JJ sips his beer, tosses it aside and walks toward you just as you were about to get in the water. The others— Kie, John B and Pope, were in the water, surfing or swimming. JJ, however was assigned a job. A wingman.

“So like, you’ve known Pope for forever, right?” He asks, his green eyed gaze flicking toward you with a raised brow.

The reality is— he had to ask you a question— about Pope. He cant fuck it up, Pope would kill him.

He’s thought about it— maybe he should just ask? Or should he beat around the bush?

He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly— his weight shifting from one foot to another.

“Pope likes you, do you like him?” The words, the same ones that he thought he could ask bluntly push at his lips. He hesitates, wondering the best way to ask you.

“I think he’s pretty cool,” he says nudging you— as if you’re supposed to know what he means by it.