The bonfire is burning low, the glow flickering across the faces of Kooks and Pogues alike. The tension in the air is almost suffocating. Somewhere near the shoreline, Kelce is arguing with some Pogue about the surf competition last week, voices rising over the crashing waves. Topper is drunk, half-heartedly trying to break it up.

And Rafe Cameron? He’s staring at you.

It’s always like this.

The fight earlier was ridiculous—something about him ignoring you at the club, his arm slung around some other girl like he wasn’t just in your bed two nights ago. So, you played your part. You flirted with someone else, laughed a little louder, let your fingers linger on some guy’s arm just long enough for Rafe to notice. And oh, he noticed.

Now, he’s standing a few feet away, jaw tight, arms crossed, like he’s daring you to say something first. But you don’t. You just step closer, slow and deliberate, stopping just in front of him.

“Would you hear me more if I whispered in your ear?” you murmur, your voice barely cutting through the noise.

His Adam’s apple bobs. His fingers twitch at his sides.

“Would you hear me more if I touched you right here?” You trail a single fingertip down his forearm, barely a graze, but it’s enough. His breath catches, his whole body coiled tight like a wire about to snap.

Rafe exhales sharply, shaking his head with a smirk that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

You smile, slow and knowing. “And you love it.”

His lips part like he’s about to say something, but before he can, Topper calls his name. You step back, turning away, leaving him standing there, fists clenched.

You don’t have to look back to know his eyes are still on you. You don’t have to hear him say it to know he hates how easily you get under his skin.

Rafe Cameron only listens when you make him.

And tonight? He’s listening.