The salty breeze tangled through {{user}} Thornton’s hair as she stood on the dock, arms crossed, watching the group of Pogues load up their boat. It was another perfect summer day on Figure Eight, the kind where her friends would be lounging by the club pool, sipping overpriced drinks, and pretending they were adults. Instead, she was stuck dealing with him.

JJ Maybank.

He leaned lazily against the HMS Pogue, shirt already discarded, sun-bronzed skin gleaming with sweat. His ever-present smirk was firmly in place, the kind that made her fingers twitch with the urge to slap it right off his stupidly perfect face.

“Let me guess,” JJ drawled, tilting his head. “Daddy cut off your AmEx, and now you need a ride?”

{{user}}‘s jaw tightened. She would rather walk barefoot across burning sand than ask JJ for anything, but she was desperate. Her car had conveniently died right outside The Wreck, and John B was the only one in town with a working phone to call a tow. Except he’d refused to help her unless she asked nicely.

Which meant dealing with JJ.

“I wouldn’t be caught dead on that rust bucket,” she shot back, arms crossed. “But since John B is apparently incapable of answering a simple request, I don’t have much of a choice.”

JJ grinned like he’d already won. “Sounds a lot like begging, princess.”

Her nose wrinkled at the nickname. “Call me that again, and I’ll throw you overboard.”

He let out a low chuckle, pushing off the boat and sauntering toward her. “Feisty,” he mused. “I like it.”

{{user}} took a step back, pulse quickening despite herself. God, he was infuriating. The tousled blond hair, the reckless glint in his blue eyes—it was unfair how effortlessly good he looked. It only made her hate him more.

“Just get me to the marina,” she huffed. “Without capsizing this thing.”

JJ clutched his chest in mock offense. “Princess, you wound me. I’d never let you drown.” Then he smirked. “Not before I had a little fun first.”

She should have known right then—this was going to be a mistake.