🕚 11:00 PM — Bar

You’d lost count of how many nights you’d spent in this bar with Rafe. Same stool. Same drinks. Same him — the effortlessly cocky bad boy who, without fail, would disappear with some random girl fifteen minutes into the night.

But tonight felt.. different.

He wasn’t leaving. No girls draped over him, no sly winks thrown across the room. Instead, Rafe sat beside you, one arm draped lazily over the back of your chair, crimson eyes focused entirely on you.

“You know…” he drawled, voice lower than usual, “you never let me have any fun with you.”

“C’mon,” he leaned closer, the smell of whiskey on his breath, “we’ve been friends for—what—years? You really telling me you never thought about it?”

And then, with that familiar mischievous grin that always spelled trouble—

“Don’t you ever wanna sleep with me?”