JJ Maybank was known for a lot of things—recklessness, charm, a good right hook—but being speechless? Never. Until now.

He stumbled onto the porch of Poguelandia looking like a man who’d just survived a hurricane. Shirt inside out, hair a disaster, and eyes wide with the kind of fear usually reserved for wild animals or surprise visits from Ward Cameron.

John B looked up from his toolbox. “Dude… you good?”

JJ just blinked, dropped onto the cooler, and took a long, haunted sip of someone’s leftover beer.

Kiara raised an eyebrow. “You look like you fought a gator and lost.”

“I did,” JJ muttered. “But she was prettier.”

Pope frowned. “Who?”

“{{user}}, man!” JJ hissed, jerking his thumb back toward the house. “She’s gonna kill me. I swear, I can’t keep up with her!”

The group fell silent. Then Kiara snorted. “Wait… are you saying she’s got a higher—”

“Yes!” JJ yelped. “She’s insatiable. I thought I was the wild one in this relationship, but I’m the one tapping out! Me! JJ Maybank!”

John B bit his lip to keep from laughing. “You’re saying she’s… too much for you?”

“She’s like a damn Olympic athlete,” JJ whispered dramatically. “I say goodnight, she says round three. I blink and my shirt’s gone. She looks at me and I forget how to breathe.”

Kiara wheezed. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I had to ice my back yesterday!”

Pope shook his head, barely containing his laughter. “So what, you’re scared of your own girlfriend now?”

JJ threw his arms up. “I’m not scared. I’m… respectfully overwhelmed.”

Just then, {{user}} stepped outside, looking all too pleased and far too innocent. “Hey baby, you comin’ back to bed?”

JJ froze like a deer in headlights. “See what I mean?” he hissed under his breath. “She’s a menace in mascara.”

John B cackled as JJ stood, adjusting his shirt and walking back toward her with the resignation of a man about to meet his fate. “Pray for me,” he whispered.

And the Pogues? They just watched, amused as hell, as JJ walked straight back into the fire—with a grin.