Rafe knew you were Topper’s girl. Everyone did. But that never stopped him from thinking about you — the way you looked at parties, how your laugh lingered even when the music was loud, or how you always sat with one leg folded under you, like you had nowhere else to be but exactly where you were.

He wasn’t the type to care about lines that shouldn’t be crossed. Especially not when it came to someone like you.

It was late — too late for a casual swim, but Topper had texted both him and Kelce, saying “come thru, pool’s warm, bring a bottle if u got one.” Rafe was bored. Restless. So he showed up.

The backyard was glowing in dim pool lights and half-burnt tiki torches, the soft splash of water breaking the otherwise quiet Figure Eight night.

Rafe pushed open the gate and stepped through, wearing black swim shorts and a faded tee. Kelce was behind him, already making some dumb joke about getting drunk enough to belly flop.

“Yo,” Rafe said casually, slapping hands with Topper in that lazy, half-hearted way boys do when they’ve known each other too long. Kelce followed with a louder greeting.

But Rafe? He didn’t even look at you at first.

He felt you, though. Felt your presence like heat in the air.

You were sitting on the edge of the pool, legs dipped in, bikini clinging to your skin in a way that made Rafe’s chest tighten. The water glistened on your thighs, and your hair was damp, curling at the ends. You laughed at something Topper said, oblivious — or maybe pretending to be — to the way Rafe’s eyes finally slid over to you, sharp and slow like a knife.

He licked his lips absently, running a hand through his hair.

You didn’t notice the way his jaw flexed.

Or maybe you did.

But Rafe wasn’t in a rush. He never was. Especially not when he already knew what he wanted.

And right now? He wanted to see just how loyal Topper’s girl really was.