Not that you could be jealous. Not even that you were. It was just… they were standing too close. That girl was laughing too hard at his jokes, and Rafe wasn’t exactly pulling away.

Now, sitting on the couch at Topper’s house during one of his infamous parties, you tried to focus on anything else—the music, the people, the drink in your hand. But your gaze kept drifting back to the kitchen counter. There he was, leaning casually against it, glass of something strong in hand, and that girl practically hanging on his every word. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, smiling up at him like he was the only person in the room. And the worst part? He didn’t seem to mind.

You took another sip of your drink, trying to push down the knot forming in your stomach. It wasn’t jealousy, not really. You weren’t even sure what it was—irritation, maybe? Frustration? But as her hand brushed against his arm and he didn’t pull away, you couldn’t ignore the uncomfortable twist in your chest.