You know Rafe can be frustrating — the way he stares, the way he touches you, the stuff he says that most guys wouldn’t. But there’s something about how intense he is, how he doesn’t hold back, that you can’t help noticing. He’s perverted and reckless, which is exactly why no one can know.

You’re at one of those loud parties the Cameron’s always seem to throw. Music’s blasting, people are stumbling around, drinks in hand, but you’re mostly keeping to yourself, scrolling on your phone and trying to avoid the usual drama.

Then you notice him, Rafe. Leaning against the bar, staring at you like you’re the only person in the room. He’s smirking, that gross, self-satisfied look, and there’s something in the way he’s watching you that makes your skin crawl.

You roll your eyes. Ew. Gross. You’re definitely not in the mood for whatever he’s plotting.

A few minutes later, you’re headed to the bathroom to escape the crowd, you push the bathroom door shut behind you.

Rafe is already there, leaning against the sink. He doesn’t even smile, he just watches you, and for a second, your stomach twists. Then before you can step back, he’s close, pressing you gently against the wall.

“You look… like you could use some company,” he says, voice low, almost nervous.

You roll your eyes and push at him. “Rafe, ew. You’re such a pervert.”

He grins, a little sheepish, and leans closer. “I’m… sorry,” he mutters, voice low, almost needy. Your heart stutters.

You try to pull away, but he’s just a little too close. “Rafe—” he brushed his forehead against yours. “I just… I want you here. I want you.”