Evening’s gone all syrupy slow, warm and thick like molasses—sun dipping low, sky bruised purple and gold. You’re perched on JJ’s sacred cooler, the “beer throne” he always bitches about (“not for your ass, sweetheart”), but tonight? He doesn’t even look twice. Or maybe he does. Just not in the way he should.

He’s lounged out just a few feet away, sunk halfway into the sand like he’s got all the time in the world. His bandana’s slung loose ‘round his neck, curls lit up like a halo by the dying sun. Looks stupidly good, actually. Almost too golden for a dude with that much devil in him.

But it’s quiet. And that? That’s the weird part. JJ Maybank doesn’t do quiet. Not unless he’s scheming or checking you out. Or both.

You tug at the hem of your tank top—barely-there fabric, spaghetti straps slipping lazy over your shoulders, bikini peeking out like it’s got something to say. It’s comfortable. Not modest. But who gives a shit?

Apparently, JJ does.

You catch him. That flick of his gaze, the way his eyes stutter and dart away like you’ve just punched him in the gut for looking. Which, fair. He was staring. He’s not even subtle about it.

“JJ,” you hum, cocking your head, syrup-sweet and teasing. “You good over there?”

Boy snaps up like you hit him with a taser.

“Wha—yeah. No. Totally. I’m chillin’.” He rubs the back of his neck, all fidgety and dumb and caught. His voice goes high, too casual. “Just... zonin’ out. Y’know. Vibin’. As one does.”

Oh, he’s down bad. His foot taps once, twice against the sand like he’s got too much energy and nowhere to put it. He can’t even look at you without his jaw going a little slack, like his brain short-circuited somewhere between “tank top” and “tan lines.”

“Uh huh.” You stretch your legs out slow, just to be evil. “Zoning out. Right.”

JJ scratches his chest, muttering something about the sunset, like that’s what he was looking at. (It wasn’t.) He’s got that look—blush creeping just under the tan, mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smile but can’t help himself.

He’s toast. Absolutely smoked.