You were the girl everyone adored. Sweet, soft spoken, always polite. The kind of girl parents trusted, teachers praised, and friends leaned on. You didn’t drink. You didn’t sneak out. You didn’t break rules.

And then there was Rafe Cameron.

Wild. Reckless. A walking red flag, flashing in neon. Your brother’s best friend.

You’d seen him around your house more times than you could count, and at first, it was just little things — small talk when Topper wasn’t home, lingering looks when no one was paying attention.

It wasn’t supposed to be anything. It couldn’t be anything.

But here you were.

The Mustang’s engine roared beneath you as Rafe sped down the empty Outer Banks highway, the wind whipping through your hair, the radio humming low in the background.

You shouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be here, if you were thinking straight. But when he’d shown up at your window, daring you to do something reckless for once in your life — how could you say no?

His hand rested lazily on the wheel, fingers tapping against it, but his attention wasn’t on the road. It was on you. His was gaze dragging over your face like he was memorizing every inch.

“You havin’ fun already?” he asked, voice smooth, teasing.

God. He could make a good girl crazy.

You swallowed, pulse quickening, but you didn’t look away. You were never the type to do things like this, never the type to be in the passenger seat of a car driven by someone like Rafe Cameron — someone who lived with no rules, no fear, no apologies. But it felt good. It felt right.

Tonight, he wanted to do everything. Get high. Fvck in the backseat. Kiss while doing 90 on the highway and everything in between.

You had never tasted freedom. But he was wild and free.

And tonight, he was yours.