JAY JAY POV
I walked over to the center of the court, the duck-print on my pajamas swishing as I moved. "Teach me how to play," I said, looking up at him and nodding toward the ball.
Keifer raised an eyebrow, spinning the ball on his finger. "Why? You already know how to play soccer and you're the ace of the tennis team. Isn't that enough sports for one person?"
"So what? That doesn't mean I can't learn basketball," I countered, crossing my arms. "Unless you're scared I'll be better than you."
Keifer let out a dry huff. "Okay. Fine. Let's see what you've got."
He started with the basics. He showed me how to square my shoulders, how to keep my fingertips on the ball while dribbling, and the "BEEF" method for shooting. Having him stand so close—his warmth radiating off his skin and his steady voice right by my ear—was incredibly distracting, but I focused.
Turns out, it's pretty easy. Not as hard as people make it look. After a few tries, I was dribbling between my legs (mostly without tripping) and sinking layups.
"Fast learner," Keifer remarked, watching me bank a shot off the backboard.
I stopped and looked at him, clutching the ball to my chest. "Wow. That's the nicest thing you've ever told me other than 'leave me alone' or 'you're annoying.'"
Keifer went quiet, his gaze dropping to the floor for a second. He wiped some sweat from his temple, looking genuinely caught off guard by his own compliment. "Don't get used to it," he muttered, though the bite wasn't there anymore.
"Too late! It's already recorded in my heart forever," I teased, stepping closer. "Does the 'fast learner' get a reward? Like, maybe a kiss from the coach?"
"The reward is that I don't make you run laps in those ridiculous pajamas," he retorted, but he actually let out a small, genuine chuckle.
I felt like I was flying
"I'm serious about the architecture thing, though," I said softly, the mood shifting. "I want to build something real. Not just a house, but a home. My parents have a house, but it always feels empty."
Keifer looked at me, and for a moment, the wall was completely gone. "I get that," he said. "Empty houses are the loudest."
I nodded, feeling a heavy weight in my chest. He understood more than anyone what it was like to be alone in a space that should feel like home.
Just as the silence between us started to feel soft, my phone shrieked in my pocket. I pulled it out and groaned. "Mom."
I didn't want to answer. I wanted to stay here in this bubble, but I knew if I didn't, she'd send a search party. I sighed and swiped the screen. "What, Mom?"
"Jay, where are you?" she demanded, her voice sharp and brittle.
"I told you, it's a girls' night out," I said, leaning against the basketball hoop pole, trying to sound bored.
"Well, really? Come on. I called Mia, and she said you won't be able to come over until tomorrow," Mom said.
My heart skipped. She fucking called Mia. Bless Mia—she was a genius and a loyal friend for covering for me like that, basically telling my mom I was too busy to talk. But then the realization hit me: my mother had actually fact-checked me. The bubble burst, and I felt a wave of cold anger wash over me.
"Wow, Mom. You don't trust me, do you?" I asked, my voice rising. Keifer stopped dribbling the ball and looked at me, his expression unreadable.
"Jay, what the hell are you talking about?"
"You fucking called Mia just to make sure I wasn't lying!" I snapped into the phone. "What, did you think I was out robbing a bank? Or maybe you were just scared I was ruining your precious business reputation?"
"Jay Jay, watch it," Mom warned, her voice dropping into that dangerous low tone. "I just want to make sure you're fine."
I let out a harsh, bitter laugh that echoed off the empty pavement. "Oh, wow. Now you care? You didn't care where I was for the last three weekends when you were in Singapore or Tokyo. You only care now because the Hanamatchis are in the house and you want me to be a perfect little trophy to show off to them."
"That is enough! Come home right now," she commanded.
"I'll come home when I'm ready," I said, my hand trembling slightly. "Not because you're checking up on me like I'm a suspicious business deal."
I hung up before she could say another word. I stood there staring at the dark screen, my breathing heavy. The peace I had felt minutes ago was completely gone, replaced by the familiar, suffocating pressure of being a Mariano.
I threw the phone away, watching it skitter across the asphalt like a piece of junk. "Fucking shit!" I screamed into the empty air, the frustration finally bubbling over.
The sound echoed off the nearby trees, loud and jagged. I felt like I was suffocating. It was never about me being safe; it was about the control. It was about the image. It was about making sure their "valuable asset" wasn't out doing something that would lower the Mariano stock price.
I felt a hot tear prick at my eye, but I brushed it away angrily. I didn't want to cry—not here, not in front of him.
Keifer didn't flinch. He didn't even go for the phone. He just stood there, his shadow long under the flickering light, watching me with an expression that wasn't pity—it was recognition. He knew what it felt like to have your family fail you in the most basic ways.
"Feel better?" he asked quietly.
"No," I spat, my chest heaving. "I feel like I'm trapped in a cage and they're just checking to see if the lock is still tight. I hate them, Keifer. I hate that house, and I hate that rooster in the guest room, and I hate that I have to go back there."
I looked at him, my vision a little blurry. "Why can't I just be someone else? Why can't I just be... normal?"
Keifer stepped toward me, closing the gap until he was just inches away. He didn't touch me—he never did—but his presence was like a grounded wire. "Because you're Jay Jay Mariano," he said, his voice low and steady. "And the cage only works if you let it. You took the keys and drove here, didn't you? You're wearing duck pajamas on a public court. You're already not normal."
He picked up the basketball and shoved it into my hands, his skin warm and slightly damp from the game.
"Don't go back yet," he said. "The phone's on the ground. They can't reach you if you don't pick it up. Just play. Dribble until your arm hurts. Forget about the house."
I looked down at the ball, then up at him. "You're really not going to tell me to go home?"
"I don't take orders from your mom," he muttered, turning back toward the hoop. "And neither do you."
I managed to sink the next shot, the ball swishing through the net with a satisfying sound. The adrenaline was pumping, and for a second, I actually felt light again. Determined to prove I was a "fast learner," I grabbed the rebound and dashed back toward the hoop for another layup.
But fate—and my footwear—had other plans.
As I pivoted to make the shot, my fluffy slippers caught on the rough asphalt. I felt myself losing balance, my arms flailing. "Whoa!"
Keifer lunged forward, his instinct kicking in to catch me before I hit the ground. But I was moving too fast, and the momentum swept him right down with me.
Everything happened in a heartbeat. I braced for the impact of the hard ground, but I felt his palm slide behind my head just in time, cushioning the blow. We crashed down together, the air leaving my lungs as Keifer landed heavily on top of me.
The world went silent.
The flickering streetlight above us seemed to pulse as I realized we weren't just close—we were pressed together. His hands were braced on either side of my head, and his body was a warm, heavy weight against mine. But the most shocking part?
His lips were pressed firmly against mine.
The accidental contact sent a massive jolt of electricity through my body, far more intense than any tennis match or argument with my mother. I could smell the salt of his sweat and the cool night air, and his heart was hammering so hard against his chest that I could feel it through his skin.
Neither of us moved. My eyes were wide with shock, staring straight into his. For a second, his expression wasn't cold or guarded; it was completely vulnerable.
The world around us—the flickering streetlight, the distant sound of cars, the vibration of my discarded phone on the pavement—completely faded away.
I knew I should have been startled, but instead, I felt a strange sense of "finally." I stayed right there, pinned beneath him, and slowly parted my lips against his. It was a silent invitation, a desperate attempt to bridge the gap he'd kept between us all year.
Keifer stayed frozen for a heartbeat longer, his eyes locked on mine with a look of pure, unadulterated shock. I could feel him trembling slightly against me. Then, something in him snapped.
Maybe it was the stress of the day, or maybe he was just tired of being alone, but he finally stopped fighting it. His eyes fluttered shut, and he moved his lips against mine.
It wasn't like the movies—it was messy and breathless and tasted like cold water and adrenaline. His hand, which had been cushioning my head, tightened slightly, his fingers tangling into the messy hair at the nape of my neck. The kiss was hesitant at first, like he was afraid I'd disappear if he leaned in too far, but then it deepened, becoming hungrier and more real.
He was actually kissing me. Keifer Watson, the boy who told me every day to leave him alone, was currently holding me to the ground like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
My heart was beating so fast I thought it might actually give out. I reached up, my hands finding his bare, sweat-cooled shoulders, pulling him closer. I didn't care about the hard asphalt or my mom's angry phone calls.
In this moment, I wasn't Jay Jay Mariano, the heiress. I was just a girl in duck pajamas, and for the first time in my life, I felt like someone was actually seeing me.
When he finally pulled back, he didn't move away. He stayed hovering just inches from my face, his forehead resting against mine. His breathing was jagged, his chest rising and falling against my own.
The sudden absence of his weight felt like a bucket of ice water being dumped over my head. He scrambled up, his face pale and his eyes frantic, looking everywhere but at me.
"I shouldn't have done that," he said, his voice cold and distant again. The wall was back up, higher and thicker than before.
"Wait, what?" I asked, pushing myself up off the ground, my elbows stinging from the pavement.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.
"For what?" I demanded. My heart was still racing, but now it was from a different kind of adrenaline.
"I shouldn't have kissed you. It was an accident," he said, his tone turning flat, like he was reciting a textbook.
"Accident? A fucking accident?" I felt a surge of white-hot anger. I stood up, ignoring the dust on my pajamas. "Yes, falling down was an accident. The first second was an accident. But then why did you kiss me back, Keifer? You don't kiss back by accident!"
He finally looked at me, but his expression was hardened. "You moved your lips first," he said, shifting the blame onto me like it was some kind of legal defense.
The air left my lungs for a completely different reason this time. I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my chest. He was really going to do this? He was going to hide behind a technicality because he was too scared to admit he felt something?
"Right. I moved my lips first. Sorry then," I said, my voice low and dangerously calm.
I didn't wait for him to respond. I didn't even look for my phone on the ground. I turned on my heel, my slippers slapping against the asphalt, and walked straight to my car. I got in, slammed the door, and turned the ignition. The engine roared to life, drowning out the silence of the park.
As I shifted into gear, I glimpsed him in the rearview mirror, standing alone under that flickering light, looking like the loneliest person on earth. But I didn't stop. I floored it, the tires screeching as I left the court—and him—behind.
If he wanted to be alone so badly, he could have it. I had enough people back at my house who didn't actually want me; I didn't need him to be another one.