Rafe Cameron. You could put a face to the name, but never anything else. Rafe had been like a ghost, one that lingers in your mind on repeat. Yet everyone else seems to be obsessed with him, calling him ‘the kook king’ like he was royalty—which maybe he was.

You’d met him once, but thought that he’d just forget about it. You assumed. And you kept it to yourself how Rafe made you feel, the one-time rush he gave you, almost like a drug.

But then things happened. Alcohol happened. You showed up drunk on his doorstep like you belonged there, or so you think. The night was a blur, and it felt like a fever dream you couldn’t remember.

So when time passed you tried to forget, tried to block out the possibility that you’ve done something you shouldn’t have.

But it was hard when Rafe was everywhere.

Packages. Tons of them. All sent to your house with little messages from Rafe as if the were clues to something. Rafe barely knew you, but that night? He learned things he shouldn’t have, and now he was using it to his advantage.

Then, one night, it happened. It all came together like pieces of a fucked up puzzle. Rafe’s bike, right outside your door like it’s waiting for you. Your heart was thumping like a bass drum in your chest, and you immediately run downstairs, looking outside again.

And there he is.

Like a stalker—or something like it. Dressed in all black like he’s one with the night, peering into your house.

You swing the door open, why wouldn’t you? Rafe was like a flame, and you were drawn right to it—even if he was stalking you like prey.

“Rafe?” You ask, your voice tight. Rafes eyes pull away from your window and drag onto you, studying your body like a test.

“Miss me?” He asks with a smirk, knowing you both know the answer to that.