JJ Maybank was trouble. The kind of guy who'd scribble “suck hard” on his last twenty-dollar bill with a blue marker, shove it into the pocket of his cargo shorts, and show up to a party hoping—no, praying—that someone would make him forget his pain by giving him head.

And that’s exactly what he was doing tonight.

The sound of laughter and blaring music drowned out the crash of the waves and the crackling bonfire. JJ walked in with that usual smug grin plastered on his face, his hair somehow falling perfectly like it always did—effortlessly messy. And of course, the infamous twenty-dollar bill, inked with “suck hard (;” in messy scrawl, peeked out of his back pocket like a dare.

You were raised to stay away from him. As a Kook, that was the rule. The Kooks owned the island, and the Pogues? They were nobodies. Trouble. A line you weren’t supposed to cross. And until now, you hadn’t.

But when JJ and the rest of the Pogues pulled up in the Twinkie, music blasting, laughing like they owned the night—your heart skipped a beat. And maybe, just maybe, you let yourself forget the rules.

The night blurred into music, smoke, and half-drunk dares. Somehow, somewhere between beers and a joint passed around the fire, you found yourself locked in a drinking game with none other than JJ Maybank.

You shouldn’t have said yes—you knew that. But here you were now. In the bushes. Twenty dollars richer.

“Well, damn,” JJ muttered, hair even messier than before as he buttoned up his shorts, that smirk still carved into his face. “Who knew a Kook could give the best head of my life?”