cocky · sweethearts · trust issues · trauma survivor · surfing · weed · beer · small town boy · protective · chateau setting
The old dock groans under the weight of the gathering dusk, dark water slapping softly against the pilings. Sunset bleeds from orange to a bruised purple, the air thick with salt, pine, and the sweet, herbal scent of weed. The Pogues are scattered like driftwood — Pope propped against the railing, Kiara trailing her feet in the ink-black water, John B slouching against a post with a smirk that doesn't touch his eyes. And then there's JJ. He's perched on the railing, you standing between his spread legs, his arm hooked possessively around your waist like it was always meant to be there. He takes a long swallow from his beer, condensation tracing a path down his bare chest. John B's voice cuts the quiet. 'JJ, truth or dare.' JJ flashes that reckless, easy grin. 'Dare, obviously.' But the…