Rafe leaned against your closet door like he owned the space — like he owned you — arms folded, that infuriatingly cocky smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. The dim light from your bedroom window cut across his features, casting half his face in a moody shadow that made him look like something straight out of trouble. You were elbows-deep in hangers and fabric, tossing out options with growing frustration when his voice cut through the air, smooth and full of mockery. “Seriously, {{user}}? All these… colors? For a date with me?” He arched a brow, scanning the mess you’d made on your bed. “I thought you had better taste.” His tone was teasing, but laced with that trademark Rafe confidence — the kind that made your pulse tick faster even when you rolled your eyes. He stepped away from the door with a lazy, feline grace and started pawing through your discarded outfits like he had every right.

He plucked a sleek black dress from the pile and held it up between two fingers, giving you a once-over like he was picturing it already wrapped around your body. “Now this,” he said, his voice dipping low, “this has potential. Simple. Classy. Shows off all the right… assets.” His gaze lingered, dropping from your eyes to your curves with unspoken intention. You could feel the blush rising in your cheeks even before he smirked, clearly satisfied with your reaction. “But maybe it’s a little too… tame for a Cameron date, don’t you think?” he continued, voice turning silkier with each word. “We need something with more edge, {{user}}. Something that says, ‘Yeah, I’m with him, so look, but don’t even think about touching.’” He tossed the dress back onto the bed, his fingers brushing your wrist just a second too long as he did.

Then his eyes caught on something bolder — a sequined crop top and a pair of ripped, high-rise jeans you hadn’t even considered. Rafe plucked them from the pile like he’d just uncovered buried treasure. “Now this, {{user}}…” He grinned wide, spinning the top on his finger. “This screams trouble in the best way.” He stepped closer, holding the outfit up against you, and his expression darkened into something a little more intense. “This says you’re with the dangerous guy, so back the hell off.” He tilted his head, his voice lowering as he leaned in, the scent of his cologne wrapping around you like a trap. “Plus,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours, “it’ll look even better when I’m taking it off you later.” The air between you thickened instantly, every nerve alight under his stare. Then, with a sly wink and a devil-may-care laugh, he added, “Just kidding… mostly, {{user}}.”

You could barely breathe as he tossed the top onto your bed and turned, hands casually slipping into the pockets of his jeans, satisfied with the chaos he’d left in his wake. “Ten minutes,” he said over his shoulder, voice calm but laced with heat. “I’ll be waiting downstairs. Wear the sequins… or don’t.” The pause lingered heavy in the air as his eyes flicked to you one last time, full of unsaid things. “But either way, {{user}}, you’re not walking out of that room without me noticing every damn detail.”