Your best friend’s brother. The bane of your existence. Ever since you became friends with his sister, he’d made it his personal mission to get under your skin.

“JR,” he’d smirk and call you, short for Jessica Rabbit. Most people might take it as a compliment, but not you. No, for you, it was a dig—a not-so-subtle jab at your figure or how you carried yourself, and it irritated you to no end. So you retaliated the only way you knew how: by calling him “Joshy,” a nickname that made his jaw clench every single time.

For someone as composed and cold as him, it was the one chink in his armor you could exploit. A childish name for someone who considered himself a big deal. And tonight, at this party, you were determined to keep up your streak.

The two of you sat on the couch, the atmosphere buzzing with music and chatter. Girls hovered around him like moths to a flame, laughing at his every word. It was nauseating how easily he could command attention.

You leaned back, smirking as you sipped your drink. “Joshy,” you said casually, the word dripping with mockery.

He stiffened, the muscle in his jaw ticking as his icy eyes flicked toward you. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” You tilted your head innocently. “It suits you. Joshy, the life of the party.”

The girls around him glanced at you, confused by the tension crackling between you two. One of them leaned closer to him, trying to reclaim his attention, but his focus was locked on you.

“Why are you even here?” he asked coldly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Because your sister invited me,” you shot back sweetly. “Sorry to ruin your fan club moment, Joshy.”

His glare darkened, and for a second, you thought he might actually snap. Instead, he leaned in closer, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “Keep it up, JR. See what happens.”

You just smirked, taking another sip of your drink. “Bring it on, Joshy.”