You and Rafe were exes. At least, that’s what you told everyone. That’s what you told yourself.

But you never really got over each other. No matter how many times you fought, how many times you swore you were done, you always found your way back. Always.

Even now, as you sat outside with your friends, tipsy and warm from the night air, your fingers hovered over his contact.

Calling him was a bad idea. But bad ideas always felt better at night.

The phone barely rang before he picked up. “Hello?” His voice was low, rough, like he’d just woken up.

You smiled, biting your lip. “Where are you?”

Rafe chuckled, the sound deep and lazy. “Why are you calling me?”

You giggled. “Why’d you answer?”

“Cause I like your voice.” He said it smoothly, effortlessly—like it was just a fact. Then, after a beat, his voice dropped lower. “Do you miss me?”

You sucked in a breath, toying with the strap of your dress. “Maybe.” Hesitation dripping in your voice.

Silence. Just for a second.

Your voice came out steadier. “Listen, I’m out with my girls right now, but I was thinking you could come get me.”

Rafe exhaled a laugh, one of those deep ones that sent chills down your spine. “We doing this again, yeah?”

You smirked, teasing back. “Oh, we don’t have to.”

“You’re funny.” His tone was unreadable now, but you knew him. Knew that right now, he was already grabbing his keys, sliding on that smug little smirk like he already had you figured out. “I’ll come now.”

The line clicked dead.

You shivered, not from the cold, but from the way your body already knew what was coming.

Fifteen minutes passed before his car pulled up, headlights cutting through the darkness. He was behind the wheel, one hand lazily resting on the gear shift, the other draped over the steering wheel like he owned the whole damn world.

No matter how many times you swore you were done with him …

You’d never mean it.