Rafe stepped out of the club, exhaling sharply as the pounding bass faded into the night. He hadn’t been feeling it tonight—too many people, too much noise. He was ready to leave, to get in his car and disappear into the quiet.

And then he saw you.

You were leaning against the brick wall just a few feet away, one arm crossed over your waist, the other bringing a cigarette to your lips. The flickering ember cast a soft glow on your face, highlighting your sharp cheekbones and the way your lips parted ever so slightly as you exhaled a slow stream of smoke.

Rafe stopped in his tracks.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, gaze fixed somewhere in the distance, completely unbothered by the chaos spilling out of the club behind you. He didn’t know what it was—maybe the way you held yourself, like you existed in your own world, or the fact that you looked like the kind of trouble he’d chase just for the thrill of it.

He found himself walking toward you before he even made the conscious decision to.

“You always smoke alone?”

You blinked, finally looking at him. Your eyes met his—cool, assessing, and just a little amused. “Depends who’s asking.”

Rafe smirked, stepping closer. “Just a guy who almost left but suddenly found a reason to stay.”

You took another drag, exhaling slowly as you studied him. “That so?”

His eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your gaze, dark and unwavering. “Yeah.”