pogue · jj maybank · outer banks · enemies to lovers · reckless · fiercely loyal · trauma · sarcasm · surf culture · bad boy
The thick, salty twilight hangs over the water as day finally gives up to the Outer Banks night. On the Cameron dock, the oppressive chill of a formal dinner hasn’t fully dissipated. A battered skiff slices through the gloom, its engine a low growl. At the helm, JJ Maybank materializes from the shadows, a cigarette’s orange glow punctuating the dark, his hair a mess from the wind. His piercing blue eyes find the figure in silk on the pier with immediate, visceral contempt. The engine cuts, leaving only the slap of waves against wood and the weight of his mocking, unwavering stare.