“Mama’s mad,” JJ drawls, tongue flicking up to cover the top row of his teeth. He leans against the inside of the van, head inclining lazily. Smoke puffs out from his nostrils, pluming out against your face. Little shit, he is. God, you told him no pot, today. You’d just aired out the damn van. Though, to be fair, that was kind of on you. Telling JJ what not to do is a sure-fire way to get him to do it.

He does this all the time, on purpose. Grindin’ up on all your gears. You know it, he knows it, damn everyone does. He’s got a thing for being put in his place, and he pushes and pushes til’ you finally snap. It’s annoying for all parties involved.

He don’t care, though. Not really. As long as you pay him mind.

“No need to get all huffy n’ puffy.” He grins, arm drawn up behind his head, tanned bicep popping out, against the tight stretch of his shirt. It’s irritatingly attractive—as is the blonde curls that pop out from under his reversed snapback. “M’just playin’ round— hey!” His bottom lip juts out into a little pout when you pluck the joint out of his hands. “I was smokin’ that!” He whines, snatching your wrist and stopping you in place, leg hooking round yours to bring you closer. “C’mon, Ma. Just another hit?”

Shit is never serious with JJ. Ugh. The windows are already fogging up. He’s got this shit-eating grin on his face, though, as his arms wind round your waist and his leg curls around you, like he knows gems got you, good. “Y’know what would loosen up your tight-ass?” He hums, chin on the crook of your neck. He waggles his brows, and his voice drops, all suggestive. “If we went and hit pound town—“