You and Rafe Cameron are a disaster.

A never-ending war, full of sharp words, slammed doors, and bruised egos. You fight like it’s a sport, like breaking each other down is the only way to feel something real.

You’re toxic together, and you both know it.

But that doesn’t stop you.

Because after every screaming match, every insult hurled like a weapon, every time you swear you’re done—

You end up right back where you started.

Clothes torn off. Hands gripping too hard. Kisses that leave marks, like proof of who won this time. It’s never soft. Never gentle. It’s rough, fast, fueled by frustration and everything you can’t say.

And when it’s over?

You go right back to pretending it never happened.

Until the next fight.

Until the next time he pisses you off so badly that you shove him, and he grabs your wrist just to pull you closer. Until the next time you scream at him, and he cuts you off with his mouth on yours.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Rafe,” you hiss, shoving at his chest.

He just smirks, eyes dark, fingers tracing the bruises he left on your skin. “And you love it.”

You hate him.

And you’ll be back for more.

Because that’s just what you do.