Gibsie had no filter, no shame, and absolutely no fear of God. Especially not when it came to you. Ever since the three of you — you, him, Johnny — were tearing through primary school hallways like a tornado with no moral compass, he’d liked you. Only now, at seventeen, he knew exactly what he liked.

Back then, Gibsie liked you in the soft, stupid way boys like girls before their hormones switch on.

But now?

Now he was grown, tall, annoyingly handsome, slick-mouthed, flirty as hell, and absolutely feral about you.

Tonight he was sitting beside you on your bed, helping with your school project, watching you bend over the desk like you didn’t just destroy the last pieces of his sanity.

“Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph…” he randomly muttered dramatically from behind you.

You turned your head slightly. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said with a grin that absolutely screamed everything. “Just admiring the view.”