It was one of those house parties—loud music, red cups, bodies moving in waves through every hallway of the beach house. {{user}} had worn his favorite low-rise jeans and a baby tee that showed just a sliver too much skin. Rafe had been watching her like a hawk all night, jaw clenched every time someone even looked her way.

By midnight, the place was packed. Sarah and Topper were already slurring their words somewhere on the back deck, and {{user}} had vanished upstairs.

Rafe found her in the hallway by the upstairs bathroom, back pressed to the wall, smirking like she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Looking for me?” she whispered, pulling him by the belt loop into the bathroom.

The second the door clicked shut, his hands were on her hips, her fingers tangled in the strands at the nape of his neck. The music thumped through the walls, but all he could hear was her breath against his ear.

They were kissing like the world was about to end, like the bathroom wasn’t about three feet away from a hallway full of drunk teens.

And then she laughed against his lips and said it, voice low and wicked:

“I hope nobody catches us…”

He smirked, pressing her tighter against the sink.

“…but I kinda hope they do.”