The sun was setting as you stepped off the ferry, salty wind blowing your hair back. John B grinned from where he leaned against the Twinkie. “Welcome to the OBX, trouble.”

You rolled your eyes. “If anyone’s trouble here, it’s you.”

That night, you met the Pogues—JJ, Pope, Kiara. Bonfire sparks lit JJ’s face as he handed you a beer and shot you a grin that could end wars. “So, John B’s cousin, huh? You always this pretty, or is that just a Pogue thing?”

You laughed, cheeks warming. “You’re one to talk.”

JJ was reckless, warm, and full of energy. Days were filled with surfing, bike rides, and stolen kisses behind the Boneyard. You fit right in. At least, you thought you did—until you wandered into Figure Eight.

It was an accident. You were biking home alone when your chain snapped. You were pushing it along the sidewalk when a black motorcycle pulled up.

“You look lost, Pogue.” You turned. Rafe Cameron.

“Didn’t realize this side of the island had a dress code,” you shot back.

He smirked. “I like a girl who talks back. Need a ride?”

You hesitated. But damn, he looked good. Too good. “Just to the cutoff,” you said.

He drove fast. Too fast. It made your heart race. He stopped just before the bridge, but instead of letting you go, he leaned closer.

“You should be careful,” he murmured. “A girl like you… you could start a war.”

You swallowed. “Maybe I want to.”

From then on, everything changed.

Days were JJ. You’d jump off docks, his hands on your waist, laughing until your stomach hurt. Nights were Rafe. He’d sneak you into pool parties, kiss you under neon lights, whispering, “No one can know.”

But it was getting risky. One night, JJ brushed a mark on your neck and chuckled. “Damn bugs.”

You laughed lightly. “Guess I’m sweet.”

He kissed your cheek. “Yeah, you are.”

And just like that, the secret stayed safe—JJ, none the wiser. Because while he had your days… Rafe owned your nights.