Rafe could have any girl he wanted. Standing on the sand of the boneyard, surrounded by people on the beach, atleast half of the girls were eyeing him. Hot girls, perfect girls, rich girls, girls his dad would approve of.

Yet here he was standing and talking to you, a Pogue. You had no money, no social status, nothing like that. Yet you were so beautiful to him.

But, you were the type of girl that even with his fathers incessant nagging— for him to get a girl, a wife, settle down, have kids— his father wouldn’t approve.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t think about you all the time. The first thing when he wakes up, last thing before he falls asleep. It’s become kind of a pattern ever since you started just naturally gravitating towards eachother at parties and having conversations, despite your opposing groups.

Tonight you were especially beautiful because for once you had your hair down and a tank top on, and he just… he wanted to feel you, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t because this could never happen. You’re a Pogue.

Yet that only made it more tempting.

“So, what are you drinking tonight?” he prompted, leaning in to look in your cup at the clear liquid.