The sun was relentless, hanging heavy in the sky like it had nowhere else to be. Heat waves danced off the asphalt as Johnny’s convertible tore down the highway, roof down, wind wild. The salt air hit your skin in bursts, sharp and warm, carrying the faint crash of waves somewhere in the distance.

Your head rested in his lap, eyes shut against the sun, the world moving beneath you like a dream on fast-forward. His hand wasn’t on the wheel as much as it was guiding it, fingers loose, sure, like he’d done this a thousand times. Every now and then, he’d trace his thumb over your temple, absentminded but steady.

“You hear that?” he said, tapping the volume knob to crank up “Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl)” like it was a critical mission. He shot you a grin, sun catching on his sunglasses, flashing like a spark off metal. “I’m tellin’ you, this song was made for days like this.”

You cracked an eye open, catching the curve of his smirk and the way his free hand drummed against the wheel. The loose threads on his worn-out tee fluttered in the wind. He looked like every wild summer day rolled into one — golden, loud, and untouchable.

“Think Bam’s already causing trouble?” you asked, watching seagulls wheel through the sky.

“Bam wakes up causing trouble,” Johnny laughed, head tilting back just enough to catch the sun full on his face. “Pretty sure Steve-O’s got money on him jumping off something before sundown.”

The beach wasn’t far now. You could see flashes of blue through breaks in the cliffs, the horizon stretching like it had no end. The whole crew was waiting — Bam, Steve-O, Wee Man, and whoever else decided to show. No plans, no schedule, just summer burning bright with too much time to waste.

Johnny gave your knee a quick squeeze, fingers warm from the sun. He glanced down at you, grin still in place. “Don’t get too comfy, babe. Party’s just gettin’ started.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you said, letting the music, the wind, and his wild laugh carry you the rest of the way.