Rafe was already chewing the inside of his cheek raw.

You’d barely been there ten minutes and he was two swings away from snapping his nine iron clean in half. The sun was too fucking bright, Topper was being a loudmouthed idiot as usual, and then there was you—standing there all arms-crossed, lip-pouting, eyes rolling like he’d dragged you through the swamp instead of to the damn country club.

God, you were being difficult today. And not the kind that was cute. Not the kind that made him want to drag you into the golf cart and mess up your makeup.

Just... insufferable.

Every little sigh you let out—every dramatic shuffle of your feet in that stupid little tennis skirt, every half-whispered, bratty comment under your breath like you thought he couldn’t hear—was like a hammer to his skull.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, lining up his swing, jaw clenching tight. “Could you knock it the fuck off?”

You didn’t even flinch. Just shifted your weight again, and tilted your head with that faux-innocent look he hated.

“S’just boring, Rafe. Chasing balls in the grass? Really?” You made a face, voice syrupy-sweet with condescension. “Not exactly riveting.”

Topper snorted behind him. “Yo, control your girl, dude.”

That was it.

Rafe’s grip flexed around the club. Tension coiled in his jaw like a pulled trigger. That comment, paired with the way you were looking at him? Like he was some dumb rich kid dragging his pouty girlfriend around? Like you were better than this?

Better than him?

Nah.

He turned real slow.

Didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to. All sharp angles and a predator's stillness, he stepped in closer—close enough that your breath caught just a little. Good. You should feel it. That heat rolling off him like smoke from a fire about to catch.

“You got a real mouth on you today, huh?” Rafe’s voice was low, almost amused, almost gentle—if not for the mean curl hiding behind every syllable. “Keep pushin’ it. Go ahead. See what happens.”

You blinked, lips parting—but whatever you were about to say got swallowed in your throat. Didn’t matter. He was already shaking his head, laughing under his breath like the joke was on him for even trying.

“Y’know what? Go sit in the fuckin’ cart. Go do your little princess pout somewhere else.” He waved a hand, dismissive, like you were some spoiled dog he was sick of entertaining. “Can’t deal with your attitude and Topper’s dumbass in the same afternoon.”