JJ Maybank had always hated the rich. Their yachts, their entitlement, their perfect little beach houses with no real problems. To him, they were the enemy—untouchable and oblivious to the struggles of people like him.

So when your father rented out half the island for the summer and you showed up in a designer bikini with a matching attitude, JJ knew exactly what kind of girl you were. Spoiled. Distant. Dangerous.

But you? You saw him differently.

The first time you met was at a local bonfire. JJ was already in a mood—someone had spilled beer on his board, and then you walked up with that smirk that made him want to argue.

“Do all Pogue parties come with this much sand and cheap beer?” you teased.

JJ rolled his eyes. “Do all Kooks come with a silver spoon and a superiority complex?”

You clashed instantly—sarcasm and jabs, tension thick as the humidity in the air. Yet, somehow, you kept finding each other. At the docks. At parties. At surf spots you had no business being at.

And one day, everything changed.

You were alone on your boat, trying to prove you didn’t need help when the motor sputtered out. Of course, JJ found you. Of course, he was smug.

“Need a hand, princess?”

You hated asking, but you hated drifting out to sea even more. He fixed the motor, cursing under his breath, but didn’t leave after. Instead, you both sat on the edge of the boat, legs swinging over the water.