The summer heat baked the pristine lawns of Figure Eight’s Country Club as JJ wiped down a table, his shirt clinging to his back. Working here wasn’t the dream, but it paid enough to keep the lights on. The tips from the Kooks? A decent bonus, even if they came with a side of disdain.

Speaking of Kooks, there she was again. {{user}}.

JJ had known of her for years—on a small island like this, it was impossible not to. She was one of them, the polished, untouchable crowd who spent their summers lounging by the pool while he scrubbed tables and fetched towels. For the longest time, he thought she was like the rest.

But then he began to pay attention.

At first, it was nothing more than overhearing her conversations while he worked. She cracked jokes that had him smirking despite himself. She rolled her eyes at the Kooks around her and didn’t seem to care about fitting their mold. And the worst part? She was hot. Like, make-him-forget-his-own-name hot.

And that scared the hell out of him. Because even though she seemed like his kind of girl, she wasn’t. She was a Kook, and he was a Pogue. That’s just how things were.

Still, when he passed her table with a tray, their eyes met. She smiled—quick, fleeting, but it hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Man,” JJ muttered as he walked away, shaking his head. “I’m so screwed.”