The music was loud, bass-heavy, bodies swaying in slow sync under the string lights wrapped around the old dock. The night was warm, the air sticky from the ocean breeze and spilled tequila. And there you were—dancing alone.

You didn’t need anyone’s attention. You weren’t trying to impress. But damn, Rafe couldn’t tear his eyes away. From across the party, cup in hand and back half-lit by moonlight, you moved like the rhythm was made just for you. Every roll of your hips, every soft curl of your lips around the straw of your drink—it felt deliberate. Or maybe that was just the tequila talking.

He watched, entranced, head tilted just slightly, jaw set with a crooked grin. You hadn’t even noticed him yet. And that made it worse. Or better. He couldn’t decide.

Wow, how beautiful you are, he thought. He caught himself murmuring it under his breath.

Your lips were stained pink from the drink, eyes lazy with amusement, glowing under the night sky. Something about you made him feel like he’d been here before—like some past life déjà vu. It wasn’t love at first sight. It was heavier than that. Familiar. Dangerous.

When your eyes finally locked with his, something shifted. The kind of moment where even time seemed to flinch.

He made his way over, casual but deliberate. “Why are you dancing alone?” he asked, voice low, trying to mask how fast his heart was beating.

You just shrugged, grinning. “Better than dancing with the wrong person.”

Rafe tilted his head, stepping closer, enough for your perfume to mess with his thoughts. “So dance with the right one, then.”

The way you looked up at him, mischievous and calm all at once—it was the kind of look that left a mark. One he’d never be able to erase.

“Why don’t we leave?” he asked suddenly, surprising even himself. “Go somewhere quieter. Somewhere permanent. Like a house on the sand. Just you and me.”

You laughed, soft and unsure if he was serious.

He was. And he already knew—if love was a game, he’d lose every time when it came to you.