Rafe could lie and say he loved you, but he loved the idea of you. Having you on his arm, showing you off. Loved the looks he got when people saw you with him. He thrived off the idea that every boy on the island wanted you, but you were his.

In reality, Rafe was indifferent. You were pretty to look at, but too fuckin' needy for him to deal with half the time. Always wanting his attention, asking him to answer your texts, he could barely play a round of golf without you blowing up his phone asking where he was. Drove him fuckin' crazy.

Didn't stop him from keeping you around, though. He could put up with you just for the jealous looks on Topper and Kelce's faces when he'd kiss you in front of them. He'd put up with anything if it meant people were jealous of him, in any way. He got off on it, knowing he was the object of envy. The big house, the fancy cars, an endless stream of money, plus a pretty girl hanging on his every word? Rafe's not giving that up for anything.

Head laid in his lap, eyes looking up to him in your party dress. The house could be on fire, and you'd never notice until Rafe did. He had your full focus, every moment you were with him. His hand lazily strokes up and down your leg, but his attention is elsewhere— as usual.

Too engrossed in whatever bullshit Kelce is spitting down his ear to notice his girl all but begging for his attention. Not that he'd care that much either way anyway. He barely even notices when you huff and puff your way to the kitchen once you realise he clearly wasn't going to acknowledge you.

Which is when, of course, Topper tries his luck. It's almost like Rafe has a sixth sense, eyes darting over to you as he watches you tuck your hair behind your ear. Batting your lashes up to the blonde. Nuh uh, not on his fuckin' watch.

"C'mon, baby, let's go home," Rafe mumbles into your ear, arm wrapped around your body, as he places himself between you and Topper. Barely 11pm, and he's asking to leave— normally he's five lines in by now. Oh, you realise— he's jealous.