“You’re unbelievable,” you hissed, slamming the door behind you.

Rafe followed you inside, voice sharp. “I’m unbelievable? You were the one flirting with that guy.”

“I wasn’t flirting!” you spun to face him. “He was being nice.”

He scoffed, jaw clenched, pacing like a storm on legs. “Yeah? Well, I saw the way he looked at you.”

“Oh my god, you’re jealous,” you snapped, voice rising. “You have no right—”

“I don’t need a right,” he growled. “You’re not stupid. You know what this is.”

“What this is?” you repeated, laughing bitterly. “We hook up. We fight. That’s all it is, right? Or are you catching feelings all of a sudden?”

He stepped forward, eyes blazing. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you snapped, backing up.

“Act like none of this means anything to you.”

His voice cracked. Just barely. And it made your heart ache and your blood boil all at once.

“Because if I kissed you right now, you'd let me. You want to let me.”

You stared at him, breathing hard. “Screw you.”

He grabbed your wrist — not hard, just enough to make you stop backing away.

“You already did.”

You don’t remember who moved first.

All you know is suddenly his hands were in your hair, your fingers tangled in his shirt, and your mouths crashed together like a war neither of you planned to survive.

It was angry. Messy. Teeth clashing, breaths ragged, like you both hated needing each other this much.

He pushed you against the wall, his thigh slipping between yours. You gasped, and he growled against your neck, biting just enough to leave a mark.

“You make me insane,” he muttered, forehead pressed to yours.

“Good,” you whispered. “Now shut up and kiss me again.”

And he did — rougher this time, like he wanted to burn the argument out of both of you with his mouth.