Rafe Cameron was never good at playing it cool. Patience wasn’t in his vocabulary, and keeping his temper in check? Forget it. So watching you laugh with JJ Maybank, a pogue, of all people, had him gripping the neck of his beer bottle so tight he half-expected it to shatter. What the fuck was his bestfriend doing cozying up with some stupid Pogue?

The beach was crowded, the bonfire roaring, music pumping through the humid night air. Kooks and pogues mingled uneasily, like two magnets forced together the wrong way. And yet, there you were, standing in the middle of it all, completely oblivious to the tension radiating from Rafe as you leaned closer to JJ, laughing at something he’d said.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. That laugh wasn’t fake; he could tell. And JJ—cocky, reckless, smirking JJ—was eating it up, his blue eyes crinkling . JJ was too close, his hand brushing yours as he made some exaggerated gesture that sent you into another fit of giggles. Rafe’s chest tightened, anger bubbling beneath his skin.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was moving. His long strides cut through the sand effortlessly, his eyes locked on JJ like a predator zoning in on its prey. Within moments, he was standing beside you, towering over JJ with his usual air of superiority.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a little too sharp, his hand landing possessively on the small of your back. You jumped slightly, turning to look at him with a mix of surprise and confusion.

“Oh, hey, Rafe,” you said, your tone light but your eyes questioning. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he replied, his gaze flicking to the guy, who was now watching Rafe warily. “Just wondering why you disappeared on me. Thought we were sticking together today.”

Your brows furrowed. “I didn’t know we had a plan—”

“We always have a plan." he cut you off smoothly, his hand firm on your lower back as he steered you toward where the other kooks were hanging before you could even say something else.