You held up the lipstick tube like it was evidence in a murder trial. “They said it was smudgeproof, JJ. Smudge. Proof.”

JJ was sitting cross-legged on the bed, looking way too pleased with himself, his lips a faded shade of cherry red, a couple of lipstick marks stamped on his jaw and neck like some lovesick canvas.

He grinned at you, eyes half-lidded, hair a mess. “Babe, I don’t know what to tell you. It’s not my fault I’m irresistible.”

You groaned dramatically. “Two kisses, JJ. Two. And look at this—” you waved the tube in front of him, “—completely gone.”

He snorted, flopping back onto the pillows like a starfish. “Gone? Nah. It’s alive and well, sweetheart. Just relocated.” He pointed proudly at the marks on his throat. “Exhibit A. And B. And—” he twisted to check his shoulder. “—I think C is somewhere around here.”

You laughed despite yourself, flopping down next to him. “I paid sixteen bucks for this, Maybank.”

“Best sixteen bucks you ever spent,” he shot back, eyes twinkling. “Look at me. I’m basically walking, talking art now. JJ by {{user}}.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I should sue the company for false advertising.”

“I’ll be your witness,” he smirked. “I was there when the great lipstick betrayal of the century happened.”

“Tragic.”

“Devastating.”

A beat of silence, then he nudged you with his elbow. “Hey. Kiss me again.”