You were supposed to be camping.

But the storm came in fast—like full-on thunder, lightning, sheets of rain pounding the trees. And there was no way you were sleeping in a flimsy-ass tent.

So now you were in the Twinkie. Trapped. Wet. Shivering. And stuck lying next to JJ Maybank in the backseat, both of you sharing one blanket while the storm raged outside.

He hadn’t stopped smirking since you climbed in.

“What?” you muttered, pulling the blanket higher over your chest.

JJ leaned back against the side of the van, arms folded behind his head like this was a five-star hotel.

“You keep lookin’ at me like I’m the one who summoned the storm.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m cold. And your ego’s taking up half the space.”

His smirk deepened. “Could warm you up, y’know. I’m a known expert in body heat transfer.”

You shot him a look. “If you touch me with those freezing toes—”

JJ suddenly slid closer, until his thigh was pressed against yours under the blanket. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not with the way your stomach flipped at the contact.

“Wasn’t talkin’ about my toes,” he said lowly.

You turned to face him. “You gonna keep looking at me like that, or are you gonna do something about it?”

He raised a brow, amused. “You sure?”

“JJ, we’ve been dancing around this for weeks,” you whispered. “There’s only so long you can pretend this blanket isn’t on fire.”

And then he kissed you.