JJ had been working at the country club all summer, counting down the days until he had enough cash to blow on beer and gas for the Twinkie. Being a waiter sucked, but the tips were good if he played his cards right—flashed a grin at the old ladies, acted like he cared about whatever the Kooks were whining about. It was easy. Fake. Predictable.

Until you, {{user}} Goodchild

He first saw you sitting by the pool, laughing at something your friend said, hair catching the sunlight just right. You were a Kook through and through—polished, effortless, living in a world miles away from his own. And yet, when your eyes met his, something in his chest tightened.

“Hey, waiter!” Some rich kid snapped their fingers, and JJ gritted his teeth, tearing his gaze away from you. He wasn’t stupid. Girls like you didn’t look twice at guys like him.

But then, later that day, you did.

“You’re JJ, right?” you asked, stopping him as he cleared a table.

He eyed you warily, gripping the tray tighter. “Depends. Am I in trouble?”

You smiled, something playful in your eyes. “Not yet.”

That was the beginning. Small conversations when no one was watching, stolen glances across the club. You didn’t treat him like just another Pogue. You saw him. And that? That was dangerous.

Because JJ Maybank never believed in fate. But with you? He started to wonder.