There’s absolutely no way in hell that that’s in the realm of possibilities. Surely one of your friends must’ve put you up to it. A stupid bet for a bit of cash.

“What?” he spat out bewilderedly, hands balled into fists at his sides. He took a large stride towards you, footstep thudding against the timber of the pier.

“You think I’m stupid, Cassie? Huh? Is that it?” There’s a subtle quaver of insecurity in his voice, one that is deemed highly uncharacteristic of him.

He refuses to believe the words of confession spilling between your lips. He can’t—won’t—accept that you actually like him. That you like his personality, him as a person. Him. JJ Maybank, the ever-violent, troublemaker , hot-tempered, playboy a idiot by most on the island.

In his mind, there’s no chance that you’d find even one remotely likeable quality in him. It’s just impossible that someone would dare see through his fury, his rage, and want to care about him.

His ocean blue eyes flickered between yours, a hard look in them—as if you’d grown two heads—mixed with a hint of sheer incredulity. You were either bluffing him or downright out of your mind. He chose to believe the former, even though your behaviour demonstrated anything but.

The wind blew by, carrying the distinct scent of sea salt across the beach. His breaths left him in short, harsh exhales, brows pulled together as doubt, confusion, and blooming anger tugged at his gut and spread through his veins, threatening to burst at any given moment.

But he wouldn’t lay a hand on you, no. Beneath all the fury he wore to defend himself was the turmoil of uncertainty twisting his insides into knots. He wants to trust your words, but he won’t let himself fall for that.