The summer sun cast a golden glow over your house’s terrace, illuminating the lazily sprawled Kooks. Topper was flipping through a boat magazine, Kelce and another guy argued over party snacks, and Rafe leaned casually against the wall, swirling a glass of whiskey. Meanwhile, you were knee-deep in a pile of laundry, muttering curses under your breath.

Frustrated, you turned to the group. “Has anyone seen my swimsuit top?”

Without a second thought, Rafe answered, his voice flat and nonchalant. “On your bed.”

The words hung in the air like a grenade waiting to explode. The room fell silent, all eyes turning toward him.

Topper snapped his head up, magazine forgotten. “What the hell did you just say, Rafe?”

Rafe froze, the glass of whiskey tilting slightly in his hand as his eyes darted to yours, wide with realization. Your heart sank, heat rushing to your face. His slip had exposed something unspoken, something you hadn’t intended to share.

The silence stretched unbearably before Rafe cleared his throat, attempting to recover, but the damage was already done.