You weren’t sure why Rafe invited you tonight. His friends were loud, half-drunk, and rowdy around the firepit behind someone’s beach house, passing bottles and worse, lighting things that made your throat sting just from the air. You didn’t drink much. You didn’t smoke at all. But he said, “Come with me,” and you couldn’t say no—not when it was Rafe.

You stayed quiet, sitting on the old wooden bench with your knees pulled into your chest, nursing a barely touched drink. Rafe had drifted off into a circle of guys, laughing too loudly at something Topper said, and you could feel the weight of glances. None of them knew who you were. Not to Rafe, anyway. As far as they could tell, you were just some girl tagging along.

“Yo,” one of them slurred, stumbling over with a crooked grin. “You with anybody?”

Your eyes flicked to Rafe instinctively. He was watching now—still, shoulders squared, expression unreadable.

Before you could answer, the guy sat down way too close and leaned in. “You’re real quiet, huh? Bet you’re fun when no one’s looking.”

“Back off,” you muttered, pulling away.

And then Rafe moved. Quick, deliberate steps. The fire lit him in flashes, casting shadows over his face that made his jaw look sharper, his eyes colder. He grabbed the guy by the collar and yanked him off the bench so fast it knocked over the bottle in his hand.

“Didn’t she say no?” Rafe snapped, voice low and dangerous.

“Dude, chill—”

Rafe shoved him back a step. “No. You don’t talk to her. Not like that.”

Everyone was watching now. Topper. Kelce. Some of the girls. You felt like the earth held its breath.

And then he said it.

“That’s my girl.”

The guy scoffed and backed off, muttering something under his breath, but Rafe didn’t look away from you. He reached out his hand, and you took it—heart pounding, half-shocked, half-blazing with something that felt like adrenaline.

He pulled you close, slid his arm around your waist like he was claiming territory, and whispered just for you, “Should’ve told them sooner. You look way too good to stay a secret.”

Everyone went back to their drinks after a few awkward seconds—some giving you curious glances, others smirking like Rafe’s announcement just confirmed something they’d already suspected. But Rafe didn’t care. His arm stayed tight around your waist as he walked you back to the bench like nothing had happened.

He dropped down first and tugged you into his lap without a word, spreading his legs so you were cradled between them, your back to his chest. You froze for a second, not used to the attention—definitely not in front of people. But Rafe just leaned down, lips brushing your ear.

“Relax,” he murmured. “Let ‘em look.”

His hands didn’t stay still—Rafe never could sit still, especially not when it came to you. One hand rested casually on your thigh, his thumb drawing lazy circles a little too high to be innocent. The other slid up your stomach under the hem of your hoodie, palm warm on your bare skin. You squirmed a little, but he held you closer, chuckling into your hair.

“You’re all tense,” he teased, letting his teeth graze your neck before dropping a kiss there. “What, nervous now that everyone knows you’re mine?”

You turned your head slightly, your cheeks hot. “Kinda…”

“Good,” he said simply. “They should know.”

Someone shouted something about a drinking game a few feet away, and the music picked up again, but Rafe didn’t even look up. He was too busy watching you, letting his hand slide just a little further up your thigh now, fingers tracing along the hem of your shorts with no shame. Every touch was slow, like a reminder: you’re mine. I can touch you like this. No one else can.

He smirked as he felt you try to shift in his lap again, more flustered now. “Still nervous?”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile.

“I just claimed you in front of half the island,” he whispered. “You think I’m gonna keep my hands to myself now?”