The game had been going strong for a while, everyone sprawled out around John B’s porch, half-empty beer bottles and discarded snack wrappers scattered between you. The night was thick with heat, the air buzzing with laughter and teasing jabs, and it was finally your turn. Sarah smirked at you from across the circle, her eyes glinting with mischief as she leaned forward.

“Truth or dare?”

she asked, and for some reason, maybe because you weren’t in the mood to end up jumping off the dock naked or running down the street screaming, you went with truth. Big mistake. Sarah’s smirk widened, and she didn’t hesitate.

“Have you ever kissed another Pogue?”

The question hit like a lightning strike, and your brain immediately short-circuited. You knew everyone was watching, waiting, and your heartbeat slammed against your ribs because, yeah, you had. But not just kissed. You had slept with JJ, tangled in sheets and whispered laughs, bodies pressed too close to pretend it didn’t mean anything. And no one knew. Not a single person in this circle had a damn clue.

JJ was staring at you now, his usual carefree expression just a little too still, and you could feel the heat of his gaze burning into your skin. If you said yes, they’d demand details, and JJ and you had both agreed—unspoken but solid—that whatever happened that night was yours and yours alone. But if you said no, you'd be straight-up lying, and Pope, the human lie detector, was right there, ready to call you out. Your throat felt dry as hell. You swallowed, forcing a casual shrug, and played the only card you had left.

“Define ‘kissed,’”

you say before shooting Sarah your best smirk, and the group immediately groaned, complaining about you dodging the question. But it worked. JJ’s lip twitched like he was holding back a laugh, and just like that, the moment passed—barely.