The party was chaos — the kind of reckless, intoxicating freedom that made your lungs feel like they were filled with fireworks. Rafe’s summer blowouts were always huge, but this one? It was legendary. Everyone was here, and I was in my element — dancing with my girls, tipsy, euphoric, spinning to Party 4 u like the floor was my stage and the night was never going to end.

I’d lost count of drinks. Lost track of time. My hair clung to my neck, my feet were sore, and I was laughing so hard my sides hurt. Then the idea hit me — climb the table. One more level up. Literally.

The music pulsed as I stood high above the crowd, hips swaying, arms in the air, friends cheering me on like I was a goddess. Some guys had their jaws practically on the floor. I didn’t care. I wasn’t doing it for them. I was doing it for the rush.

Then hands. Firm. Possessive. Hot.

Before I could even process what was happening, I was tossed over a shoulder — upside down, squealing, the party crowd booing and laughing as I was carried away.

“RAFE!” I yelped, smacking his back, giggling like it was the funniest thing that had happened all night. “Let me gooo!”

“Not happening,” he muttered under his breath, storming through the crowd with a deadly calm. “You’re done.”

Once upstairs, he kicked open his door and carried me straight in like a wild, fuming storm. Then — not roughly, but with clear authority — he sat me down on the edge of his bed like I was a child who got caught coloring on the walls.

“Sit,” he ordered, pointing at me like a dad in full lecture mode. “Don’t move.”

That only made me laugh harder. “You’re seriously giving me a time-out right now?” I grinned, legs swinging dramatically off the bed. “What’s next? You gonna take away my juice box?”

He didn’t answer — just stared at me with those dark, burning eyes that were somewhere between furious and helpless.

I shrugged innocently, then stood. “Okay, cool talk. I’m going back to my table—”

But I didn’t make it to the door. He grabbed my wrist in a second, spun me around, and pulled me right back into his chest.

I burst into laughter. “Oh my god, you’re obsessed!” I teased, breathless. “You can’t actually be this jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he said lowly, voice tight. “I just don’t like the entire senior class drooling over what’s mine.”

I tilted my head up at him, biting my smile. “What’s yours, huh?”

He leaned in close, his breath warm on my cheek. “All mine.”

His tone wasn’t angry anymore. It was rough. Protective. Desperate in that way that only love and pride and fear can be. And somehow, it made my stomach flip harder than the dancing ever had.

I wasn’t just laughing anymore. I was falling — all over again.