“Listen, she’s just… nobody, alright?” Rafe said, his tone defensive. But as the words left his mouth, you noticed the telltale sign—his hand instinctively brushing against his nose. He always did that when he was lying.

You crossed your arms, your gaze steady on him. “Right,” you muttered under your breath, but you didn’t believe him for a second.

The truth was, Rafe never seemed to bother pushing other girls away, even when they were blatantly flirty or too clingy. He’d let them drape themselves over him at parties or laugh too loudly at his jokes, never once drawing a line. He acted like it didn’t matter. But it mattered to you.

It bothered you how easily he let it happen, how he didn’t seem to care how it made you feel, even if you never voiced it out loud. You hated that it got to you—that the attention he gave to others, or didn’t stop from others, stirred something inside you that you wished you could ignore.

But it was hard to ignore when every time he told you otherwise, his hand brushed his nose. And it was hard to ignore the way your heart clenched, despite your better judgment, when you thought about all the other girls who seemed to want the version of him that you didn’t get.