned down, just enough for her to hear.

“Ten bucks says that guy’s never unclenched in his life.”

“Make it twenty and throw in a shrimp skewer.”

“Deal.”

They circled again, stealing second drinks and exchanging eye rolls every time someone looked down their nose. Somewhere between the mockery and the soft glow of champagne, Kiara realized something strange: she was actually having fun.

Not pretend-fun. Not the fake smile kind. Real, stupid, easy fun.

Because JJ was here.

Because he came for her.

And because, for once, she didn’t feel like she had to pretend.

The music shifted—something slower, silkier—and couples began drifting onto the floor beneath the string lights. It was the kind of song you were supposed to sway to, glassy-eyed and wrapped around someone in a tailored tux.

Kiara was about to suggest they make another lap around the hors d'oeuvres when JJ cocked his head toward the dance floor. “C’mon. Before the shrimp kicks in and you’re too bloated to move.”

She rolled her eyes, but he was already offering his hand, brows raised like it was no big deal. Like this was normal for them. Just another game.

She took it anyway.

JJ’s hand settled low on her waist, warm and firm through the silky material of her dress. Her palm pressed to his chest—god, he was still a little flushed from the whiskey, collar open just enough to show the curve of his throat. The suit fit him surprisingly well, even if it clearly wasn’t his.

They started moving. A gentle rhythm, nothing fancy. He wasn’t a good dancer, but he had good instincts—followed her sway without stepping on her toes. Close, but not too close. Except when he looked down at her like that.

“Never figured you for the ballroom type,” she teased lightly.

“I’m not,” he said. “But I make exceptions.”

She tilted her head, amused. “For who?”

He smirked but didn’t answer.

A woman in a sleek navy gown passed by and did a double-take, smiling as she leaned toward Kiara with a too-smooth voice. “You two make a cute couple.”

They both froze. Just a blink.

JJ opened his mouth, and Kiara braced for something wildly inappropriate—but instead he leaned in, voice low and rough against her ear.

“I meant to say earlier… you look really fucking good tonight. Like, wow”

His voice dipped, mouth near her ear.

“I’ve had to watch every guy in this place check you out, and it’s been actual torture.”

Kiara’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart kicked into overdrive, and suddenly, her dress felt a little too thin. A little too soft under his hand.

She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything. Just leaned in slightly, letting her cheek brush his jaw.

They swayed in silence for a while. He cracked a quiet joke about one of the donors nearby and she snorted, eyes still glassy.

The tension from earlier—the fight, the bitterness—it was still there, but faded now. Muted by whatever this was.

She glanced up at him, her voice softer. “Sorry I didn’t ask you.”

JJ shrugged, his thumb brushing a slow circle against her hip. “I would've said no.”

She nodded. “Still.”

Another pause. Then:

“Sorry I got weird about it,” he muttered. “Didn’t really mean to.”

She gave him a faint smile, letting her fingers press just a little more into his chest. “I know.”

They weren’t saying everything. Not even close. But for once, the silence didn’t feel loaded.

It felt like something else.

Like maybe—just maybe—they were getting good at this game they were playing.

Only… it didn’t feel like a game anymore.

_______________________

The night blurred in soft edges and champagne bubbles.

People were getting tipsy. The music had shifted—less string quartet, more indie pop remix, like someone’s kid finally got control of the playlist. A few ties had been loosened, jackets shed, heels swapped out for flats. Even her mom had a second glass of wine in her hand and was smiling too much at some guy in a bowtie.

And JJ?

JJ was still here.

Still lingering close, still letting his fingers graze her waist every time they moved through the crowd like it meant nothing. Still throwing quiet one-liners in her ear that made her choke on her drink and elbow him in the ribs.

He looked good.

Too good.

Hair messy from where he kept running his hand through it, Pope’s suit fitting a little too well for someone who definitely wasn’t Pope. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone now, and he’d rolled his sleeves up, forearms flexing every time he picked up a glass.

He caught her staring once and raised an eyebrow like what, and she just rolled her eyes and turned away before he could make a comment.

But she kept looking. She couldn’t help it.

They were standing close—too close. Every time he shifted, his arm brushed hers. His knuckles grazed the back of her hand. His thigh pressed against hers beneath the high-top cocktail table where they’d taken refuge with their drinks. It wasn’t an accident. Not anymore.

His mouth was just there, inches from her ear whenever he leaned in to murmur some snide observation, his breath warm on her neck. She could smell the whiskey on his lips, the salt from the sea still clinging faintly to his skin.

And he kept looking at her.

Not casually. Not like it was nothing. His gaze dragged—over her legs, up her neckline, pausing where the neckline dipped a little lower than it should have. Lingering like he wanted to touch. Like he couldn’t.

Like he was waiting for her to break first.

It made her dizzy.

She felt hot, the alcohol humming in her blood, the energy of the room blurring into background noise behind the sound of his voice and the weight of his stare. Her pulse thrummed in her throat.

Every time he laughed at something she said—low and breathy and closer than it should’ve been—something inside her snapped tighter.

This was stupid.

It was reckless.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about kissing him. About how his lips would feel on hers again. About how fast he’d back her into a wall if she pulled him into a corner and tugged him down by the collar of that stupidly well-fitting suit.

She wasn’t even sure what they were doing anymore. Still pretending? Still playing their little game?

Because if they were, JJ was cheating.

And she was losing on purpose.

He looked at her then—heavy-lidded, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip, eyes fixed on her mouth like he’d been thinking the exact same thing.

And just like that, she knew—he wanted to kiss her too.

Desperately.

Badly enough to do it here. In front of everyone.

Badly enough that she might let him.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

Not the way he kept looking at her like that. Not the way her skin buzzed every time he laughed at something she said and leaned in just a little too close. Not the heat of his thigh pressed against hers like a dare.

Fuck it.

She grabbed his hand.

JJ blinked, startled. “Kie?”

But she didn’t answer—just shot him a look over her shoulder that said don’t ask, just follow—and pulled him through the crowd with purpose. Past the glowing chandelier, past the nosy kooks and too-shiny donors, through a side hallway that echoed with marble underfoot. Her heart thundered as she pushed through the door to the men’s bathroom and yanked him inside.

The second the door clicked shut, JJ was on her.

Or maybe she was on him.

It didn’t matter.

His mouth crashed into hers with an urgency that made her knees weak. She barely registered the heavy door swinging shut behind them before JJ backed her into the nearest stall, the metal creaking as her spine hit it. He kicked the lock closed without looking.

Then his hands were everywhere—her waist, her hips, gripping her thighs like he didn’t know what to do first. She dragged her fingers through his hair and pulled him closer until there was no air between them.

He kissed her like he was starved.

Like he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since the moment he showed up in that damn suit.

She was already panting, already soaked. She’d been flirting with him all night, feeding off his looks, the tension, the way his eyes had followed every dip of her dress like it hurt. And now—God, now—it was exploding out of them.

His mouth dragged to her jaw, then lower, mouthing at the curve of her neck while she gasped against the shell of his ear. “Knew you were gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, voice wrecked and breath hot. “You fucking knew.”

“Not dead yet,” she whispered, smirking, before shoving his jacket off his shoulders. It crumpled somewhere behind them on the floor.

JJ leaned back just long enough to look at her, eyes wild and heavy-lidded, then dragged his hands down her thighs and hoisted her up. She clung to his shoulders, her heels kicking against the wall as he pinned her to it, grinding against her core through layers of fabric like he was already fucking her.

But then she shifted, her breath catching, and pushed gently on his chest.

He blinked, confused.

Then she dropped to her knees.

There was no hesitation. No question in her eyes. Just purpose.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” she murmured, hands already tugging at his belt. “Figured it was your turn.”

JJ’s breath caught in his throat. “Shit, Kie…”

She made quick work of his belt and button, all smooth confidence, her nails dragging lightly against his skin as she pulled his pants and boxers down just enough to free him.

When she looked up through her lashes, lips parted in a slow, deliberate smile, JJ thought he might actually black out.

“Relax,” she murmured. “Just making sure you survive the rest of this fundraiser.”

She wrapped her hand around him first—slow, teasing strokes that made his thighs tense and his breath go ragged. Then she leaned in and licked a stripe from base to tip, her tongue flicking over the head before she took him into her mouth.

JJ’s head thunked hard against the stall wall.

“Holy fuck,” he groaned, hand finding the back of her head, not pushing—just gripping, like he needed something to hold onto.

She sucked him slow and deep, hollowing her cheeks and twisting her wrist in rhythm, letting him hit the back of her throat and then pulling off with a filthy pop, only to do it again. Her tongue curled under him on every pass, her free hand running over his stomach and his thigh like she wanted to memorize the way he trembled.

JJ’s voice was low and wrecked. “You’re gonna kill me. You are literally gonna—fuck, Kie—”

She moaned softly around him, and the vibrations nearly undid him right there.

“You feel so good,” he gasped, his fingers curling against the stall wall, trying not to lose it too fast. “Fuck, Kie…”

She didn’t let up. Just kept working him slow and deep, teasing him with her tongue, then speeding up until his hips bucked and his breath hitched again.

“Jesus, I’m—shit, I’m close—” he warned, voice wrecked.

She pulled back just enough to look up at him, all wicked pride and dark, glassy eyes.

And then she sank down again, taking him deeper, her hands pressing into his thighs as she finished what she started. He tried to hold on, jaw clenched, head tipped back—but the way her mouth moved, the soft moan she let slip around him—it wrecked him.

His hand fisted in her hair as his whole body tensed with a strangled groan, hips stuttering as he came hard, barely keeping quiet enough not to give them away.

It took him a full ten seconds to remember how to breathe.

She swallowed everything. Didn’t break eye contact once.

Then licked her lips and stood slowly, smoothing her dress back down as if she hadn’t just brought him to his knees in under two minutes.

JJ stared at her like he’d never seen her before.

“You good?” she asked, voice smug and teasing and breathless all at once.

He nodded dumbly. “I think I saw God.”

She snorted. “Tell Him I said you’re welcome.”

And just as he reached for her again—just to kiss her, to pull her into him and say something he’d probably regret—the bathroom door creaked open.

Footsteps. And then:

“Dude, I’m telling you, that shrimp tower was raw,” came Topper’s voice, bouncing off the tile.

JJ nearly jumped out of his skin, heart slamming back into his ribcage.

Kiara, on the other hand, looked completely unbothered.

She stood up, cool as anything, and stepped out of the stall without so much as a glance at JJ. Topper and Kelce turned mid-laugh—and froze.

Kiara walked to the mirror, fixed her lipstick with practiced ease, and met their stunned stares in the reflection.

“What?” she said flatly. “You’ve never seen a girl before?”

Topper cleared his throat. “Uh—”

“This is the men’s room,” Kelce offered, not quite making eye contact.

Kiara capped her lipstick and turned, chin lifted. “Wow. Thanks for the update.”

JJ stumbled out a second later, yanking his jacket straight, still flushed and half-wrecked. He avoided eye contact as they passed, but Kiara didn’t miss a beat.

Once they were in the hallway again, she glanced at him with an arched brow. “You good?”

He let out a breathless laugh. “I mean… I might never recover.”

Kiara shot him a wicked smile.

He huffed out a stunned laugh, brushing a hand through his hair. “Do you… care that they saw us?”

She glanced at him sideways. “Do you?”

JJ hesitated, then smirked. “Not really.”

“Cool.” She reached for his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. “C’mon. I think we earned another drink.”

____________________

They found John B and Sarah near the valet circle, already half-shrugged into their jackets.

“There you two are,” Sarah said, eyebrows lifted. “We were starting to wonder if you’d gotten kidnapped by the silent auction table.”

“Something like that,” JJ muttered.

John B squinted at them, taking in JJ’s askew tie and Kiara’s slightly mussed hair. “You two good?”

“Peachy,” JJ said without missing a beat.

Kiara just smirked, cheeks still flushed. “You heading out?”

John B nodded. “Yeah, before Sarah talks me into bidding on a sunset paddleboard tour.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “It looks romantic.”

JJ clapped a hand on John B’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of here before someone tries to get me to make a tax-deductible donation.”

They were barely a few steps toward the exit when Kiara heard her name.

“Kiara.”

Her stomach dropped.

Her parents stood near a tall potted plant by the foyer. Her mom looked tight-lipped and tired. Her dad looked pissed.

“Knew we wouldn’t make it out clean,” JJ muttered under his breath.

Her parents stood by the grand staircase, her mom’s mouth pinched tight, her dad looking like he was gearing up for a lecture. The tension snapped back like a rubber band.

JJ stepped just a little in front of her—not obvious, but enough.

“Not now,” Kiara muttered, already feeling her jaw clench.

Anna took a step forward. “We need to talk.”

“Later,” Kiara said firmly. “I’m leaving.”

“You’ve been drinking,” Mike pointed out.

“So has everyone,” JJ muttered under his breath.

Mike’s gaze was fixed on JJ. “You’re leaving? With him?”

JJ stiffened beside her.

Kiara’s jaw snapped open. “What’s that supposed to—”

But JJ’s hand closed gently around her wrist before she could finish. “C’mon, Kie,” he said low, tugging her backward, voice soft but firm. “Not worth it.”

She bit back the rest of the words and let him lead her away, her pulse thrumming with the comeback she didn’t get to deliver.

But the look she shot her mother over her shoulder said it all.

She let him pull her down the steps, out the wide double doors, into the warm, salty night air. Her heart was pounding again, but this time from something else entirely.

When they reached the parking lot, she exhaled sharply. JJ still hadn’t let go of her hand.

She glanced at him. “Thanks.”

He shrugged like it was no big deal, but his grip tightened.

“Anytime.”

The Twinkie rumbled to life ahead of them.

They climbed into the back, Kiara still buzzing—still warm from the drinks and the heat of JJ’s mouth, still reeling from the way he didn’t even flinch when her parents tried to dig in.

JJ sat beside her, elbow brushing hers on purpose.

The fundraiser was over. But something between them wasn’t.

Chapter Text

JJ’s bed was a mess—sheets tangled, shirts somewhere on the floor, her thigh still half-draped over his. Her skin was cooling but still humming, her muscles soft with that delicious, post-orgasm weight.

It had been like this all week. Not just once or twice, but every time they could get away with it. Sneaking off at parties, making out behind the Twinkie, stealing minutes in bathrooms or dark hallways while the others were distracted. Movie nights where they'd vanish and reappear like nothing happened. He’d even come over to her house a couple times now—no parents, no interruptions, just hands and mouths and heat.

Somewhere along the way, something had shifted. A line crossed. A barrier neither of them had named, but both of them felt the second it broke. After that, there was no pretending it was the same. No pretending it was just fun.

It was like their bodies had learned something their mouths wouldn’t say—some unspoken permission, some silent agreement that they weren’t going to hold back anymore. Every kiss got longer. Every touch lingered. It wasn’t just wanting each other; it was needing, like the time apart made their skin itch until they found each other again.

And now they couldn’t seem to stop. Even in crowded rooms, she’d catch him looking at her like they were already undressing each other in his head—and maybe she was doing the same. The pull between them was reckless, magnetic, and impossible to ignore.

Today, it was the Chateau. John B and Sarah were off doing their nerdy couple thing, digging through archives in Chapel Hill. The house was quiet. Empty. The kind of rare stillness that felt like an invitation.

Usually, there wasn’t much after. No lingering. Just breathless laughter, a half-assed clean-up, and then business as usual.

But this time, as the air settled around them, JJ shifted and slung an arm across her waist. Casual on the surface—like he didn’t think about it.

But she felt it. The weight of it. The stillness in him.

And then his thumb moved—just once—brushing low on her stomach in a lazy, absentminded circle.

It was a message. A quiet one, but clear.

Stay.

And that was new.

She should’ve moved. Should’ve made some joke, rolled away, grabbed her clothes off the floor.

But she didn’t.

She was tired. Warm. And maybe—though she wouldn’t say it out loud—she wanted to stay too.

So she did.

The ceiling fan hummed softly above them. The room smelled like sweat and JJ’s skin. Outside, the yard was quiet.

They lay there without talking. Limbs tangled, hearts steadying.

It felt easy. Safe. She didn’t hate it.

Kiara let herself wonder if this was starting to be more than just a thing. If maybe this was something she wanted to get used to. 

They didn’t talk much after, usually. Not like this.

But today, JJ stayed close. His arm was still around her waist. She was curled into his side, her head on his shoulder, and for once, neither of them seemed in a rush to break the spell.

It started with something dumb—her teasing him about the way he always lost socks, even though he swore he didn’t.

He swore back that Sarah stole them. That she had a secret stash of all the Pogue socks in her closet.

She laughed. He grinned.

But the teasing faded, and the silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was easy. Warm.

She found herself speaking before she could talk herself out of it.

“My mom wants me to apply for some internship thing in Wilmington,” she said, tracing a circle on his chest with her fingertip. “Some travel magazine. She thinks it’ll ‘look good’ if I decide to apply to Columbia later. Which is rich, because I never said I wanted to go to Columbia.”

JJ didn’t say anything, but his hand tightened slightly on her waist.

“I don’t know what I want,” she admitted quietly. “I keep thinking I do, but… then I don’t. I just know I want to get out of here. See shit. Try stuff. I feel like I’m always five seconds away from disappointing everyone.”

JJ was quiet for a beat longer than usual. Then he said, voice low, “You’re not disappointing anyone.”

She looked up at him. “You don’t know that.”

“I know enough.”

She exhaled slowly and settled back against him, letting the moment breathe. “Sometimes I feel like I’m gonna explode if I stay here forever. Like the idea of being stuck in the same town with the same people doing the same shit—”

“Yeah,” JJ cut in, almost too fast. “I get that.”

He was staring at the ceiling now, jaw tight. She felt the shift—like something raw had crept to the surface.

“My dad used to say the same thing,” he added, quieter this time. “That I was ungrateful. For not wanting the life he had. As if that was the goal. Getting drunk every night and scaring your kid into silence.”

Kiara didn’t move. She didn’t say anything.

He rarely talked about his dad. Almost never.

JJ blew out a breath. “Anyway. I get it. Wanting to run. Wanting something that’s not... this.”

She looked at him again—really looked—and saw it in his face. That slight tremble at the edge of his voice, the tension in his jaw. He was letting her in, just a little. And it cost him something to do it.

So she held that moment carefully.

“I like it when you talk to me,” she said softly. “Not just the smartass stuff.”

JJ scoffed, but it was weak. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.”

He let out a small breath that was almost a laugh, and she shifted, nudging her nose into the curve of his neck.

JJ’s heart was doing somersaults. She could feel it.

The space between them felt soft. Full.

She realized how easy it felt, lying there with him. How much of herself she was showing—and how much more he was letting her see.

There was a pause. A quiet one.

Not heavy, exactly. But something unsaid sat between them.

They both felt it—this thing they were doing. Whatever it was.

Neither of them said the words. But they hovered there, unspeakable.

What are we doing?

She didn’t ask.

Neither did he.

Instead, she just stayed pressed against him, her fingers still tracing lazy patterns on his chest, and JJ kept holding her like he didn’t want to let go.

_________________________________

***JJ***

JJ lay still long after Kiara’s breathing evened out beside him.

Her body was warm against his, one arm slung across his chest like she belonged there, and fuck—maybe she did. That was the problem.

He was falling. Hard. Fast. No parachute, no plan. And for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to hit the brakes.

Except for one thing.

Birdshit.

The name alone made his stomach knot.

What had started as a stupid, anonymous outlet had turned into something else. Something intimate. Emotional. Real. Except it wasn’t real—not the way she thought it was. Not when she didn’t know it was him behind the keyboard.

He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. He’d known for a while now. Too long. Long enough that keeping it from her felt less like omission and more like a full-blown betrayal.

He could’ve told her.

Should’ve told her.

But then she’d open up—about her fears, her doubts, her dreams—and he couldn’t bring himself to shatter that trust. Even if she didn’t know she was giving it to him.

So now he was stuck. Watching her fall for a version of him that wore a mask.

JJ stared at the ceiling, mind spinning.

Maybe I can pretend I didn’t know it was her either?
He winced immediately. She’d never buy that. Not with the way things had lined up. Not with the things he’d said.

Okay. So maybe I let it fade.
Pull back. Talk less. Stop initiating. No more late-night spirals, no more sexts, no more emotionally loaded 3 a.m. rants about the meaning of life.

Let Birdshit go quiet.

Maybe she’d lose interest. Maybe she’d drift away from him online, and he could step in—actually step in—as himself. As JJ.

It was a terrible plan. The worst.

But he didn’t have a better one.

He couldn’t keep the secret forever. And he couldn’t bring himself to come clean. Not yet. Not when the look in her eyes lately made him feel like he was finally getting it right. Like she was starting to see him—really see him—and not hate what she found.

Ever since the charity event, something had been different. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the shift was there—subtle, solid. That night had felt like they were on the same team for the first time, not just sneaking around and pretending it was all a game. She hadn’t flinched when Topper and Kelce had spotted them together—hadn’t tried to step away or pretend it was nothing. That did something to him. Made him feel a quiet kind of pride, like she saw him for more than his name and didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought.

And then there was the moment with her parents—him standing there while they tried to box her in, watching her push back without apology. She’d let him see it, really see it, and hadn’t shut him out. That kind of trust didn’t come easy, not for either of them. It stuck with him in a way he hadn’t expected, like he’d crossed into territory he didn’t want to back out of.

He closed his eyes and let his head tip back into the pillow, guilt twisting in his chest.

In his defense, he hadn’t even known it was her at first.

He hadn’t meant to deceive her. In the beginning, it was harmless. Flirty. A joke.

And okay, yeah, maybe he used the messages to figure out what she liked. The things she fantasized about. What turned her on, what made her shy, what made her bold.

But now it wasn’t just about sex.

She was sharing real shit. Her hopes. Her fears. And he was too.

That line they’d been toeing? It was long gone.

It was too intimate now. Too close to home.

He didn’t want to lie to her.

But he didn’t want to lose her either.

So he stayed still, her hand on his chest, her breath soft against his ribs, and pretended—for just a few more minutes—that this didn’t have an expiration date.

That somehow, maybe, he could still find a way to make it right.

___________________

***KIE***

JJ had been acting… different.

Not in a dramatic, obvious way. He was still himself—loud, chaotic, a menace with zero concept of boundaries. But lately, he’d started showing these little flashes of something softer. Like someone had peeled back the sharp edges and let a gentler version of him bleed through.

He brushed her hair behind her ear the other day. Just did it, like it was instinct. Then told her she looked beautiful, in this quiet, sincere way that left her reeling for half an hour.

He’d been following her around, too. Not clingy, not weird. Just there. Always nearby. And she couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed. It was… kind of adorable. She liked having him close now. Liked the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.

He used to make her roll her eyes and scowl. Now? He made her laugh. Smile when she didn’t mean to.

It was throwing her off.

Because JJ Maybank wasn’t supposed to be sweet. He was supposed to jab at her and call her an eco-princess like it was an insult, not pull her into his lap just because he wanted her close, or say shit like “I like it when you stay” like it didn’t completely unravel her.

And it wasn’t just what he was doing—it was how familiar it all felt.

Like… Birdshit familiar.

It was a ridiculous thought. She’d told herself a hundred times that Birdshit and JJ were not the same person. Could not be the same person. Birdshit was all late-night vulnerability and flirty insight and emotional depth. JJ was… JJ.

Except lately, JJ had been acting like him.

And that scared her.

Because if she was projecting—if her brain was filling in gaps that weren’t really there—then what the hell was she doing? Falling for someone who wasn’t even real?

And if she wasn’t projecting—if JJ really was softening, if this was just who he was when no one else was looking—then she was in trouble. Because her feelings weren’t just physical anymore.

Not even close.

She kept trying to hold the line. Friends-with-benefits, no feelings, no expectations. That was the deal. But JJ had started letting her in. Trusting her. Sharing pieces of himself no one else got to see.

And he didn’t just talk—he noticed. He got her in a way that felt rare, like he could see straight through the walls she kept up and didn’t flinch at what was underneath.

She’d be lying if she said it didn’t mean something.
She’d be lying if she said she didn’t want more.

Worse—she was starting to need it.

Every time he looked at her a certain way—soft and unguarded, like she was something he couldn’t believe was real—something inside her cracked open a little more. And she was running out of ways to patch it back together.

Her feelings for him were starting to spiral. Fast. Dangerous and out of control.

She kept trying to contain it—kept reminding herself of their deal, of how messy things would get if either of them stepped over that line. But then he’d do something small and infuriatingly sweet—like notice that she always picks the mug with a lobster on it at John B’s house in the morning even though she’s never really noticed herself —and she’d forget what the line even was.

And the way he looked at her sometimes… like she was the only thing in the room that mattered… she didn’t know what to do with that.

She was pretty sure he had feelings for her, and he didn’t seem to care—or try—nearly as hard as she was to stay within the boundaries of their original agreement.

The idea of JJ wanting more—and of her wanting more—terrified her. Yet she knew, deep down, that she did want JJ. She wanted more with him. But she couldn’t reconcile giving up her relationship with Birdshit.

At least JJ didn’t seem to mind. He’d mentioned once that he had feelings for someone else. She wondered who that was, and her stomach twisted at the thought of him giving his attention to someone else… exactly like she was doing.

And that was the kicker—she hated the idea of him splitting his attention, even while she was doing it herself. She knew it was hypocritical. She knew it was unfair. That didn’t stop the jealousy from curling in her gut, or the guilt from settling in right after.

It was a contradiction she couldn’t untangle, a mess she wasn’t ready to clean up. So she shoved it down and told herself she’d deal with it later.

Birdshit made her feel understood. Their chats were addictive—charged, deep, real. But he’d started pulling back lately. Fewer replies. No more 2 a.m. spirals. No new sexts, even when she sent him something that should’ve earned a fire emoji at minimum.

It stung more than she wanted to admit. Was he bored? Was he losing interest?

She hated that it made her insecure.

Her thoughts were interrupted by JJ sliding into the booth beside her, casual as ever, like he wasn't just wreaking havoc in her brain.Two drinks in hand.

They were all squeezed into a booth at Sharky’s—her, Pope, Cleo, John B, and Sarah—arguing about whether or not someone could technically “lose” a ghost ship (John B’s latest obsession). Kie had been half-listening, half-refreshing the CarveLine thread out of habit.

Still nothing from Birdshit.

The bar was loud and sticky with summer air, the kind of place they knew too well. Music thumped from the jukebox, someone was already singing off-key by the pool table, and their fries were rapidly disappearing under Pope’s relentless snacking.

JJ plopped a PBR down in front of himself and, without a word, slid a Corona with a lime wedge in front of her.

Her usual.

She blinked at it.

She hadn’t asked. He’d just… known.

And then, without even making a thing of it, he gave her a soft little smile and squeezed her thigh under the table before immediately jumping into the shipwreck debate like nothing had happened.

It was nothing.

And it sent butterflies into a full-blown panic in her chest.

She must’ve looked as dazed as she felt because when she glanced across the table, Sarah was already staring at her. Brows raised, eyes wide, fully clocking what had just happened.

“I saw that,” Sarah mouthed.

Kie shook her head slightly. Not now.

Sarah narrowed her eyes but backed off, snatching a fry and pointing it at her like a dagger. “You’re telling me everything later,” she whispered.

Kiara nodded, cheeks flushed.

She probably should. It was about time someone knew.

Even if she didn’t totally know what this was herself.

_________________________

Kiara barely made it three steps into Sarah’s room before a throw pillow hit her in the face.

“You owe me your soul and the full tea,” Sarah said, sprawled out on her bed in a bikini top and cutoff shorts, sunglasses perched dramatically on her head. “I cleared my schedule. I brought snacks. Spill.”

Kiara caught the pillow, rolled her eyes, and flopped down into the beanbag near the window.

“This feels like a setup.”

Sarah popped a chip into her mouth. “That’s because it is.”

Kiara sighed, dragging her hands through her hair. “God. Okay. Fine. You win.”

Sarah perked up instantly. “So. You and JJ.”

Kiara paused, then muttered, “We’ve kinda been…hooking up.”

Sarah choked on her drink. “Wait. Since WHEN?”

“A while.”

Sarah blinked at her. “Define ‘a while.’ Like… days? Weeks? What’s a while in Kiara sex math?”

Kiara buried her face in her hands. “Don’t make it weird.”

Sarah grinned. “Oh, it’s already weird. I’ve just upgraded it to intriguing.”

Kiara groaned. “I knew you’d do this.”

“I’m doing nothing,” Sarah said, too innocently. “You’re the one out here living in a summer romance novel and not telling anyone.”

Kiara leaned back in the beanbag, eyes to the ceiling. “It was supposed to be nothing. Fun. Casual. No feelings.”

“And now?”

Kiara hesitated. “Now… I think I’m falling for him.”

Sarah’s expression shifted, the smile softening. “Like… real falling?”

“Yeah,” Kiara said quietly. “And I wasn’t supposed to. But he’s been different lately. Sweet. Thoughtful. He stays after. He looks at me like I matter, and I know that sounds dumb, but—”

“It doesn’t,” Sarah cut in gently. “It doesn’t sound dumb.”

Sarah studied her. “Did something change?”

Kiara nodded slowly. “Yeah. The fundraiser.”

Sarah tilted her head. “Wait—has this been happening since then?”

“It started before,” Kiara admitted, “but that night... something shifted. We were just supposed to mess around. Play pretend. But then he showed up for me. And stayed. And danced with me. And looked at me like... like he wasn’t pretending anymore.”

Sarah’s brows lifted. “And now?”

Kiara exhaled. “Now it feels real. Like—I think I’m in it. For real. And I don’t know if he is too, or if I’m reading into things, or if I’m gonna get wrecked.”

Sarah softened again. “Hey. You’re not crazy. That boy has been soft around you for months.”

Kiara let out a shaky breath. “That’s not all.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“There’s… someone else.”

Sarah sat up straighter. “Kie.”

Kiara gave her a helpless look. “It’s not what you think. It’s online.”

“Oh my god, are you being catfished?”

“No! God—no. I just… You know that surf forum I’m always on? CarveLine?”

Sarah nodded slowly.

Kiara hesitated, then said, “There’s this guy. I don’t know who he is. His username’s Birdshit, and we started talking months ago. At first it was just banter. Dumb stuff. But then it got real. Like… scary real.”

Sarah’s jaw dropped a little. “Real how?”

“We talk about everything. Deep shit. Life stuff. Sex stuff. He just—he gets me. He’s smart and funny and… open. And I feel safe with him in a way that’s different.”

Kiara hesitated, then added, “And there’s a surf competition this weekend. I signed up weeks ago.”

Sarah raised a brow. “Okay?”

Kiara nodded. “Birdshit’s planning to compete too. At least, he said he was.”

Sarah blinked. “Wait—so you could meet him?”

Kiara’s throat tightened. “That’s the thing. I thought I wanted that. I still want that. But…”

“But now you’re scared.”

Kiara nodded slowly. “He’s been pulling back lately. Slower replies, no more flirting. Like he’s… fading. And I don’t know if that means he’s just over it or if I did something wrong.”

Sarah studied her for a long beat. “You still gonna go through with it?”

“I don’t know,” Kiara said honestly. “I want to see him. I do. But what if he doesn’t show? Or what if he does and it’s… awkward? Or worse—what if he meets me and realizes I’m not what he pictured?”

Sarah rolled onto her side and gave her a level look. “Kie. You’re not some disappointing mystery prize. You’re you.”

Kiara gave a tiny smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah. Well. Doesn’t feel like enough right now.”

Sarah blinked. “So let me get this straight. You’re emotionally involved with an anonymous internet boy and sleeping with JJ Maybank?”

Kiara covered her face with both hands. “I know.”

Sarah sat in stunned silence for a moment. Then: “Okay, I’m gonna need more snacks.”

Kiara laughed weakly.

“And now?” Sarah asked. “Where do things stand?”

Kiara shrugged. “I’m not sure, honestly, Birdshit used to message all the time—but now he barely responds. It’s like he’s disappearing.”

“That bothering you?”

“Yes. And I hate that it does.”

Sarah gave her a long look. “Meanwhile, JJ is getting… sweeter?”

Kiara didn’t answer right away. Then, softly: “After the fundraiser… it’s like all the walls with JJ dropped. And I’m scared if I meet Birdshit, I’ll ruin something that already feels real.”

Sarah gave her a long look. “Kie. I think something is already real. And you don’t have to pick today. But don’t lie to yourself about where your heart’s leaning.”

Kiara didn’t respond. She just stared down at her hands, lips parted like she wanted to speak—but didn’t know what she’d say.

“It’s like everything’s reversed. And I feel split in two.”

Sarah lay back on the bed, one hand over her face. “Kie. You’re living in the weirdest love triangle I’ve ever heard of.”

Kiara laughed tightly. “That makes two of us.”

After a beat, Sarah sat up again, her voice gentler now. “Look. You don’t have to figure it all out today. But you do need to stop pretending your feelings aren’t real.”

Kiara glanced at her, uneasy. “Even if they’re messy?”

“Especially then,” Sarah said. “You deserve someone who shows up for you. Whoever that ends up being.”

Kiara didn’t reply. She just nodded, eyes on the carpet, her heart loud in her chest.

Later that night, Kiara sat cross-legged on her bed, the glow of her phone lighting her face.

She opened CarveLine. Still no new messages.

She closed it. Opened her texts. Scrolled down to JJ’s name.

Her thumb hovered.

She didn’t text either of them.

She just sat there, staring at the screen, feeling like her heart was in two places at once.

“God,” she muttered, falling back onto the pillows.

“I’m so screwed.”

As soon as she put her phone down, it buzzed.

She didn’t hesitate to check it—not sure if she was hoping it was one of them or hoping it wasn’t.

It was JJ.

JJ: wyd?

She exhaled through her nose, somewhere between a groan and a laugh.

Of course.

It must’ve been some cruel cosmic joke that the second she started spiraling about her feelings, one of them popped up. The universe really didn’t believe in peace.

She was about to type back when another text came through.

JJ: can i come over?

Her stomach flipped.

She stared at the screen for a beat too long, biting her lip.

She could say no. She could tell him she was tired or not in the mood or had an early morning. She could draw a line, set a boundary, give herself some space to breathe.

But her heart had already answered.

Kie: sure.

The reply came almost instantly.

JJ: be there in a few

A few? She glanced at the time. The Château was at least fifteen minutes away—and that was if he drove like a semi-responsible person.

She rolled her eyes. He was probably already halfway here.

She stood and glanced around her room, tucking a loose blanket into place, grabbing a hoodie off the floor. Not because she was nervous. Just… instinct. Her heart was pounding in that annoying, hopeful way it always did when she was about to see him.

And maybe, just maybe, she was kind of horny.

But it wasn’t just that.

There was something about him tonight—just his name lighting up her phone made something loosen in her chest. Like maybe she wasn’t as alone in all this as she thought.

She tried not to think too hard about what that meant.

Let him come.

Let whatever this was keep unfolding—messy and confusing and maybe a little doomed.

She just wanted to see him.

She thought about texting him to use the front door.

Her parents weren’t home. No need for stealth. No reason for him to scale the side of the house like a criminal or a lovesick teenager in an ‘80s movie.

But she didn’t send the message.

Because, deep down, she knew he’d climb the window anyway. He always did. And even if he’d never admit it, she was pretty sure he liked it—that rush of sneaking in, the thrill of doing something reckless and dumb just to be near her.

And maybe… she liked it too.

So when she heard the soft tap-tap on the glass, she was already walking toward the window, trying not to smile.

The moment he stumbled inside—half-graceful, half-chaotic—she caught herself grinning. But it vanished just as quickly.

Because the second he stood upright, brushing off his jeans, she saw it.

The split lip.

The bruised cheekbone.

And something darker in his eyes. Something raw. Shaken.

Her breath caught. “JJ…”

He didn’t look at her. Just shrugged like it was nothing, eyes skimming the room like he was scanning for danger or pretending he wasn’t in pain.

“What happened?” she asked, stepping closer, already reaching for his face before she could stop herself.

He flinched—not from her touch, but like he wasn’t ready for it. Still, he didn’t pull away.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “I’m fine.”

She arched a brow. “You expect me to believe that?”

He gave her a weak smile. “Got in a fight. It’s not a big deal.”

“With who?” she pressed, watching his jaw tighten.

JJ’s silence was loud. Defensive.

She knew that look. That shut-down, boarded-up version of him.

Her voice softened. “JJ…”

“Can we not?” he said, too fast. Too sharp. His eyes finally met hers, and there was a flicker of something there—pleading, fragile.

“I don’t wanna talk about it. Not tonight.”

Her heart twisted.

Before she could answer, he stepped in—slow, cautious, like she might bolt if he moved too fast. His hands found her waist, fingers light and tentative, not pulling but grounding himself.

“Kie,” he murmured, leaning in, his voice low and unsteady. “Please. Just… not right now.”

She felt the pull immediately.

His eyes were dark and searching, his lips hovering near her jaw. She could smell him—salt, sweat, soap—and something metallic, maybe blood. It made her stomach flip.

“JJ…” she started, voice uncertain.

But then his lips brushed her jaw. Featherlight.

Her breath hitched.

“I need this,” he whispered. “I need you.”

Another kiss—lower this time, near the pulse in her throat. Soft. Not demanding. Just… aching.

She froze.

It would’ve been easy to give in. God, so easy. He was warm and close and saying all the right things—or maybe not saying anything at all, and that’s what made it work. It wasn’t the usual cocky JJ trying to score.

This was different.

This was desperation.

And that terrified her.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to look him in the eye. “JJ, you’re not okay.”

“I’m okay enough for this,” he said quietly. “Just… let me forget. Just for a little while.”

Her heart was pounding.

She wanted to be that place for him. The safe one. The calm in the storm. But she also didn’t want to be his escape. She wanted to matter. To mean something.

Still, when she looked into his eyes, all she saw was her.

Not as a warm body. Not as a distraction.

As an anchor.

Her stomach twisted painfully, and her throat went tight.

Because she could see it—how much he needed her. How much he didn’t want to ask for help but was doing it anyway, in the only way he knew how.

He wasn’t trying to seduce her.

He was trying not to fall apart.

Her voice was barely a whisper. “JJ…”

But she didn’t say no.

She couldn’t.

Because whatever this was between them—it was bigger than either of them wanted to admit.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away, didn’t step closer. Just stood there, suspended in the space between restraint and surrender, with JJ’s hands warm and steady on her waist.

His thumbs brushed against the hem of her shirt—barely a touch—but it sent a ripple through her whole body.

Their eyes met.

It was quiet. So damn quiet. Just the soft tick of the ceiling fan, the muffled sound of distant cicadas through her cracked window, and her pulse, thudding in her ears.

He looked wrecked.

Bruised and messy and vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed anyone to see. His lip was split, his cheek purpling with the kind of hurt she knew came from something worse than just a fight. But it was his eyes that undid her.

There was no mask tonight. No smirk. No sarcastic deflection.

Just JJ. Raw and hurting.

“I don’t want you to just… use me to forget,” she whispered, voice shaky.

“I’m not,” he said, and for once, there was no hesitation.

He leaned in slowly, like he didn’t want to spook her. Like he was giving her every chance to say no. But she didn’t.

She couldn’t.

Because he wasn’t trying to take anything from her. He was offering something. Himself. Whatever fractured, messy piece of him he could give.

So she closed the distance.

Their lips met in the softest possible way—like neither of them knew how to do this gently but were trying anyway. His mouth was warm and tentative, tasting like salt and sleep and something bitter underneath. His split lip made him wince slightly, and she pulled back just a breath, murmuring, “You okay?”

He nodded, gaze locked to hers. “Keep going.”

So she did.

She kissed him again—deeper this time. More certain.

One of his hands slid up her back, cradling the base of her neck, while the other tightened at her waist, anchoring her like he might float away without her. Her fingers threaded into the hem of his shirt, not tugging it off yet, just holding him there. Feeling the slow, shaky rise and fall of his chest.

The kiss grew gradually—never frantic, never rushed. Just heat and breath and emotion building in quiet, careful waves. Every time their lips parted, they came back together a little hungrier. A little more desperate.

His nose brushed hers. Her hand slipped up into his hair. He tilted his head and sighed into her mouth, like the kiss itself was easing something inside him.

Like she was the only thing keeping him steady.

And maybe she was.

Because in that moment, she wasn’t thinking about Birdshit or mixed signals or everything they hadn’t said.

She was just thinking about him.

JJ.

And how badly she wanted to make him feel safe.

JJ’s fingers slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, just enough to graze the skin at her waist. His touch was feather-light, tentative. Like he was waiting for her to flinch.

She didn’t.

Instead, she leaned in, brushing her nose against his, her voice low. “Let me.”

She didn’t know exactly why she said it, but it felt important—like this was something she wanted to give him. Not just permission, but care. Control. Something safe in a night that clearly hadn’t been.

He let his hands fall away, his eyes on hers as she reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward. He raised his arms without a word, letting her pull it over his head and drop it to the floor.

Her breath caught a little.

Not because he was shirtless—she’d seen him like this before—but because of the bruises. Faint and fresh and ugly across his ribs, the dull, dark bloom of pain he hadn’t let himself name. He started to look away, embarrassed, but she touched his jaw gently and kept his face turned toward her.

“I see you,” she said, so soft it was barely sound.

His throat bobbed, and he didn’t speak. Just pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed like he was holding something back. She let him have that silence. Let him breathe.

Then her hands slid down his chest, slow and reverent, like she was trying to memorize the lines of him.

When she moved to tug her own shirt off, his hands stopped her—not rough, not forceful. Just a pause.

“I wanna,” he said, voice gravelly, almost shy. “Can I?”

She nodded.

He peeled her shirt off carefully, like he was unwrapping something delicate. And when it joined his on the floor, his gaze softened even more. He looked at her like she was the first thing that had made sense all day.

He didn’t grope or rush. Just traced the curve of her waist with both hands, thumbs brushing along the edge of her bra like he was asking without asking.

So she reached behind and unclasped it herself, letting it slide down her arms and fall away.

JJ exhaled sharply, not because of the view, but because of what it meant. That she trusted him like this. That she was letting him in.

He didn’t say anything. Just leaned forward and pressed his mouth to her collarbone, slow and gentle and aching. She sighed, eyes fluttering shut as his lips trailed across her skin, reverent and quiet, like he was saying all the things he couldn’t voice.

Her hands found the waistband of his jeans, fingers curling there, waiting for him to nod.

He did.

They undressed each other like that—one piece at a time, one breath at a time. Not like they were racing toward something, but like they were already in it. Already deep in something that didn’t need a name.

By the time they were bare, the air between them felt different—thick with heat, yes, but also something softer. Something sacred.

And when he pulled her back to him, skin to skin, their bodies fit like puzzle pieces, like they'd done this in another life.

He kissed her again.

Slower this time. Like gratitude. Like a promise.

And for the first time, she let herself believe that maybe it really could be more than just a thing.

Maybe it already was.

Their mouths met again—slower this time, deeper. No teeth, no games. Just soft, open kisses that melted into each other like exhaling.

JJ’s hands traced her sides, dragging light over the curve of her waist, then down to her hips. He held her like she might disappear, like he needed to anchor her to this moment so he didn’t drift too far from himself.

She straddled him gently, knees pressed to either side of his thighs, their bare skin brushing. His hands splayed across her lower back like he couldn’t bear to let go.

They weren’t even moving much. Just breathing each other in. Lips parting, mouths grazing, slow like syrup.

She shifted her hips slightly, a teasing roll, and he inhaled sharply against her mouth.

“Jesus, Kie,” he whispered, like her name was the only prayer he knew.

His voice made her shiver. Not from cold. From want.

Her fingers found his hair, tugging softly as she leaned in, brushing her lips along his jaw, then lower—just beneath his ear where she knew he was sensitive. He made a sound that was half-growl, half-plea, his hands tightening on her hips.

She smiled faintly and did it again.

JJ’s grip flexed. He tilted his head back to look at her, eyes wild with a mix of awe and need. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“You started it,” she whispered.

He let out a soft laugh that caught somewhere in his throat as she began to kiss down his neck—slow, open-mouthed kisses that turned into nips, then licks. She made her way to his collarbone, sucking a mark just beneath it, one he might not notice till morning. One no one else would see.

He didn’t stop her. If anything, his hands pulled her closer, guiding her hips forward so she could feel how hard he was beneath her. The sudden pressure made her gasp softly into his skin.

He didn’t grind up. Didn’t thrust.

Just held her there.

Still.

Waiting.

Letting her feel what she did to him.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, his voice cracked and reverent, “how fucking crazy you make me.”

She looked up at him, lips parted, pulse racing. “Then show me.”

His hand slid up to cradle her jaw, thumb brushing her cheekbone as he kissed her again—hungrier this time. Still not rushed, but no longer soft. It was layered with heat and ache and something deeper, something that felt like I need you to keep me whole.

Their bodies rocked together slowly, a rhythm building without friction, just pressure and breath. Her thighs clenched tighter around him, and he hissed as she ground down once—just once—and that one motion made both of them tremble.

JJ buried his face in her neck, sucking a mark just below her ear, his voice a rasp. “I want you so bad it hurts.”

She held his face between her hands and whispered back, “Then have me.”

JJ didn’t say anything. He just kissed her—harder this time.

His hands skimmed down her back, over her hips, gripping like he was grounding himself in her, like if he let go, he might come apart completely.

She felt it. The desperation. The ache behind every touch.

When he laid her back against the pillows, his eyes didn’t leave hers. He kissed her again, slower now, pushing her hair off her face with a kind of reverence that made her throat tighten.

“I missed you,” he murmured, voice rough with something she didn’t recognize.

“You saw me this morning,” she whispered, breath catching as he kissed down her neck, over the curve of her chest, her stomach.

He looked up at her from where he was kneeling between her legs. “Not like this.”

Her breath stuttered.

He dragged her panties down slowly, eyes fixed on hers as he revealed inch after inch of skin. She shivered when the cool air hit her thighs, when his calloused hands skimmed her hips and pulled the fabric all the way off. His eyes darkened at the sight of her, bare and soft and stretched out beneath him.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered.

“Then do something about it,” she shot back, teasing, but her voice was breathy.

JJ smirked—briefly—and then leaned down to kiss the inside of her thigh, open-mouthed and warm.

She gasped, hips twitching, but he only dragged his mouth higher, one hand bracing her leg open, the other sliding along her ribs, up to her breast.

Then he lowered himself between her legs, his breath hot against her skin, and kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t performative.

It was slow and focused and reverent, his tongue moving with purpose—like he was memorizing her, savoring every sound she made, every shiver she gave.

“Kie…” he groaned, when she tangled her fingers in his hair and arched into him. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect.”

She whimpered when his tongue circled just right, when his fingers joined the rhythm. Her back arched, her body trembling, everything inside her stretched tight like a wire.

She was close—dangerously close—and JJ knew it. He could feel it in the way her thighs trembled against his shoulders, the way her hands fisted tight in his hair, her breath coming faster with each flick of his tongue.

He groaned against her, low and reverent, and pressed in deeper—his fingers and mouth working in perfect sync.

“JJ—fuck,” she gasped, hips rocking, voice cracking on his name like it was a lifeline.

That was all he needed.

He locked his arm under her thigh and held her steady as he pushed her over the edge—slow, intentional strokes that turned her into something unraveling and desperate. Her back arched, a strangled moan escaping her lips as she came hard, legs clamping around him, pulse pounding.

He didn’t let up until she whimpered from overstimulation, her body twitching beneath his mouth.

Only then did he pull back, face flushed, lips slick, eyes blown wide with something unspoken.

He crawled up over her slowly, reverently, like she was something sacred. Pressed his forehead to hers.

“I need to be inside you,” he rasped, voice nearly wrecked.

She was still breathless, still tingling from the aftershocks, but she nodded, pulling him closer with shaking hands.

“I need you more,” she whispered.

She guided him in slowly, one hand braced on his jaw, the other clutching at his shoulder, grounding herself in the moment.

He groaned—loud, raw—his forehead dropping to hers as he sank into her inch by inch.

She gasped at the stretch, at the overwhelming heat of him inside her. Her head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted on a broken breath.

It always hit her like this. That first moment of being filled by him—how intimate it was, how full she felt, like her body had molded to his without her permission.

And still, every time, she wanted more.

Her thighs tightened around his waist, heels digging in as he bottomed out, breathing ragged against her neck.

“JJ…” she whimpered, dizzy with how good it felt. “Oh my god.”

“I know,” he whispered, voice frayed. “I know, baby. I got you.”

He moved slowly at first, like he was savoring the feel of her, like every roll of his hips was an offering. It wasn’t just physical—it never was with him. There was something reverent in the way he moved, like he was afraid to break her, or maybe afraid he’d break himself if she disappeared.

She felt every drag, every slow thrust like it was carved into her spine. Her body welcomed him like muscle memory, like instinct. Like this—this was what they were made for.

Her hands tangled in his hair, pulled him into another kiss. It was messy, wet, a little desperate. She kissed him like she needed to feel him everywhere, like she could pull the hurt right out of him with her mouth.

His thrusts deepened, pace picking up just slightly, but still controlled, still so goddamn intimate it made her ache.

“You always feel so fucking good,” he panted, burying his face in her neck. “You don’t even know.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and something inside her broke open with it.

She didn’t know why she wanted to cry.

Maybe it was the way he held her like she was something fragile. Or the way he moved like she was something holy.

Or maybe it was because she felt it too. Every word he didn’t say. Every emotion he shoved down. It was there—in the way his hands gripped her hips, in the tremble of his breath against her collarbone, in the unspoken plea of his kiss.

This wasn’t just about sex. Not for him. Not for her.

This was about escape. About needing someone—choosing someone—when the rest of the world felt too loud and too heavy.

And god, she wanted to be that for him.

Her body was already building again, pleasure curling hot and low in her belly. His hips ground deeper, his thrusts slow but forceful, dragging moans from her lips she couldn’t control.

“JJ… don’t stop,” she gasped, back arching, hands clawing at his back.

“Not gonna,” he rasped, lifting his head to look at her. His eyes were glassy, intense. “Never could.”

She felt like she was unraveling beneath him—held together only by the friction of his body in hers, the sound of his voice, the weight of his hands.

Her orgasm built fast, sharp and overwhelming. She tried to hold on, tried to make it last, but he shifted his angle just right and—

“Oh fuck—JJ—”

Her whole body seized with it. She clung to him, thighs shaking, mouth open on a silent scream as she came hard around him, waves of pleasure crashing through her like a storm.

He groaned loudly at the feel of it—her tight and wet and pulsing around him. “Jesus, Kie…”

She was still shaking when he kissed her—fierce and grateful, like he needed her release to tether him back to earth.

“You okay?” he murmured against her lips.

She nodded, barely catching her breath. “I—yeah. Yeah.”

His eyes searched hers, like he wanted to say something more—something big—but couldn’t bring himself to.

Instead, he pulled back just enough to move again, hips rocking deep and slow, chasing his own edge now.

And she let him.

Let him use her body like a lifeline.

Because somewhere in her chest, her heart was screaming I love you.

But her mouth didn’t say it.

Not yet.

He was getting close—she could feel it in the way his rhythm stuttered, the way his hands gripped her tighter, like he couldn’t get close enough.

His breath was hot and erratic against her shoulder, his moans getting louder, more desperate with each thrust.

“Fuck, Kie—” he gasped. “I’m not gonna last—”

“It’s okay,” she whispered, kissing his jaw, his cheek, anywhere she could reach. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Her words undid him.

With one last thrust—deep, slow, trembling—he came with a broken moan, his whole body shuddering against hers. She felt the way he pressed deeper, like he needed to fuse their bodies together to feel safe. His breath was ragged, shaky, and the little choked sounds he made in her ear made her eyes sting.

He didn’t move for a long moment, just stayed there—buried in her, arms wrapped around her like if he let go the world might end.

She stroked his back slowly, fingers tracing the shape of his spine. His skin was damp with sweat, his heart pounding against hers like a drum.

JJ finally lifted his head, just enough to meet her eyes. His face was flushed, lips kiss-bitten, eyes glassy.

There was something in his gaze she hadn’t seen before.

Wrecked. Raw. Unspoken.

She blinked up at him, breath still coming in soft pants, her chest aching in a way that had nothing to do with sex.

He leaned down, pressed the gentlest kiss to her forehead, then her cheek, then her mouth.

It wasn’t hungry or demanding.

It was… soft.

Almost reverent.

Her throat tightened.

He didn’t say thank you, but he didn’t have to. She heard it in the way he kissed her. In the way he stayed pressed against her instead of pulling away.

This boy. This broken, beautiful boy who never asked for help but somehow still found a way to ask her to be there.

She didn’t say anything either.

Didn’t ask what happened. Didn’t press.

Because she knew.

And he knew she knew.

She just held him as his breathing slowed, as the tension started to bleed out of his body, as he melted into her like she was home.

And maybe—for tonight—she was.

JJ fell asleep with his face tucked against her neck, their limbs tangled, the weight of him heavy and grounding. His breath had evened out, warm on her skin, and she could feel the slow thump of his heart against her chest.

But Kiara didn’t sleep.

She lay there wide awake, staring at the ceiling, her fingers still stroking the back of his neck like a reflex.

And her thoughts were loud. Too loud.

She replayed the night in her head—every kiss, every breath, every quiet, aching moment that shouldn’t have felt as real as it did.

It wasn’t just sex. Not tonight.

It hadn’t been for a while.

And that scared the absolute shit out of her.

Because she knew herself. Knew how easily she could blur the lines and pretend things didn’t matter when they did. Knew how it felt to fall for someone who wasn’t safe to fall for. JJ wasn’t supposed to be safe. He was chaos in human form. A walking storm warning.

But he’d held her like she was precious. Like she mattered. And god help her, it felt good.

Too good.

Her throat tightened.

She glanced down at him—at his bruised cheek pressed to her collarbone, the way his mouth parted slightly in sleep. He looked peaceful here. Soft. Like something fragile curled up in her arms.

And she felt… protective.

She felt everything.

That was the problem.

Because the truth was clawing its way up her chest, unspoken and undeniable: she was falling for him.

Maybe already had.

Maybe deeply.

Her stomach twisted.

Because it wasn’t just JJ, was it?

There was Birdshit.

There was always Birdshit.

And the fact that her first instinct after tonight—the first person she wanted to talk to about JJ—was Birdshit?

That was so deeply, cosmically messed up she almost laughed.

Except she didn’t. She just blinked hard at the ceiling, overwhelmed and spiraling.

Birdshit had been quiet lately. Their flirty banter had slowed. The replies came later, shorter. Like he was losing interest. Like she was the only one still holding onto the spark.

And what did that say about her?

That she was straddling the line between a boy who touched her like she was something to be cherished, and a faceless screen name who made her feel seen? Who she might be falling for, too?

Except—what if Birdshit had already moved on?

What if she was just a game to him?

What if she was a game to both of them?

She felt nauseous.

Because if Birdshit didn’t want her anymore… if JJ never really did…

Who the hell was she to anyone?

Some girl caught between two versions of the same boy—one that scared her with how much he made her feel, and one that ghosted her while she waited for answers that wouldn’t come.

Her heart was pounding now, hot and anxious in her chest. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Like the room was closing in.

This was dangerous territory. The rules had been clear from the start—no feelings. They were both way past that now, and they both knew it. She’d let JJ in deeper than she ever intended, and worse, she didn’t know how to handle it.

Because if he ever found out about Birdshit—if he knew she’d been spilling her thoughts, her insecurities, her feelings to some anonymous internet flirt—he’d never look at her the same again.

He’d walk. She’d lose him. She’d lose everything.

And the worst part?

He was finally starting to trust her. Letting her hold him, opening up in quiet, broken ways. She’d kissed his bruises like they meant something—like he meant something—and he’d let her in.

And she was lying to him.

The guilt sat heavy, tangled up with a sharper panic she couldn’t shake. She was playing a game with no way to win, and some part of her was starting to believe she deserved to lose.

________________________

Kiara rolled onto her side, trying not to wince at the morning light filtering through the blinds. Her legs were sore in a way that made her blush if she thought too hard about it.

JJ stirred beside her, still shirtless, lashes brushing his cheekbone. When his eyes cracked open, they went straight to hers.

And there it was again.

That look.

Like she was the sun coming up. Like she mattered.

It made her heart clench so fast she almost gasped.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice scratchy and warm. He reached out, brushed a strand of hair from her face. “You okay?”

She nodded quickly. Too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

His hand lingered on her cheek, thumb grazing her jaw.

And god, she wanted to stay. Wanted to roll back into him, kiss him breathless, let the moment carry her away like always.

But her head was screaming.

She sat up instead, clutching the sheet around her chest. “Hey, um… I have some errands I need to run this morning.”

JJ blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Cool. I can get out of your way.”

“You don’t have to—” she started, but stopped herself. “Actually… yeah. That’d be good.”

He sat up, dragging his jeans on, trying to hide the confusion tightening his brow. “You okay?” he asked again, a little quieter this time.

She forced a smile. “Of course. Just a lot on my mind.”

JJ leaned over and kissed her cheek—soft, lingering. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” she said, heart twisting. “Later.”

He hesitated in the doorway, one hand on the frame. Then, almost too casual, he added, “And uh… thanks. For last night.”

Kiara blinked. “Yeah. Of course.”

He gave her one last look—something flickering in his eyes, maybe worry, maybe something deeper—and then he was gone.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Kiara exhaled like she’d been holding her breath the whole time.

She didn’t cry.

But she wanted to.

Because she was falling in love with a boy she was lying to—and with an online version of someone that might not even want her anymore.

And she had no idea how to fix any of it.

So she did what she always did when her heart got too heavy.

She shoved it all down.

And opened CarveLine.

She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Distraction, maybe. Familiarity. Some kind of connection that didn’t make her feel like she was free-falling.

The homepage loaded, threads updating. New comments on the surf comp post. A couple dumb memes in the general chat.

No new messages.

Nothing from Birdshit.

She tapped their thread anyway. Reread the last few lines. They used to talk for hours. Now, the silence felt personal.

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Typed something. Deleted it.

Typed again.

“You okay?”

She stared at it. Then erased the words.

No. Too obvious. Too needy. Too much.

She tossed her phone onto the comforter and flopped back onto the bed, rubbing her hands over her face.

What the hell was she doing?

Chapter Text

***KIE***

It was late afternoon and the yard was glowing, warm and golden and quiet except for the creak of the hammock ropes and the soft clink of ice in their drinks.

JJ had lured her outside with two lemonades and a joint, muttering something about “quality lounging time.” Now they were swaying gently between two trees, shoulder to shoulder, tangled but not too tangled, toes grazing the grass with every lazy swing.

They hadn’t talked about the other night—the one where he’d shown up bruised and quiet and held her like she was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. It sat between them like static, unacknowledged but buzzing under the surface.

For Kiara, it had been… a lot. Loaded in a way that had nothing to do with the sex and everything to do with the way he touched her. Careful. Like she mattered more than she could stand to think about. She’d felt the weight of him pressed into her, the way his breathing had slowed against her neck, and realized just how much she cares for him.

And that terrified her.

Because she wasn’t ready for what that meant. Wasn’t ready to name it, or to admit that every part of her was leaning toward him now, like she didn’t know how to stop. So instead, she lay back in the hammock beside him, pretending the sway and the sun and the lemonade were the only things making her feel unsteady.

He nudged her foot with his. “This counts as exercise, right?”

She smiled, leaned into his side just slightly. “Only if blinking burns calories.”

He snorted, then casually—too casually—draped his arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Just like that. No hesitation. No buildup.

Just soft lips, warm breath, and a heartbeat that suddenly kicked up behind her ribs.

Kiara froze—not because she didn’t like it, but because she did. Way too much.

It wasn’t like they didn’t touch. They were constantly touching. But this? This was different. Intimate in a way that didn’t feel physical—it felt emotional. Assumed. Like they were together.

They rocked in silence for a while, the hammock swaying gently beneath them, the breeze warm against her skin. JJ’s arm was still around her shoulders, his fingers brushing idly along her arm like it meant nothing—like it didn’t make her feel everything.

She didn’t want to ruin the moment. Didn’t want to break the peace or shatter whatever soft, quiet thing was happening between them.

But the feeling had been building all day—hell, all week—and now it sat heavy in her chest, pressing against her ribs like it needed out. And maybe part of her didn’t know how to just… be happy with it.

Somewhere deep down, she couldn’t shake the gnawing thought that she didn’t deserve this—that it couldn’t be real—and if that was true, better to poke at it until it broke than let herself believe in it too much.

So, in the kind of erratic, irrational way that always seemed to sneak up on her, she braced herself, kept her voice light, and lobbed the grenade anyway.

“You’re kind of acting like a boyfriend.”

JJ went still for half a beat—not enough for her to call it out, but enough for her to feel the change in him. The easy sway of the hammock seemed to falter, his arm still draped over her shoulders but not as loose as it had been. His eyes cut toward her, quick, like he was trying to decide whether she was joking or testing him.

“Nah,” he said finally, a little too casual. “Just being nice.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Nice?”

“Yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck, not quite meeting her eyes. “I mean, you looked hot and tired and I had lemonade and a hammock, so...”

“So you kissed me on the cheek because... hospitality?”

He gave her a crooked grin, but it faltered. “You’re reading too much into it.”

She went quiet. So did he.

 The hammock swayed.

And then he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face like he was trying to find the right words but coming up short. His knuckles brushed over the edge of a fading cut near his cheekbone, the one she’d kissed just nights ago. His lip was still a little split, the skin raw but healing.

She remembered how close they’d been. How he’d let her touch him, tend to him—not just physically, but gently. Intimately.

“I’m just saying… you know I like being around you,” he muttered, quieter now. “I wouldn’t do this with just anyone.”

His tone was soft, but there was an edge to it—like he was frustrated she didn’t already know. Like saying it out loud made him feel exposed.

Her heart stuttered.

She turned toward him slowly. “Do what?”

JJ shrugged one shoulder, already restless. “Hang out. Like this. Let someone stay. Talk about shit. It’s not really my thing, you know?”

Kiara’s pulse picked up. “So what is this?”

He looked at her then—really looked—and whatever was in his eyes made her breath catch. It was there. All of it. Warmth. Hesitation. Want. And something that scared her more than she could explain.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I don’t hate it.”

She should’ve said something then. Anything. He was handing her the moment. Not wrapped up in a bow, but cracked open just enough for her to see what it was.

And still, something in her panicked.

Because why did it feel like they were arguing? Why did it feel like they were circling something beautiful and calling it a problem?

He sat up, rubbing both hands down his face, like he was trying to get ahead of a car crash in real time.

“Jesus, Kie. I don’t know what you want from me.”

Her stomach dropped. “I didn’t ask you for anything.”

“Exactly,” he snapped, and that surprised them both. “You never ask for anything. You just… pull away. Or make jokes. Or leave.”

Her chest tightened. She did do that. But wasn’t he the one who didn’t want things getting messy?

Kiara narrowed her eyes. “What, so now I’m the problem because I’m not asking you to be my boyfriend?”

JJ scoffed. “You’re twisting my words.”

“No, I’m trying to understand them,” she snapped. “Because one second you’re kissing me and bringing me lemonade and calling me pretty when you think I’m not listening, and the next you’re acting like I’ve done something wrong for not saying I want more.”

“I didn’t say that,” JJ said, shaking his head, voice rising. “I’m not blaming you.”

“Well, it feels like it.”

And God, why was she fighting him right now?

He was saying the things she wanted to hear. He was doing the things she kept silently hoping for. And yet somehow, she was still deflecting. Still pulling back. Still panicking.

Why can’t I just say it?

 Why can’t I just tell him I like this—him—everything that’s been happening between us?

“I’m just—” he cut himself off, fists clenched at his sides now. “I’m trying to do something right for once. I’m trying to show up for someone without screwing it up. And I don’t know what to do when it feels like that still isn’t enough.”

Kiara blinked, her throat burning.

“I never said it wasn’t enough,” she said quietly, voice smaller now. “I just… I don’t know what this is. And neither do you.”

JJ looked away, jaw clenched. “Yeah. That’s the problem.”

Silence stretched between them, taut and fraying at the edges.

She should’ve told him then. You are enough. I want this, too.

 She should’ve leaned in instead of backing away.

But the words got stuck. Caught somewhere between her fear of ruining it and her fear of believing in it too much.

So instead, she stood up.

“I should go.”

JJ didn’t stop her. Didn’t argue. He just stared ahead, jaw tight, like if he said one more thing, he might break something—maybe himself.

She turned and walked toward the house, her chest aching with every step. Her legs felt like they were moving without her.

And as she stepped inside, the thought hit her like a gut punch:

We’re both waiting for the other person to say it first.

And neither of them did.

_______________________

***JJ***

The bonfire at the Chateau was already going.

And honestly? He hadn’t wanted to be here.

He didn’t want to hang out. Didn’t want to see Kiara so soon—especially not in front of everyone, pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.

But it was the Chateau. His bed. His couch. His beer in the cooler. And when you lived with John B and the rest of the Pogues, you didn’t exactly get veto power on group hangouts.

So here he was.

Trying not to sulk like a child while Pope passed out beers and Cleo set up some busted card game on the porch steps. Music blasted from the Bluetooth speaker someone had balanced on a cooler, and the fire popped and hissed in the pit, glowing against the dark.

JJ hung back near the edge of the yard, beer in hand, hoodie slung loose over his shoulders. He didn’t feel like talking. He didn’t feel like drinking.

What he did feel like was moping. Sitting somewhere alone, stewing in the leftover hurt from the fight with Kiara. But apparently, that wasn’t on the menu.

And then she walked out.

 Of course she did.

Kiara stepped onto the porch like she didn’t feel the tension radiating off him from across the yard. Like her silence over the past day hadn’t twisted him up into something brittle and mean.

She was in a hoodie and cutoff shorts, her hair pulled back, one hand wrapped around a fresh beer. She didn’t look at him. Not once.

JJ clenched his jaw and looked away first.

The thing was, she didn’t owe him anything. That was the whole point, right? Friends-with-benefits. No expectations. No feelings. They’d said all that. Agreed to it.

But it didn’t feel like that anymore.

And she knew it.

The way she’d shut down in the hammock, all distant and defensive, like he’d done something wrong for wanting more than just her body for an hour. Like staying the night and talking had somehow crossed a line.

It stung.

 More than he wanted to admit.

He wandered closer to the fire, letting the heat lick at his skin, hoping it would burn the edge off the chill in his chest.

From the corner of his eye, he caught Sarah saying something to Kiara, who offered a smile that didn’t match her eyes. Kiara shook her head when someone asked her to join a game. Said something about being tired.

JJ didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He didn’t trust himself not to say something reckless.

Eventually, Pope tossed him a beer and muttered something about Cleo cheating at cards. JJ caught it one-handed, barely reacting.

He just kept watching Kiara.

 Or… not watching her.

 Pretending not to.

 Same difference.

She stayed on the porch steps, curled up with her knees to her chest, her gaze fixed somewhere past the fire like she was miles away.

And maybe she was.

He hated that he missed her.

 Hated that she was ten feet away and felt further than ever.

The bonfire crackled. The music changed. Someone laughed too loudly.

But JJ stayed where he was—standing in his own damn yard like a stranger, with his hands in his pockets and his heart somewhere underfoot.

Because it wasn’t a fight.

 Not really.

 But it wasn’t nothing, either.

And no matter how much he tried to act like he didn’t care…

 He was already mourning the way it used to feel before it got real.

Eventually, the fire burned low. The music dipped to background noise. People filtered out, one by one—Pope giving a wave, Cleo snatching one last bag of chips for the road, Sarah dragging John B inside by the hoodie with a muttered “You promised you'd help clean up.”

JJ didn’t move.

He stayed out in the yard, watching the last embers flicker like they were trying to hang on. The air had cooled, the kind of late-night Carolina breeze that carried just enough salt to sting if you were already nursing something raw.

Kiara had left earlier without a word.

 Not a look. Not a nod. Just gone.