The tension was always there. Thick, sharp, unspoken — like a string pulled tight between you and Rafe Cameron, just waiting to snap.

He hated how easily you got under his skin. How your voice always had that bite of sarcasm. How you were never scared of him — not like everyone else.

And you? You hated the way he looked at you like he could read your thoughts. Like he already knew what your next move would be. Arrogant. Infuriating. Impossible.

So of course, when you walked into the Boneyard that night — head held high, laughter on your lips, completely ignoring him — Rafe noticed immediately.

He was leaned back on a log, a drink in his hand, eyes trailing you like it was a reflex. Like he didn’t have a choice.

Topper nudged him. “Dude, seriously. You’re staring.”

Rafe didn’t respond. He just tilted his head a little, watching as you stopped to talk to someone across the fire, completely unaware — or maybe very aware — of the fact that he hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

You weren’t friends. Far from it. The last time you spoke, he’d called you a spoiled princess, and you told him he had the emotional range of a teaspoon. It ended with you storming off, and Rafe?

Rafe had replayed it in his head a hundred times.

Now, you turned — and for a split second, your eyes met his. Cold. Challenging. A silent don’t even try it.

But Rafe just smirked. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Because he could pretend all day that he hated you — but that would be a lie.

You were his soft spot. His secret. The one person he’d never admit he gave a damn about.

And that was dangerous.

Because Rafe Cameron didn’t do soft. Except, apparently… when it came to you.