The house was packed—music pulsing like a second heartbeat, lights dim and bodies swaying. She hadn’t wanted to come, not really. Her friends had practically shoved her into the Uber, repeating something about “You need to loosen up,” and “You’ve been so tense lately.” Now she stood near the makeshift bar, a red solo cup in her hand, the vodka already fuzzing the edges of her vision.

Across the room, she caught sight of him.

JJ Maybank.

Leaning against a wall like he owned the place. He wasn’t in his usual uniform of arrogance and swagger tonight—at least not completely. There was a calmness to him. Maybe it was the liquor. Maybe it was the way the low lighting played over his sharp jawline and lazy smirk.

They hadn’t really spoken much since senior year. A few nods at bonfires. A handful of shared glances that neither of them followed up on. She didn’t hate him, but she never quite trusted him either. Rafe had always felt like a live wire—dangerous and magnetic in a way that made her bones ache.

The beat of the party changed. A deep, slow rhythm melted into the speakers, syrupy and sensual. The kind of song that made people press closer. The kind of song that thinned the air between bodies. That’s when someone handed her another drink. That’s when her head tilted back in a laugh she didn’t remember finishing. That’s when she turned—and JJ was right there.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said, voice low and amused, eyes flickering down over her.

“I didn’t either,” she replied, and her words slipped like honey. “My friends practically dragged me.”

He leaned in, his breath grazing her ear. “Then maybe I should thank them.”

And she didn’t stop him.

—

The bedroom was upstairs, a little too quiet compared to the downstairs chaos. Somehow they had ended up there—halfway between an unspoken challenge and a mutual dare.

JJ was sitting back against the headboard, shirt slightly unbuttoned, his usual tension softened by the alcohol in his veins. He looked up at her like he didn’t quite believe this was happening. Like he wasn’t going to stop it either.

She stood in front of him, the hem of her dress barely grazing the tops of her thighs, her eyes locked with his.

“You’re staring,” she said softly, her lips curved in a smile that was part shy, part something darker.

“Can you blame me?” he murmured.

The music drifted in faintly from downstairs, just enough for the beat to guide her. She moved toward him slowly, hips swaying, alcohol making her bold and fluid. Her hands rested on his knees before she slid into his lap, straddling him without fully pressing into him—yet.

His hands stayed at his sides, knuckles white against the sheets. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched her like she was fire and he didn’t care about burning.

Her body rolled with the rhythm, her hands dragging lightly over his chest, fingertips brushing the skin just above his collarbone. Her thighs bracketed his, her hair falling over her shoulder as she leaned in closer. Her breath hitched, her lips ghosting near his ear as she whispered, “Still staring.”

“Yeah,” he said roughly. “Still not sorry.”

Her hips pressed down slowly, the friction making his jaw clench. His hands finally lifted, gripping her waist tightly, trying to hold back the way he wanted her—needed her—but didn’t want to push.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice strained.

She nodded, slow and sure, eyes heavy and unreadable. “It’s just a dance.”

But they both knew better.

And neither of them cared.