The sky opens just as you’re leaving school, rain hitting you in hard, cold sheets. Your jacket does almost nothing, hair plastered to your neck and forehead, shoes squishing against the wet pavement. You curse under your breath, wishing for literally anything other than this.

That’s when headlights slice through the gray, cutting across the wet asphalt like a spotlight. You squint, trying to make out the driver, and of course—you shouldn’t be surprised—Rafe Cameron is behind the wheel. Black truck, too-shiny to be subtle, parked halfway on the curb. He’s leaning out slightly, one hand on the door, that damn smirk plastered across his face even through the drizzle.

“You’re really walking in this?” His voice cuts through the rain, low and amused.

“I’m fine,” you call, tugging your jacket tighter around yourself. “I like the rain.”

He shakes his head, the smirk tugging wider. “Right. Because soaking wet and freezing sounds like the perfect plan.” He pushes the door open. “Get in. Now.”

You hesitate, biting back a sigh, shifting from one foot to the other. Pride says no, but the chill in your bones and the warmth spilling out of the truck say yes.

“I don’t—”

“Stop pretending you have a choice.” His tone isn’t joking this time, not completely. There’s a sharpness under the smirk, a weight that makes you pause. “I’m not letting you walk home in this.”

You glare at him, but it falters when he tilts his head, eyes catching yours just for a second. That look—half amused, half serious—is impossible to ignore. You groan, finally, and step into the truck, door closing behind you. The warmth hits you instantly, carrying that faint scent of him—like leather and something else, sharp and clean.

Rafe slides in beside you, too close, his shoulder brushing yours, and for a heartbeat, the storm outside fades. The rain pelts harder, drumming on the roof, but inside the truck it’s quiet, except for the low hum of the engine.

“You always this… difficult?” you ask, voice even but teeth gritted, trying to mask the way your pulse has jumped.

“Only when you make it worth my time,” he replies, eyes on the road, but not before letting his gaze flick to you again. The corner of his mouth quirks in a way that makes you want to roll your eyes and groan at the same time.

You cross your arms, leaning slightly away, but you can feel the tension between you—tight and electric, like the storm outside is a mirror for whatever’s building in the space between you.

He glances at you, a flicker of something sharper in his eyes. “You know, you could just admit that getting in here was the smart choice.”

“Yeah, right,” you snap, even though your lips betray you with a small, unwilling smirk. “Smart for me, maybe. Doesn’t mean I like it.”

“Sure you don’t,” he mutters, the words just above a whisper, but his shoulder brushes yours again as he shifts in the seat. The truck rolls forward, tires hissing over wet asphalt, and for the first time all day, you realize you don’t really mind the rain—or him—being this close.