JAY-JAY POV
"Keifer, we're in our PJ's," I said, staring at him like he'd lost his mind.
"It's fine, babe," he said, completely unbothered, already walking toward the backyard
I grabbed his arm. "Keifer. We look like we just rolled out of bed."
He glanced at me. Then at himself. Then shrugged.
"We did just roll out of bed."
I smacked his arm. "That's not the point."
I pointed dramatically at the fence. "Our neighbors exist."
He raised an eyebrow. "They don't care."
"They will when they see you in those shorts," I muttered.
He smirked. "You were fine with them earlier."
My face heated instantly. "KEIFER."
He laughed, grabbing the tennis rackets. "Come on. Before Percy comes back and ruins the mood."
I groaned but followed him anyway, because of course I did.
He grabbed the racket, tossed mine toward me with zero warning, and walked onto the court like he was entering Wimbledon in pajama shorts.
We started to rally, the ball bouncing between us in a lazy rhythm that barely counted as tennis.
"Jay, what was your first thought about me?" he asked, eyes on the ball like this was a casual conversation and not a trap.
"Well, to be honest," I said, tossing the ball up, "I thought you were cute."
He smiled immediately, hitting the ball back to me with way too much confidence.
"Then I realized you were an asshole."
The ball flew past him.
He missed it completely.
He turned around slowly, racket hanging at his side, eyebrows raised like did you really just say that.
"Wow," he said. "So that's how it is."
I shrugged. "Just being honest."
He walked toward me, racket dragging on the ground dramatically. "Cute first. Asshole second. That's your official review of me."
"Pretty much."
He stopped right in front of me, leaning down just enough to make my heart do that stupid flip again.
"And now?" he asked, voice low, teasing.
"Still an asshole," I said, but my voice wasn't nearly as steady as I wanted it to be.
His eyes flicked down to my mouth — slow, deliberate — and before I could even think of another insult, he kissed me. Soft at first. Testing. Then he pulled back just enough to look at me, like he was checking if I'd push him away.
I didn't.
So he kissed me again. And again. Quick, warm, almost greedy little kisses that made my heartbeat trip over itself.
His hand slid up, fingers curling gently around the side of my neck, not rough, just guiding me closer, holding me in place like he didn't want me slipping away.
After a few more kisses, he finally pulled back, breathing a little harder, eyes still locked on mine.
"Profanity," he said, like he was announcing a crime I'd committed.
I blinked at him. "What—"
He tapped my lower lip with his thumb. "You cursed. That's one."
I shoved his chest — hard enough to make a point, not hard enough to actually move him.
He barely rocked back, just laughed under his breath like I'd amused him instead of offended him.
"You're keeping score now?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
He tilted his head, still maddeningly close. "I've been keeping score."
Then he went back to his side, that stupid smug smile still on his face, and started to pass the ball again — slow, controlled, like he was suddenly the king of tennis.
"Ready?" he called out.
I rolled my eyes. "You missed the last two."
He shrugged, bouncing the ball once. "I was distracted."
He didn't even hesitate.
"You."
He said it so casually, like it wasn't the most distracting thing he could've possibly said. Then he passed the ball, and for the first time since we stepped onto the court, we actually started to play the game.
The rally picked up — real hits, real movement, real effort — none of the earlier chaos.
He sent the ball cleanly to my side.
I returned it.
He caught it with a smooth backhand.
I hit it again, a little harder this time.
For a moment, it felt normal.
Just tennis.
Just us.
Then he ruined it — of course he did.
"Jay," he called out mid‑rally, "you still think I'm cute?"
I hit the ball harder than necessary. "Focus!"
He laughed, jogging to catch it. "That's a yes."
"It's a 'shut up and play,'" I shot back.
He grinned, sending the ball back with a perfect arc. "Still a yes."
I groaned, but my smile betrayed me.
We kept playing — the rhythm steady, the teasing constant, the air warm with that stupid, undeniable tension he always brought with him.
After a while, my legs gave up on me and I collapsed right onto the net, hanging there like a defeated noodle.
"You okay?" Keifer asked, jogging over with that mix of concern and amusement
"Pick me up. I'm tired," I mumbled, not even lifting my head.
He chuckled — that low, warm laugh that always made my stomach flip — and without a second of hesitation, he slid an arm under my knees and another behind my back.
And just like that, he lifted me.
Effortlessly.
Like I weighed nothing.
"Jay, can I stay over again?" he asked, voice low, warm
"Whatever. Percy won't come until tomorrow," I said, waving a hand like it didn't matter — even though my heart was doing backflips.
"So… yes?" he asked, eyes brightening like a puppy who just heard the word walk.
"Put me in the room," I said, poking his chest lightly.
He nodded immediately — no hesitation, no teasing for once — and adjusted his grip on me, holding me a little closer as he carried me inside.
His steps were steady, warm, familiar in a way that made my chest tighten.
He nudged the door open with his foot, still holding me like I was something fragile he didn't want to drop.
He put me down gently on the bed.
"I'll get some water," he said, brushing a thumb over my cheek before heading out.
I nodded, already feeling my muscles relax. The moment the door clicked shut, I sighed and stood up, tugging off my shirt so I could change into something clean.
I had exactly three seconds of peace.
The door swung open.
"Jay, would you—"
He froze.
I froze.
My shirt was in my hand.
I was very much not wearing anything on top.
Keifer was standing in the doorway holding two glasses of water like his brain had just blue‑screened.
He set the glass on the table with a soft clink, then walked straight toward me — slow, deliberate, eyes locked on mine like he already knew the answer to whatever he was about to ask.
"Are you doing this on purpose?" he said, stopping right in front of me.
My brain short‑circuited.
"Wh‑at‑ are y‑ou ta‑lk‑ing ab‑out," I stuttered, stepping backward like my legs had suddenly forgotten how to function.
He didn't stop.
Of course he didn't.
He moved forward, matching every step I took, eyes locked on me with that stupid confident look that always meant trouble.
"I don't mind make‑out 2.0," he said — like he was offering me a snack
Before I could even process that sentence, he leaned in and kissed me.
Like an idiot.
And like the even bigger idiot I was…
I kissed him back.
Keifer kissed me like he was starving for it, and I just gave in, matching him beat for beat. My hands roamed over his back, his arms, his chest—every inch of him. He groaned into my mouth, his hands doing the same, fingers tracing up my spine, cupping my breasts.
He pulled away just long enough to press kisses along my jaw, down my neck, his teeth grazing my skin and sending a shiver through me. I tugged off his shirt and threw it aside, not even thinking about it. His skin was so warm, muscles tight under my hands. I could feel his heart hammering, and that did something wild to me—knowing I got to him like this.
He slid my shorts down, hands following every curve—my ass, my thighs, all the way to my calves—until they were gone. I helped him with his own, my fingers brushing against him, hard and ready. He hissed, eyes squeezing shut, head tipping back.
"Jay," he said, voice low and rough. "You're playing with fire."
I grinned, wrapping my fingers around him, stroking slow. "I like fire," I whispered, kissing his chest.
He groaned, hands fisting in my hair, guiding me as I kissed my way down his body. I could feel him get even harder, his breath turning ragged.
He hauled me up and kissed me like he couldn't get enough. "Not like this," he murmured, hands already behind my back, unhooking my bra like he'd done it a thousand times.
My whole body shivered at that, every nerve on fire. He pressed me back onto the bed, mouth hot on my breasts, tongue circling my nipple, his teeth teasing. I arched into him, hands grabbing his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist.
His fingers slid between us, found my clit, and started working slow, steady circles that made my hips buck up into him. It was like he knew exactly what I needed, exactly how to touch me.
"Keifer," I gasped, nails digging into his back. "Please..."
He laughed, low and wicked, and it sent sparks down my spine. "What do you need, Jay?" he whispered, sliding his fingers inside me, stretching and filling me.
"More," I begged, moving with him. "Just—more."
He pushed inside, slow, letting me feel every inch of him. He stopped when he was all the way in, eyes squeezed shut, breath coming in ragged bursts.
"Jay," he said, voice thick with wonder. "You feel... unreal."
I smiled and touched his face. "So do you," I whispered.
Then he started to move, slow at first, hips rocking into mine. I met him, matching his rhythm, both of us lost in it. He leaned down, kissed me hard, tongue moving with his body.
My orgasm was right there, building fast. He must have felt it, because his thrusts got rougher, faster, fingers finding my clit again, rubbing quick, insistent circles.
"Come for me, Jay," he whispered, voice all gravel and heat. "Let me feel you."
That did it. I shattered, calling his name, body shaking as the orgasm ripped through me. He followed, body tensing, breath ragged, mouth crashing into mine.
After, he rolled off and pulled me into his arms. I curled into him, boneless, breath still shaky. He kissed my forehead, arms tight around me.
"That was... unreal," he whispered, like he still couldn't believe it.
I just smiled, tracing lazy circles on his chest. "Yeah," I said softly. "It really was."