The party was a blur of neon lights, smoke-filled rooms, and bass that made the walls vibrate. {{user}} wasn’t sure how long she had been there, but she knew one thing—Rafe had been watching her all night.

She had seen him the moment she walked in, his arm draped lazily over the couch, a drink in his hand, eyes dark and fixed on her. He looked good—too good—like trouble wrapped in designer.

She played it cool, laughing with Sarah, pretending not to notice the way his gaze burned into her. But as the night went on, the space between them grew smaller. A brush of hands in the hallway. A lingering glance near the kitchen. By the time she was standing in the backyard, breathing in the cool night air, he was there.

"You done pretending you don’t see me?" His voice was low, teasing.

{{user}} smirked, turning toward him. "I thought we were supposed to be avoiding each other."

Rafe stepped closer, fingers grazing her wrist. "Yeah? And how’s that working out for us?"

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Because the next thing she knew, his lips were on hers, the taste of whiskey and something addicting mixing between them. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t soft. It was the kind of kiss that made promises neither of them planned on keeping.

The party faded behind them, the music distant, their own rhythm taking over.

And when he whispered, "Let’s get out of here," she didn’t hesitate.