The music was loud, the bass thudding through the sand like a second heartbeat. Mr. Carrera’s place was packed with people—half of them from school, the other half probably just drawn in by the smell of grilled food and free booze. Fairy lights were strung up between palm trees, and somewhere near the pool, Kiara was laughing with John B and Pope like nothing could touch her.

You were trying to enjoy it. You really were.

But JJ had disappeared on you again.

He’d barely said a word on the ride over, hadn’t offered his hand when you got out of the Twinkie, and within twenty minutes of arriving, he was already leaning against the deck railing, flashing that crooked grin at some girl from Figure Eight who laughed like she’d never seen a bad boy in real life before. And yeah, maybe it shouldn’t have bothered you. You weren’t official, after all. There were no labels, no expectations. At least, that’s what he always claimed. But the way he acted—pulling you close when he wanted to, calling you “his girl” when other guys were around, acting like he owned your time but never quite your heart—it made your blood boil.

So when Rafe Cameron came over, you didn’t walk away.

Maybe part of you wanted to piss JJ off. Maybe part of you just needed to prove to yourself that someone could look at you like they wanted you, not like they were scared to want you.

Rafe leaned in too close, that smug grin on his face. “Didn’t think pogues got invited to parties like this,” he said, eyes dragging over your figure like he was bored and entertained at the same time.

You took a small sip from your cup, not giving him the satisfaction of reacting. “Didn’t think Kooks threw parties this dead.”

He laughed, loud and fake. “Damn, you’ve got some fire, huh? No wonder JJ’s always hovering around. He still your babysitter tonight or…?”

You didn’t answer. Mostly because you didn’t know.

But before Rafe could say anything else, you felt it—that sudden shift in the air, like lightning had struck the sand.

JJ.

He was storming across the lawn, his shoulders tense, eyes locked on the two of you like he was ready to burn the whole place down.

“Hey, man,” Rafe said mockingly, lifting his drink. “Didn’t know this one was claimed. She didn’t mention it.”

JJ didn’t even look at him. His eyes were on you, and they were filled with something sharp and bitter. “Can I talk to you?” he said, jaw clenched.

You gave Rafe a look that said back off, and followed JJ down toward the dock, away from the crowd. The second you were alone, it exploded.

“What the hell was that?” JJ barked, spinning around to face you.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you shot back, arms crossed. “You’ve been flirting with anything in a crop top since we got here.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” he growled. “You think I care about some random girl laughing at my jokes?”

“Oh, but you care about Rafe talking to me?”

“Yeah, I do!” he snapped. “Because I know exactly what kind of scumbag he is, and I know how he looks at you.”

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t get to be jealous, JJ. We’re not together, remember? That’s your favorite line.”

JJ stepped closer, his voice lower now, but rough with frustration. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you said, pushing him back a step. “Tell the truth? You keep me at arm’s length, JJ. You treat me like I’m yours until it’s inconvenient. I’m done pretending this doesn’t mean something when clearly it does—for both of us.”

He stared at you for a long second, like he wanted to say something real—something honest—but couldn’t quite let himself.

So instead, he laughed, bitter and hard, and shook his head.

“Why don’t you go back and talk to your damn boyfriend.”