The hangover hit you first. The guilt? Right after. You barely remembered leaving your car, but you remembered JJ. His mouth on yours. The way he’d pulled you onto his lap, how you let it happen, how you wanted it in the moment.

But you weren’t supposed to.

You were with Rafe.

You slipped out of JJ’s house like a ghost.

Later, the pool party was chaos. Kooks and Pogues, summer heat and alcohol thick in the air. You wore sunglasses, tried to stay low, blending in with the music and the bodies. Then you felt it—that unmistakable pull.

JJ was here.

He moved through the crowd like nothing touched him. But his eyes? They burned straight into you when they landed. John B must’ve told him—maybe Pope. Maybe he overheard someone say your name next to Rafe’s.

You were already waist-deep in the pool, leaning against the pool wall, when he slid in beside you.

“You clean up real nice after sneaking out,” he muttered, voice close, teasing. Dangerous.

You didn’t look at him. “We were drunk. It was a mistake.”

He smirked. “That why you kissed me like you meant it?”

“JJ…”

Before you could finish, his hands found your legs underwater, slow, sure. He pulled you toward him, wrapping them around his waist like the night before. Your breath hitched.

“You looked real sure last night,” he whispered, pressing just close enough to make your heart stutter.

“There were drinks. I wasn’t thinking.”

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “What about now?”

You gasped, soft and sharp. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

“But it did,” he said, eyes locked on yours.

And for a second—just a second—you didn’t move away.