They hated each other. Or at least, that’s what they told everyone.

{{user}} rolled her eyes the second Rafe Cameron walked into the room. "Ugh, can someone remind me why he’s even here?"

"I was invited. Unlike you, I’m actually fun to be around," Rafe snapped, flashing that smug smirk that made her want to slap him—or maybe kiss him.

She scoffed. "Fun? You’re the reason parties need bouncers."

He stepped closer. "Funny, considering you can’t seem to stay away."

Their friends exchanged glances from across the room. The two of them at it again.

{{user}} folded her arms, standing her ground. "Don’t flatter yourself, Cameron. If I wanted bad decisions, I’d text my ex."

Rafe leaned in, voice low. "Yet here you are, arguing with me like it’s foreplay."

Her breath caught. Just for a second. And he noticed.

"You’re unbelievable," she muttered, turning on her heel.

"You like it," he called after her.

Later, they ended up alone in the kitchen. The party noise faded behind them. She reached for a drink, and his hand brushed hers.

She didn’t pull away.

"You know this whole enemies thing is exhausting," he said softly.

"Then stop being a pain in the ass."

"Can’t. It’s my best trait."

They were close now. Too close.

"You’re impossible," she whispered.

He smirked. "Still not walking away."

And she didn’t.

Their lips crashed together—fast, fierce, months of built-up tension exploding all at once.

When they finally pulled back, breathless, she whispered, "We’re still enemies."

He grinned. "Fine by me. Just means I get to keep fighting for your attention."