The party was in full swing—music pulsing, voices blurring together in drunken laughter. But the moment you spotted him across the room, everything else faded. Johnny Kavanagh, leaning against the wall like he owned the place, beer in hand, watching you like he already knew exactly how this night would end.

His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up his forearms, that lazy, cocky smirk tugging at his lips. But there was something in his eyes—something sharper, something unreadable.

“Back together then?” His voice was steady, but there was a tightness there, a challenge. He knew that you had been in a back and forth, on and off "relationship for a few weeks". He was always the one you ran too when you and Luke were "off".

You shook your head. ‘No’. Final. Firm. And yet, here you were. Again. “Kiss me.”

Johnny’s expression didn’t change, but in an instant, he was right in front of you, the heat of him searing through the alcohol in your veins. His hands found your waist, his grip easy but firm, like he already knew you wouldn’t pull away.

His lips hovered a breath away from yours, the scent of whiskey and something unmistakably him wrapping around you. His heartbeat thudded against yours, familiar, tempting.

Then you stopped him, pressing a hand to his chest. He stilled, muscles tensing beneath your touch. His eyes flickered down to your lips, then back up.