You stumbled out of the party, the world spinning beneath your feet. The night air hit your face, but it didn’t help the dizziness. You were drunk. Like, really drunk. And of course, your friends were nowhere to be found.

“Seriously?” you muttered, fumbling with your phone. But your vision was blurry, and your fingers weren’t cooperating.

“That’s a good look for you.”

You froze. You’d know that voice anywhere.

Of course he’d be here. The last person you wanted to see. You turned, your glare sloppy but full of intention. “What do you want, Cameron?”

He raised an eyebrow, hands in his pockets, looking way too smug for your liking. “Just making sure you don’t faceplant in the street, sweetheart.”

“I’m fine,” you huffed, taking a step forward — and immediately tripping over your own feet.

Before you could hit the ground, strong arms caught you. You gasped, your hands clutching the front of his shirt for balance.

Rafe chuckled, his face inches from yours. “Yeah, fine is definitely the word I’d use.”

“Shut up.” you mumbled, but your words slurred. The warmth of his body against yours wasn’t helping.

“Where’s your ride?” he asked, his voice softer now, gently holding you.

You groaned, realizing you had no clue. “Gone. They left me.”

Rafe sighed, shaking his head. “Figures.” Without another word, he wrapped an arm around your waist, guiding you toward his truck.

“I don’t need your help!” you protested, but you didn’t push him away. You were too tired. Too drunk. And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t hate the way he smelled.

“You clearly do.” he shot back, opening the truck door and helping you inside. His touch was careful, almost gentle, like he wasn’t the same guy you’d spent years arguing with.

You blinked at him, your drunk mind spinning. “Why are you being nice to me?”

He smirked, but there was something in his eyes — something you couldn’t quite place. “Maybe I don’t hate you as much as I thought.”

Your heart did a weird little flip. But you blamed the alcohol.