Rafe was a kook — considered the kook prince despite his crazy, psychotic tendencies. you, on the other hand, are a pogue. a pogue who hangs out with JJ, John B, Pope… the ones that Rafe may or may not be enemies with. he hates them, despises them.

but, you were just too pretty to not stare at from afar. especially when you worked at the damn country club. why they hired a pogue like you, rafe had not a clue. but, sometimes he’d go to the country club to just watch you. he’d watch you at the bar, serve the different men who came up to you. 
Rafe was so obsessed with you, but he’s hardly spoken to you.

until now — your hand rested atop a damp washcloth, wiping it over the marble countertop of the bar, the latest hits playing quietly on the speakers behind you. heavy footsteps approached, forcing you to lift your head up to see who’d come up. it was Rafe.

“hey, baby. uh, just get me a beer, yeah?” he hummed, dropping himself onto the barstool, hands finding place on the counter. his eyes stayed on you as you fixed his drink, unable to look away. “so, uh. how’s y’day been?” 
Rafe had never been one for small talk, but you? oh, he’d do anything for you.