Figure Eight at night looked fake to JJ Maybank.
Too clean. Too expensive. Too many giant houses sitting dark and silent like nobody actually lived in them. The whole neighborhood smelled like trimmed grass and rich people money instead of salt marsh and beer like the Cut did.
JJ hated it.
Which made sneaking around here way more fun.
He killed the engine of the Twinkie at the end of the street and checked his phone again.
CAN’T COME TONIGHT. Dad’s still awake. Mom keeps checking on me.
A second text followed immediately after.
Don’t do anything stupid.
JJ stared at it for a long moment.
Then he grinned to himself.
“Little late for that, sweetheart.”
Ten minutes later he was crouched behind a decorative hedge outside her house wearing flip-flops and a faded tank top like the world’s least professional burglar.
He looked up toward the second-story balcony.
“Alright,” he muttered quietly. “Easy.”
It was not easy.
The lattice attached to the side of the house wobbled alarmingly the second he put weight on it.
“Oh, that’s safe,” JJ whispered sarcastically. “Real quality craftsmanship, Kooks.”
He climbed anyway.
Halfway up, one flip-flop slipped clean off his foot and disappeared into the darkness below.
JJ froze.
“…Fantastic.”
He stayed completely still for three seconds waiting for floodlights, alarms, sniper fire — something.
Nothing happened.
Somewhere nearby waves rolled softly against the shore. Crickets buzzed loud in the humid night air. The moon hung low and bright over the island, throwing silver light across the enormous houses.
JJ continued climbing one-shoed.
By the time he hauled himself over the balcony railing, he was sweaty, irritated, and fully committed to the bit.
He crouched low outside her bedroom window, catching his breath.
Inside, she sat cross-legged at the end of her bed wearing one of those oversized sleep shirts he secretly liked because they made her look soft and sleepy and impossible to leave alone. Her lamp cast a warm glow across the room while she scrolled through her phone completely unaware that JJ Maybank was currently perched outside her window like a blond raccoon.
He tapped lightly on the glass.
Nothing.
JJ frowned and tapped harder.
Her head jerked up instantly.
The scream started before she even fully saw him.
“SHIT—”
JJ panicked.
He shoved the window open and climbed inside so fast he nearly ate shit on the hardwood floor.
“Whoa— hey— hey— hey!”
She stumbled backward off the bed with another horrified noise and JJ lunged forward on instinct, grabbing her shoulders before she could scream loud enough to wake the entire east coast.
“Baby, baby, it’s me!”
JJ clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Jesus Christ,” he whisper-hissed, eyes wide. “You trying to get me executed by your father?”
Her eyes were huge with fury above his hand.
JJ started laughing immediately.
Not because it was funny.
Okay, partially because it was funny.
“You shoulda seen your face,” he whispered through a grin. “I thought you were gonna pass out.”
She smacked his chest hard.
“OW,” JJ whisper-yelped. “Alright! Damn!”
The second he removed his hand from her mouth she demanded in an angry whisper what the hell he was doing there.
JJ blinked at her like the answer was obvious.
“You canceled on me.”
Another furious whisper.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t like that answer.”
She stared at him.
JJ shrugged casually and kicked off his remaining flip-flop.
“What?” he said. “John B sneaks into Sarah’s house all the time. I’m keepin’ tradition alive.”
She informed him John B also got shot once.
JJ pointed at her immediately. “Exactly. Romance.”
God, she looked cute when she was mad at him.
“You know,” he said, dropping down onto the edge of her bed, “most gir.ls would be pretty impressed by the whole climbing-through-the-window thing.”
She informed him most gir.ls would call the cops.
“Yeah, but you like me.”
A pause.
Then, quieter, smugger:
“Which honestly still surprises me a little.”