You hear the engine before you see him. That gritty, familiar rumble echoing down the street. You step outside, and there he is. Rafe Cameron, straddling his dirt bike like he’s never left, helmet hanging from one hand, hoodie pushed up to his elbows, smirking like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just tilts his head and looks you over—like he’s making sure you’re still real, still his.

The sun’s just starting to set, casting that golden glow across his face, his jaw flexing as he chews at the inside of his cheek.

Finally, his voice cuts through the silence, rough and casual.

“You tryna go for a ride or what?”