You slipped away from JJ and Pope, their laughter trailing behind as you headed toward the bathroom. The open-air cinema was alive with noise and light—car headlights dimmed to let the giant movie screen glow, the air thick with the smell of buttered popcorn and exhaust fumes from the rows of parked cars. People leaned against hoods or sprawled across blankets, eyes fixed on the film.

Your phone buzzed again. Another message from your mom. When are you coming home? You rolled your eyes but typed a quick response anyway, your gaze glued to the glowing screen as you walked.

So focused on your phone, you didn’t see him until you ran straight into him.

“Sorry,” you muttered, looking up.

The guy you’d bumped into looked harmless enough—friendly, even. He grinned, brushing it off easily, and before you knew it, he’d launched into conversation. His voice was warm, words flowing without pause, while you offered the occasional nod or tight smile. Talking to strangers never came easy to you—your brain always tripped over what to say, what not to say. So instead, you listened, quietly wishing you could melt into the ground.

What you didn’t notice—at least, not right away—was the figure leaning against a tree a short distance away.

Rafe.

Drink in hand, posture lazy but sharp eyes locked on you. He wasn’t paying attention to the movie at all, not when he saw you standing there with someone else. His jaw tightened, that telltale look flashing in his eyes—a mix of irritation and something darker, something he’d never admit out loud.

Pushing off the tree, he sauntered over, every step deliberate. By the time he reached you, the familiar smirk had carved itself onto his face, equal parts cocky and infuriating.

“There you are,” he drawled, slipping an arm around your shoulders as if it belonged there. His tone was dripping with mock affection, but the way the word “baby” rolled off his tongue sounded disturbingly natural. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Your whole body went stiff. Heat rushed to your face, and your eyes widened as you stared up at him, caught off guard. He didn’t give you the chance to argue—just steered you away smoothly, his arm heavy and possessive around you.

The guy blinked, confused, his mouth opening as if to question it—then closing again. He shrugged, muttered something under his breath, and turned back to his friends.

Once you were far enough away, you yanked yourself free, whirling on him with fire in your eyes. “Don’t touch me, idiot.”

Rafe chuckled, hands lifted in mock surrender. “Relax. I was doing you a favor.”

“This isn’t a favor,” you shot back, glaring at him.

His grin only widened, like he enjoyed the bite in your voice.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Rafe always acted like this—jealous, territorial, reckless whenever someone else so much as looked at you. It didn’t matter that you couldn’t stand each other. It didn’t matter that you’d been enemies since the days of scraped knees and stolen toys, when fights between you meant bloody noses, slashed bike tires, or spray paint wars on each other’s houses.

The hatred had grown with you, sharpened with age. And still, no matter how much you claimed to despise him, Rafe never tolerated seeing you with anyone else.

And the worst part? He didn’t even bother to hide it.