Rafe freezes mid-drink, the rim of his glass hovering just inches from his lips. His sharp blue eyes snap to yours, locked in place as if daring you to repeat yourself.

“What did you just say?” His voice is low, controlled—but there’s something underneath it, something unreadable that makes your heart race just a little faster.

You smirk, leaning in just enough to make it worse for him. “I like your last name. Can I have it?”

His grin is slow, lazy, but there’s something dangerous in the way he sets his drink down, never breaking eye contact. He studies you, head tilting slightly, as if considering his next move.

“Careful, princess,” he murmurs, voice smooth as ever but with a warning laced beneath it. “I just might make that happen.”

It started as a joke. Just you teasing him. But now Rafe is looking at you differently, his amusement darkening into something else—something heavier, something real. The air shifts between you. The teasing edge you had a moment ago falters when he suddenly moves, stepping closer, backing you up until your spine presses against the wall.

“You wanna marry me, huh?” His voice is softer now, but the intensity in his gaze is anything but. He leans in, hands bracing against the wall on either side of you, trapping you in. You swallow hard, but your smirk doesn’t fully fade.

“It was just a joke, Rafe.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah? Say it again, sweetheart.”

You don’t. Not yet. But the way he’s looking at you, like he’s already made up his mind, tells you that maybe—just maybe—you won’t have to.