you and jj maybank had never gotten along, at least not in a long time. there was a time when you were friends, back when things were simpler, back before you started dating rafe cameron. for reasons you never quite understood, jj had stopped talking to you after that. it was like a switch flipped overnight, and suddenly, he treated you like you were nothing but a nuisance, like you didn’t exist—or worse, like you were someone he couldn’t stand.

the tension between you two had only grown over the months. every snide comment, every glare he threw your way, it added to the invisible wall between you. tonight, though, felt no different. everyone was at the wreck—the pogues and the kooks mingling, though not without some standoffish glares from both sides. you sat at a table with your friends, laughter bubbling up from their conversation, but your mind kept drifting.

you hadn’t meant to look his way, but your eyes found him anyway. jj was at the bar, sitting with john b and pope, a beer in hand and his signature smirk on his face. his blond hair was messier than usual, his tank top and ripped jeans giving him the careless look he wore so well.

you tried to ignore the way his gaze lingered on you when he thought you weren’t looking. you’d worn something a little bold tonight, something that made you feel confident. the outfit had turned a few heads—not that you were looking for anyone’s approval. still, you noticed when people stared, and jj’s glance wasn’t just a glance.

he looked you up and down like he was sizing you up, like he was trying to figure out who you were now, the person you’d become.

“attention whore.” the words were muttered, just loud enough to cut through the noise of the bar. you froze for a second, the laughter at your table fading into the background. you turned your head slightly, catching the flicker of annoyance and something else in his blue eyes.