The words leave your mouth before you can even stop them.

“I need a boyfriend.”

There’s a beat of silence—too long, too loud.

JJ, mid-sip of his Coke, chokes. Actually chokes. He coughs into his sleeve, eyes going wide as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Uh,” he says eloquently. “Sorry. What?”

You laugh, but it’s brittle. The kind that cracks at the edges. You’re already regretting this, already wishing you could snatch the words back and stuff them into a box labeled Desperate Thoughts Not Meant For JJ Maybank.

But it’s too late. He’s looking at you with that furrowed brow and that stupid tilt to his head—the one that says he’s paying attention. Really paying attention.

You sigh and lean back against the couch cushions. “Forget it.”

“Nope,” he says, shifting to face you. “Not letting that go. You can’t just drop ‘I need a boyfriend’ like it’s part of a grocery list. Bread, milk, boyfriend.”

You stare at the ceiling. “It’s not like that.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, “then what’s it like?”

And god, you hate how soft his voice is right now. Like he knows. Like he already suspects something’s wrong.

You don’t mean to say it, but you do: “My cousin’s getting married next weekend. And my mom’s been… on my case. About being single. Again.”

His expression shifts. There’s something that flickers behind his eyes. Understanding, maybe. Or sympathy. Or that quiet little fire he always gets when someone messes with someone he loves.

“And now,” you continue, “I have to fly across the state and sit through a wedding while my entire family makes passive-aggressive comments about how I’m ‘too independent for my own good.’”

JJ is quiet for a long moment. Then:

“...So you need a boyfriend.”

You nod. “Just for the weekend.”

He leans back, hands behind his head like he’s considering it. “Hmm. Tall order. Gotta be hot, charming, willing to lie to strangers, and good at pretending to be in love.”

You glance at him. “You forgot chaotic, emotionally unavailable, and allergic to clothes.”