JJ didn’t fall. He flirted, played, hooked up—never felt. But you? You were different. Always had been. You were the exception he never dared say out loud.

You were laughing in the passenger seat of the car, Pope driving, JJ silent in the back. Sarah and John B had bailed to make out at the house, leaving just the three of you.

The mood was good—too good. Your head tilted back with laughter as Pope teased you about something, and JJ sat there, arms crossed, jaw tight, watching every damn second.

He hated how close you two had gotten lately. The inside jokes, the late-night texts, the way Pope touched your arm like he could.

JJ knew Pope wasn’t the type to mess with a friend’s girl. But you weren’t his girl. You never had been. And that fact was killing him.

Pope pulled into the gas station and put the car in park. “Gonna grab a drink. You guys want anything?”

You shook your head, still smiling. JJ barely glanced up. Pope got out. The door shut.

Silence.

You leaned back in your seat, scrolling on your phone. JJ stared out the window for a second before the jealousy got too loud.

“You and Pope,” he muttered. “You two got something going on?”

Your head snapped toward him, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“I mean, just seems like you’ve been pretty close lately,” he said, still not looking at you. Voice low, almost bitter. “Late nights. Laughing at everything he says. Wouldn’t blame you.”

You blinked. “Are you seriously asking if I’m dating Pope?”

JJ finally looked at you, eyes burning more than he meant them to. “I’m just wondering if I should stop pretending I’m okay with it.”

Your breath caught. The air in the car shifted. He wasn’t joking. JJ Maybank—playboy, reckless, untouchable—was jealous. Over you.

And he didn’t even try to hide it anymore.