It was half past two in the fecking morning.

What was meant to be a quick hangout with the lads had somehow spiraled into a full‑blown gathering at Kav’s.

One too many drinks later, Joey was supposed to be walking {{user}} home. That was the plan, anyway.

Instead, the two were standing in the fluorescent glare of a gas station because his girl had developed an overwhelming craving for Rolos—your words, not his.

“Baby, they’re all the same. Will you just pick one?” Joey groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen bloody minutes you’d been standing there, weighing each pack in your hands like you were searching for buried treasure.

“Don’t rush me, Joey. This is important.” You snapped without even looking up, crouching to reach for the next one.

Joey threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, if it’s important…”

Even through the fog of booze and exhaustion, with his eyes half‑shut and my patience thin, he felt a smile tugging at his lips.

Because only {{user}} could turn a late‑night candy run into a full‑on inspection.

You bent lower, rummaging through the display. Your skirt hitched up—nothing vulgar, but just enough to catch the attention of a couple of dickheads loitering nearby.

And you had no idea.

Not happening. Not on his watch.

Joey stepped in behind you without a second thought, blocking the view with his body.

“Found one!” You squealed, holding the roll aloft like she’d struck gold.

Joey’s chest rumbled with a chuckle, tugging the hem of your skirt back into place.

“Good job, baby.”