Your sister’s boyfriend was always a little too comfortable around you. Not in a creepy way—at least, not at first. Rafe Cameron was charming, cocky, and always had some smart remark lined up for you. “Trouble,” he called you, like it was your name. You rolled your eyes. Flushed, sometimes. But you never let it go further than a laugh.

Until tonight.

The house is quiet. Your sister’s out with friends, and you’re in the kitchen in a hoodie and shorts, spooning ice cream straight from the tub. You don’t hear the front door open—but you hear the voice.

“Caught you.”

You jump, spoon mid-air. “Jesus, Rafe.”

He leans against the doorway, hoodie sleeves pushed up, a lazy grin on his face. “Didn’t know you were the type to steal desserts.”

“It’s mine,” you mumble, but your voice falters when he walks closer—casual, slow, like he’s sizing you up.

“She know you eat her snacks?”

“She’s not my mom.”

“No,” he says, now inches away. “But I am her boyfriend.”

You freeze. He dips the spoon from your hand and eats a bite. “You always look at me like that?” he asks quietly.

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to cross a line.”

Your heart jumps. “That’s not—”

He steps closer. “You’re not a kid anymore. And you know exactly what you’re doing.”

You should move. Say something. But you don’t.

He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “Say stop,” he murmurs. “And I will.”

Before you can respond, a loud buzz echoes from upstairs—your sister’s phone.

The moment breaks. Both of you freeze.

Rafe exhales, stepping back. “We shouldn’t,” he says, voice low, eyes unreadable.

You nod, but your chest is still tight. The air still heavy.

Neither of you says another word as he walks toward the door— But the line’s already been crossed. Even if nothing happened… you both know it almost did.