「 ✦ LET LOOSE, LIVE A LITTLE ✦ 」

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IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON at the country club, and MJ was in no mood to be there. The soft clink of crystal glasses, the distant hum of polite laughter, and the smell of freshly cut grass and overly floral perfume made her feel out of place. She could have been anywhere else, anywhere that didn't make her feel like an intruder in someone else's world, but here she was, refilling water glasses and clearing half-eaten salads for Kooks who didn't know her name, or worse, who only knew it so they could sneer as they used it.

As she moved from table to table, her gaze flickered to the corner of the room where Rafe Cameron stood, surrounded by a group of his friends. He was dressed in his usual clean-cut, rich-boy uniform: white polo, khaki pants, that infuriatingly confident smirk. His friends laughed at something he said, their laughter loud and easy, the sound of people who'd never had to worry about fitting in. He caught her staring and raised an eyebrow, that smirk widening into something darker, something that made her heart skip even as she bristled.

MJ quickly looked away, focusing on the water pitcher in her hand as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Her skin tingled with the memory of their last encounter, his voice still lingering in her head, laced with both venom and something else she couldn't quite name. She hated him—or, at least, she wanted to. But there was a part of her that couldn't deny the strange pull she felt whenever he was around, a pull that made her feel both reckless and stupid.

As she moved past his table, she heard him speak up. "Hey, Maybank. Miss a spot."

She turned slowly, jaw clenched, forcing herself to meet his gaze. His eyes glinted with amusement, his gaze running up and down her like she was something to be dissected. "I didn't know the club had gotten so... lenient with their hiring standards," he continued, voice low enough for only her to hear but sharp enough to make her cheeks burn.

"Guess they're letting in anyone these days," MJ shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Must be why they let you in, huh?"

His smirk only grew, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Touché." He tilted his head, studying her in a way that made her feel both exposed and alive. "What's it like, Maybank, scraping by just to serve the people you hate?"

She felt the familiar flare of anger rise, but before she could snap back, he continued. "Don't get me wrong, I think it's cute. Watching you pretend you're too good for this like you're not dying for a taste of what it's like to belong."

She rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with disdain. "Yeah, Rafe, because I'm just dying to be part of your little club. I've always dreamed of spending my life pretending to be something I'm not, just like you."

Something flickered across his face—hurt, maybe, or something she'd never seen him show. But he covered it up quickly, leaning back with that same infuriating smirk. "Careful, Maybank. You're starting to sound jealous."

The words hit a nerve, and she found herself gripping the water pitcher a little too tightly. She wanted to hate him, to slap that smug look right off his face, but there was an undeniable attraction, a tension that made her heart race even as her fists clenched. She could still feel the weight of his gaze on her, sliding over her with that lazy, possessive arrogance that only Rafe Cameron seemed to possess. It was infuriating... and yet, something in her craved it.

"Look, I don't have time for this," she muttered, turning to leave. But before she could take a step, his hand shot out, wrapping around her wrist. She froze, feeling the heat of his skin against hers, the roughness of his grip sending a shiver up her spine.

"Don't walk away from me," he said, his voice lower, more dangerous. "We're not done here."

She looked down at his hand on her wrist, heart pounding in her chest. Part of her wanted to pull away, to tear herself free from his grip and walk out. But another part—the wild part, that had always craved something darker, something that felt like a spark just waiting to ignite—stayed rooted in place.

"Rafe," she warned, her voice shaky but defiant. "Let. Go."

He held her gaze, something intense and conflicted flickering in his eyes. "Tell me you don't like this, Maybank," he whispered, his voice taunting yet oddly vulnerable. "Tell me you don't feel it, too."

Her throat tightened, her breath catching. She wanted to tell him to go to hell, to laugh in his face and storm off. But the words wouldn't come. She hated that he could do this to her, that he could make her feel so vulnerable and exposed, yet so alive.

"You think way too highly of yourself, Cameron," she finally managed, her voice a harsh whisper. But even as she spoke, she could feel the pull between them, like gravity drawing her closer, inch by inch. She could smell his cologne, faintly intoxicating, mingling with the faint scent of salt and smoke. His thumb grazed the inside of her wrist, just a light touch, but enough to make her pulse quicken.

"Maybe," he said, his smirk softening into something more genuine, almost curious. "But you wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be."

MJ swallowed, feeling the anger twist into something deeper, something dangerous. She pulled her wrist free, breaking the contact, and took a shaky step back. "You don't know anything about me, Rafe. Not really."

He shrugged, unbothered, but she saw a flash of something—disappointment?—in his eyes. "Maybe. Or maybe I know exactly what you're afraid to admit."

"Go to hell," she spat, but the words felt hollow, lacking the conviction she wanted them to have. She turned on her heel, her heart pounding in her chest, and walked away, forcing herself not to look back, not to give him the satisfaction.

But she felt his gaze following her as she left, the weight of it lingering long after she was gone, like a shadow she couldn't shake. And as much as she hated herself for it, a part of her couldn't stop replaying the way his hand had felt on her wrist, the way his voice had softened, just for a moment, into something that felt... real.

Back in the kitchen, she leaned against the counter, breathing hard, her thoughts a chaotic mess. She didn't want this. She didn't want to feel anything for Rafe Cameron, of all people. He was everything she despised: arrogant, entitled, a Kook through and through. And yet, there was something in him, something hidden beneath all the privilege and cruelty, that felt just as lost, just as angry as she was.

"Get it together, MJ," she whispered to herself, shaking her head. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't forget the look in his eyes... or the way it had made her feel.

MJ spent the next few hours darting between tables, trying to shake off the lingering pull of her encounter with Rafe. But his words kept playing in her mind, an annoying echo she couldn't silence, even as she busied herself with clearing dishes and refilling drinks. She hated that he could get under her skin like this, make her feel so much with just a look, a single brush of his hand.

But it wasn't just the anger, or the hate, or even the frustration. There was something deeper, something she didn't want to name. It felt dangerous like she was playing with fire every time she looked at him—and yet, she couldn't stop. It was as if some magnetic force kept pulling her back, no matter how hard she tried to resist.

As the sun began to set, casting the club's dining hall in a warm, amber glow, she found herself nearing Rafe's table again. This time, he was alone, his friends had drifted off somewhere, leaving him nursing a drink, his gaze distant and unfocused. He looked different like this, almost vulnerable, and it threw her off-guard. She didn't know why she cared, but something about the way he was staring into his glass made her hesitate.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she approached him, standing just close enough that he'd have to notice her. "What's wrong, Cameron? Lose your entourage?"

He looked up, startled at first, but quickly masked it with his usual smirk. "Why, Maybank? Miss me already?"

She rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. "You wish. Just thought it was strange to see you all... broody and alone. Not your style."

He chuckled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Guess even I need a break from people now and then."

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. "Is that right? Hard to believe, considering you spend every waking moment trying to prove you're better than the rest of us."

Something flickered in his gaze, something she couldn't quite read. He took a sip of his drink, the silence stretching between them, thick and heavy. "You think you've got me all figured out, don't you?"

"I don't have to figure you out, Rafe. You make it pretty damn obvious."

He laughed, but there was a bitterness in it, a hard edge that made her uneasy. "Right. Because I'm just the spoiled rich kid who gets whatever he wants, who doesn't have a care in the world."

She frowned, caught off-guard by his tone. It was the first time she'd heard him speak like this, without the arrogance, without the smugness. It was unsettling... and, in some strange way, almost endearing.

"Maybe if you stopped acting like such an ass, people would see there's more to you," she said softly, surprising even herself with her words.

Rafe's eyes met hers, a storm brewing in their depths. "And what if there isn't more?" he asked quietly, the vulnerability in his voice catching her off-guard. "What if this is all there is, Maybank?"

The question hung in the air, and for the first time, she didn't have a snarky comeback. She didn't know why, but something about the way he was looking at her made her heart ache. She'd never thought about Rafe Cameron as anything other than the enemy, the privileged Kook who was always trying to make her life harder. But in this moment, he seemed... human. Broken, even.

"Then that's on you," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Only you can change that."

He scoffed, shaking his head, but there was a sadness in his eyes she couldn't ignore. "You make it sound so easy."

"It's not," she admitted. "But you can't keep pushing people away and expecting things to get better."

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the tension between them shifting, turning into something neither of them could name. She could feel her pulse quicken, could see the way his gaze softened, and she hated herself for the way her body reacted, for the way she leaned in just a little like she was drawn to him, unable to resist.

But then his expression shifted, hardening again, and he smirked, breaking the moment. "Careful, Maybank. Almost sounds like you care."

She scoffed, stepping back as the familiar frustration returned, washing away whatever fleeting sympathy she'd felt. "Don't flatter yourself, Cameron. I don't care about you."

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair, his gaze trailing over her with that same infuriating arrogance. "Sure you don't."

She clenched her jaw, hating how easily he could get under her skin, how he could make her feel things she didn't want to feel. "Enjoy your drink, Rafe," she said coldly, turning to walk away, but his voice stopped her.

"Wait."

She froze, her heart pounding, but she didn't turn around. She couldn't. If she looked at him, she knew she'd be lost, that she'd feel that dangerous pull all over again.

"Why do you work here?" he asked, his voice softer, almost gentle.

She swallowed, caught off-guard by the question. "What does it matter to you?"

"Just... curious," he said, and there was something genuine in his tone, something that made her chest tighten. "I don't get it. You don't belong here."

She turned slowly, meeting his gaze, her heart racing. "No, Rafe, you don't get it. I work here because I have to. Because not everyone has the luxury of getting whatever they want handed to them. Some of us have to earn it."

He stared at her, something unreadable in his eyes, and for a moment, she thought he was going to say something, something real. But then he looked away, the vulnerability gone, replaced by that familiar mask of indifference.

"Right," he said, his tone flat. "I forgot—Pogues and Kooks. Different worlds, right?"

"Exactly." She didn't know why her voice sounded so bitter, why it hurt so much to hear him say it. "So maybe you should remember that next time you decide to talk down to me."

He looked up at her, and for a split second, she saw something raw, something almost like regret. But then he smirked, shrugging casually. "Whatever you say, Maybank."

She clenched her fists, feeling the frustration, the anger, and something else simmering beneath the surface. She hated him. She hated everything he stood for. And yet, as she turned to walk away, she couldn't deny the way her heart ached, the way her skin still tingled from his touch, the way his words lingered long after she was gone.

It wasn't fair. None of it was. But as she stepped out of the dining hall, the cool night air hitting her face, she realized that, for better or worse, Rafe Cameron had gotten under her skin. And no matter how much she tried to deny it, there was a part of her that didn't want him to leave.

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The van hummed softly as it cruised along the coast, the salty breeze drifting through the open windows. MJ leaned her head against the cool glass, watching the fiery sunset dip below the horizon, casting the Outer Banks in a warm, orange glow. The weight of the past few days pressed on her, a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration churning within her.

Beside her, JJ sprawled across the back seat, stretching his legs out with his usual careless ease. He nudged her with his foot, giving her that cocky smirk she'd grown up seeing her whole life. To anyone else, JJ might have seemed reckless, a wildcard, but to MJ, he was her twin—the other half of her, the one person who always had her back, no matter what.

"Hey, don't fall asleep on me, M," JJ teased, flicking her shoulder. "Can't have my sister slacking off after all the chaos we've been through."

MJ rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. "You're one to talk, JJ. You're practically horizontal right now. How much of that blunt have you had?"

He feigned offence, bringing a hand dramatically to his chest. "First of all, I've had just the right amount to unwind. Second, I'm relaxing because it's been a hell of a day. I deserve this."

She snorted, crossing her arms. "Yeah, yeah. You and your endless self-care."

JJ grinned, reaching over to ruffle her hair in that irritatingly affectionate way he always did. She swatted his hand away, grumbling, but deep down, she appreciated the way he never treated her like she was fragile like she needed protecting. To JJ, she wasn't a girl to coddle or shield—she was his equal, his twin, his partner in crime.

From the front of the van, John B watched them through the rearview mirror, a small smile playing on his lips. He'd always been a little envious of the way MJ and JJ could communicate without words, the way they seemed to understand each other on a level that nobody else could reach. But he was glad, too. In this world of Kooks and Pogues, broken homes and empty promises, having someone you could truly rely on was rare.

"Hey, Pope, you want a hit of this?" JJ asked, holding the blunt out as he leaned forward.

Pope shook his head, raising a hand in polite decline. "Nah, I'm good. Gotta keep a clear mind if I'm gonna keep you idiots out of trouble."

The van hummed softly as it cruised along the coast, the salty breeze drifting through the open 

He feigned offence, bringing a hand dramatically to his chest. "First of all, I've had just the right amount to unwind. Second, I'm relaxing because it's been a hell of a day. I deserve this."

She snorted, crossing her arms. "Yeah, yeah. You and your endless self-care."

JJ grinned, reaching over to ruffle her hair in that irritatingly affectionate way he always did. She swatted his hand away, grumbling, but deep down, she appreciated the way he never treated her like she was fragile like she needed protecting. To JJ, she wasn't a girl to coddle or shield—she was his equal, his twin, his partner in crime.

From the front of the van, John B watched them through the rearview mirror, a small smile playing on his lips. He'd always been a little envious of the way MJ and JJ could communicate without words, the way they seemed to understand each other on a level that nobody else could reach. But he was glad, too. In this world of Kooks and Pogues, broken homes and empty promises, having someone you could truly rely on was rare.

"Hey, Pope, you want a hit of this?" JJ asked, holding the blunt out as he leaned forward.

Pope shook his head, raising a hand in polite decline. "Nah, I'm good. Gotta keep a clear mind if I'm gonna keep you idiots out of trouble."

JJ scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Dude, that's your problem. You don't get creative enough. Sometimes, you just gotta let loose, live a little."

MJ chuckled, nudging Pope with her elbow. "He's got a point, Pope. If you're not a little unhinged, are you a Pogue?"

Pope groaned, but there was a smile tugging at his lips as he shook his head. "I think you two have cornered the market on 'unhinged,' thanks."

As the others laughed and fell into easy conversation, MJ's mind wandered, her thoughts drifting back to Rafe Cameron. She hated him—she knew she did. His arrogance, his sneering disdain for anyone who wasn't a Kook, and his entitled, spoiled attitude set her blood boiling. But ever since that last encounter, she couldn't shake the memory of his gaze, intense and unyielding, the way he looked at her like she was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.

She felt JJ's eyes on her, his usual lightheartedness shifting into something more serious. He might've been reckless, impulsive, even oblivious at times, but he always knew when something was weighing on her.

"Hey," he said quietly, his voice dropping so the others couldn't hear. "You good, M? You've been kinda off tonight."

MJ shrugged, her gaze falling to her hands. "Yeah, just... thinking."

JJ narrowed his eyes, studying her. "This isn't about... him, is it? Rafe?" The name was laced with a venom only a protective twin brother could muster.

She hesitated, unsure how much she wanted to admit, but JJ's familiar presence was comforting, and grounding. He was her twin; if she couldn't talk to him, who could she talk to?

"Maybe," she muttered, chewing her lip. "It's just... he gets under my skin, you know? Like, I hate him, JJ. I do. But there's something about him that..." She trailed off, struggling to put it into words.

JJ's jaw tightened, his protectiveness flaring up. "Listen to me, M. That guy is bad news, and you know it. You don't need some Kook asshole messing with your head. You're better than that."

She nodded, swallowing hard. "I know. It's just... complicated."

JJ wrapped an arm around her shoulders, giving her a comforting squeeze. "Hey, we're Pogues. Life's always complicated. But no matter what, you got me, okay? You don't need anyone else. Especially not someone like him."

MJ managed a small smile, leaning into her brother's embrace. She knew JJ would always be there, ready to back her up, to fight anyone who threatened her—even if that person happened to be herself.

"Thanks, JJ," she whispered, grateful for the unwavering loyalty that defined their bond.

MJ's brow furrowed, her thoughts lingering on Rafe as she glanced over at JJ. She wasn't sure how much of her turmoil was really that obvious—or if it was just that twin thing, that sense he had of knowing when something was wrong, even when she didn't say a word.

She nudged him with her elbow. "Okay, I have to ask—how did you know Rafe was bugging me?"

JJ looked away, scratching the back of his neck, his expression tightening. "Because I saw him the other night. Right after that mess at the Boneyard."

Her heart skipped a beat. "And?"

He shifted uncomfortably, clearly not wanting to tell her, but knowing she'd pry it out of him if he didn't. "He made some... comments. About you."

MJ felt her pulse quicken, a mix of anger and curiosity rising within her. "What kind of comments?"

JJ's gaze hardened, his blue eyes flashing with the protective fire she'd seen a thousand times before. "Let's just say he's got opinions about you hanging around with us 'low-class Pogues,' and he made sure I knew it. Kept calling you 'my twin' in that condescending way he does, like it's a bad thing you're even related to me."

MJ rolled her eyes, but there was an ache in her chest. "That's classic Rafe," she muttered. "He's got this whole superiority complex."

JJ's jaw tightened, and his usual lighthearted expression was nowhere to be found. "He didn't stop there, MJ. He had this... look in his eyes when he mentioned you. I don't like it. He's got a thing for messing with people just because he can, especially you. He gets off on it."

MJ swallowed hard, anger flaring up, mingling with an uncomfortable thrill she couldn't deny. Rafe always made her feel this way—like she was trapped between wanting to punch him and wanting... well, something else entirely. The way he looked at her, that dangerous glint in his eye, like she was some kind of conquest he couldn't resist, despite his disdain for her and everything she represented.

But JJ's words grounded her and reminded her that there was more at stake than her own mixed-up emotions. Rafe wasn't just another Kook with an attitude. He was someone who thrived on power, on making people feel small—and she knew all too well the damage he could do if he put his mind to it.

She met JJ's gaze, her voice was soft but determined. "Thanks for telling me. I mean it."

JJ nodded, his expression softening slightly. "Look, M... I know you're tough. You're stronger than most people I know. But Rafe? He's dangerous, and he's got it out for you. So whatever you're feeling—whatever this is—don't let him mess with your head. You're better than that."

She nodded, her heart aching with the loyalty and care in his words. JJ always had her back, no matter what, even if he didn't understand everything she felt. And right now, that was enough.

"I got it, JJ," she said, managing a small smile. "And if Rafe gives me any more trouble, I'll make sure he regrets it."

He smirked, finally relaxing a bit. "Now that's the MJ I know."

As the van rumbled on, MJ felt a sense of calm settle over her, her brother's presence steadying her. Rafe Cameron might get under her skin, and make her question things she didn't want to question, but she wasn't facing him alone. With JJ by her side, she knew she could handle whatever came her way—Kooks, Pogues, and everything in between.