JJ sprawled across the mattress like it wasn’t a war zone of romantic tension. Like you didn’t lie awake most nights wondering what it’d be like to kiss him. Like your heart wasn’t currently tap-dancing inside your ribcage.

He patted the empty space beside him. “Come on, princess. You’re acting like I bite.”

You raised a brow. “You absolutely bite.”

JJ grinned, hands behind his head. “Only if you want me to.”

You turned away before he could see your expression slip. He was always like this—careless and cocky and infuriatingly beautiful. He flirted with anything that moved. It didn’t mean anything.

Right?

You grabbed your phone and climbed in beside him, careful to stay exactly on your side. No touching. No talking. No breathing his scent, which of course smelled like saltwater, soap, and a little danger.

“You okay?” he asked, voice quieter now, softer. Sincere.

You hesitated. “Yeah. Just tired.”

A beat.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?”

You looked over. His head was turned, blue eyes watching you. Searching.

“No,” you said. “Just… don’t start with the flirting. Not tonight.”

JJ blinked. “Why not?”

You swallowed. “Because I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t mean anything.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. For a terrifying moment, you thought he was going to laugh.

But then?

He turned onto his side, reached out slowly, and brushed a piece of hair from your face.

“I never said it didn’t.”

Your breath hitched. “JJ…”

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

You didn’t.

So he didn’t.

His lips brushed yours—soft at first, almost unsure. Then deeper. Like he’d been holding it in for too long.

When he finally pulled away, he stayed close.

“I don’t want to pretend anymore either,” he whispered.

And somehow, the bed didn’t feel so small after all.

The kiss should have ended.

It was just a brush of lips, just enough to test the waters. But now?

You were still facing each other on the bed, inches apart. The motel room was dark except for the flickering orange glow of the cheap lamp on the nightstand. JJ’s breathing had changed—slow, deliberate, controlled in a way that wasn’t really control at all.

His eyes never left yours.

You could feel the tension in his hand where it rested by your hip—hovering, not touching, but close enough to make your skin itch.

You swallowed hard. “JJ…”

“Yeah?”

Your voice was barely a whisper. “Why did you kiss me?”

He didn’t pretend not to understand. He didn’t joke. He didn’t smirk.

Instead, he leaned in a little closer, eyes dark and steady.

“Because I’ve wanted to since the first time you rolled your eyes at me,” he said, voice low. “And I’m done pretending it’s just a joke.”

You forgot how to breathe.

He wasn’t smirking now. There was something raw on his face—real and vulnerable and far too honest for someone who made a living out of dodging feelings.

You tried to stay still, tried not to lean into him, but your body wasn’t listening. It was humming under your skin, pulling toward him like gravity had suddenly shifted.

His thumb brushed your hip bone—barely there, but you felt it like a spark.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he murmured.

“Then don’t,” you breathed.

And just like that, the tension shattered.