You were the perfect girl. A kook, you had never had a boyfriend, but it seemed like every boy wanted you.

But none of them mattered, because you only wanted him. Rafe Cameron. The kook king, the one all the girls in figure eight wanted, and of course, you were one of them.

The risk was there, of course. He was dangerous, like a fire. But you were drawn to him, he hypnotized you, yet wasn’t so perfect—there were drugs, alcohol, the late night drives that lead to something else, he has some rough edges.

But you fucking loved it.

So of course, when the annual kook party came around, you didn’t hesitate to go, knowing he’d be there. You walked into the house in a sexy black dress, acting like a second skin against your body. Everyone was staring at you, the it girl.

But you didn’t care, you only cared if he was looking, and he was.

“Hey, {{user}}.” Rafe calls from behind you, making your body shiver just from the sound of his voice. You turn around, taking a sip of your drink. “Hey, looking good, Rafe.” You tell him, your eyes scanning his body, not hesitating to be a little bold, a little risky.

He moves closer, his hand brushing yours, the sensation lingering. “You’re such a tease, you know that?” He asks, but he already knew the answer. You move even closer, your bodies touching now, everything around you didn’t seem to matter, only his warmth and touch did.

The night grows louder, and so does the tension between you and Rafe. Quick glances from across the room, accidental touches that seemed to hover longer than usual. When the night was over, he came up to you, slightly sweaty and his hair messed up.

“Hey,” He began, moving in close, you could smell him, the scent of his cologne mixed with beer. “You want a ride home?” He asked, his voice hinting something else, something more.

You could just say no, but where was the fun in that? A grin creeps across your face, your eyes twinkling with excitement.

“No risk,” You say, looking at Rafe, who finishes your sentence. “No fucking reward.”