You were Wheezie Cameron’s tutor—the youngest of the Cameron siblings. You didn’t hang out with them. Ever. Your parents hated their family, and the rivalry between yours had been going on for as long as you could remember. So how did you end up here, helping Wheezie with her homework?

Simple. You didn’t blame kids for the mistakes of their parents. Or, well… their brothers.

Rafe Cameron was the walking definition of a bad idea. A problem. A mistake waiting to happen. Last weekend at a party, he tried to kiss you. You pushed him away, and within minutes, he was dragging some random girl into his room. Were you jealous? Yeah, of course you were. But would you ever let him see that? Not a chance.

Now, you were sitting at Wheezie’s desk, going over her assignment, when the door swung open—hard.

Rafe.

Shirtless, wearing nothing but shorts, hair a mess like he just rolled out of bed. He smelled like salt air and citrus, like late nights and bad decisions. He didn’t say a word, just walked over, resting both hands on the back of your chair, his grip firm. Too firm.

You felt him behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. His presence was suffocating. Overwhelming.

Then, without a word, he dragged another chair over and dropped into it, way too close. His knee brushed against yours.

And he just stared.

Like he was trying to figure you out. Like he was daring you to break first.

Wheezie groaned, rolling her eyes. “Can you leave? I’m actually trying to study.”

But Rafe didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. His eyes stayed locked on you, a slow smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.