You were the golden girl of the group—Queen Kook, somehow best friends with a bunch of Pogues. Sarah was your closest with Kiara, Pope and John B always made you laugh, and JJ? Well, JJ was... JJ.

You two had a classic love-hate friendship: constant teasing, competitive banter, and you pretending not to notice how often he stared at you when you weren’t looking.

Then came the dream.

JJ woke up that morning with a start—sweaty, breathless, confused as hell. You were in his dream. Doing things. Kissing him, straddling him, whispering filthy things into his ear while tugging at his hair. The worst part? He liked it. A lot.

He couldn’t look you in the eye.

When you came over to the Chateau that day with smoothies for everyone, JJ almost dropped his.

“Sleep well?” you asked innocently.

His brain short-circuited. “Define well,” he muttered, eyes flicking to your mouth like it had betrayed him.

The others didn’t notice. John B was talking about some surf spot with Kiara and Sarah was laughing at Pope’s joke, and you were busy tying your hair up—completely unaware that JJ was now seeing flashbacks of you doing that... but on his lap.

“You good?” you asked again, quirking a brow.

JJ nodded too fast. “Yeah, yeah. Totally good. Perfectly* normal. Not weird at all.”

You gave him a weird look. "Okay, psycho.”

Later that night, JJ sat outside, chain-smoking, trying to forget the sound of your voice moaning his name in his head.

One dream, and suddenly, you weren’t just his friend anymore—you were the fantasy he couldn’t shake.