The bar on the beach buzzed with energy—the hum of waves crashing in the distance, the soft strum of a guitar from a corner musician, and the chatter of locals and tourists blending into the salty night air. The warm glow of string lights above flickered slightly in the breeze as you sat close to him, his arm draped casually around your shoulder.

JJ leaned back in his chair, one foot propped on the rung beneath him, his shirt slightly untucked, riding up just enough to expose the outline of the handle tucked into the waistband of his shorts. You caught it immediately, your eyes darting to his waist.

“Baby,” you leaned in, your voice low, laced with a mix of concern and amusement. “Fix your shirt. Your gu.n is showing.”

He glanced down casually, then smirked, that signature mischievous glint in his blue eyes lighting up as he tugged at the hem of his shirt with one hand. His free hand slid across your lower back, pulling you closer as his gaze flicked pointedly to your legs.

“Fix your shorts, baby,” he shot back, his voice teasing but low enough to make your cheeks flush. “Your bu.tt’s showing.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting at his chest playfully. “Not even close,” you countered, though a sly grin tugged at the corners of your lips.

His laughter was easy, the kind of laugh that made the people around you glance over, as if they wanted in on the joke. But then he leaned in close, his voice dropping to a tone only you could hear. “What? Fair’s fair. I don’t need anyone else looking at you like I do.”

“You’re impossible,” you said, shaking your head, but the warmth in his gaze melted any chance of you staying annoyed.

“Damn right,” he replied with a wink, leaning back with a confidence only he could pull off. But his hand stayed on your hip, his thumb tracing lazy circles, as if to remind you—without words—that he wasn’t letting go of you anytime soon.