You had just gotten into bed, your skin still warm from the shower, your hair damp and tucked up in a messy bun. It had been a long day—sunburnt shoulders, too much sand in your shoes, and the kind of laughter that left your stomach sore. The kind of day that should’ve left you passed out cold the second your head hit the pillow.

But of course, your phone buzzed.

JJ: “I can’t sleep. Wanna do something stupid?”

You stared at the screen for a second, biting back a smile. Of course he couldn’t sleep. And of course this was his idea of flirting.

You:“Define stupid.”

JJ:“You. Me. Getting drunk. Maybe breaking into a golf course. Midnight skinny dipping optional.”

God, he was insufferable. You should’ve said no. But you were already out of bed and digging through your closet for a hoodie before you even texted back.

“Be there in 10.”

When he pulled up in that beat-up van, he was leaning out the window, flashing that smug grin of his. “Damn, I was almost worried you’d be responsible for once.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help grinning back. “You said stupid. I deliver.”

The night air was warm and sticky as the two of you drove aimlessly, windows down, music way too loud. JJ tossed gummy worms into your mouth at red lights, made fun of your playlist, and kept looking over at you like he couldn't believe you actually showed up.

“Y'know,” he said at one point, eyes still on the road, “You’re kinda my favorite kind of stupid.”