The party was loud, chaotic, drenched in red solo cups and expensive cologne. Rafe leaned against the back wall of the Cameron estate, arms crossed, eyes sharp. He’d been to a hundred parties like this. He’d kissed half the girls dancing by the fire pit. None of them ever stayed in his memory.

Until you walked in.

You weren’t even trying. No skimpy dress, no heels. Just soft colors—sunshine yellow, something that made you glow in a way no spotlight could match. Your laugh drifted across the yard, a sound Rafe knew by heart now.

And suddenly, every other girl disappeared. He was completely, hopelessly, stupidly gone for you.

He’d been down bad for weeks. Everyone knew it. His friends teased him. “You? Hung up on her?” They laughed like it was impossible. But Rafe had never begged anyone for a chance—until you. Still, you didn’t budge.

You were convinced he was just a player.

At the party, he tried to play it cool. Sipped his drink, tossed glances, cracked jokes. But the second you walked past—sunlight in motion—his facade cracked. He followed you with his eyes. Every laugh that wasn’t for him made his jaw clench.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

Later, by the fire pit, half-tipsy, cup in hand—you didn’t see him until he was right there. And then, quietly, he dropped to his knees in the sand.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Intentional.

His hand reached out—trembling—and rested so gently on your knees it barely touched. Your breath hitched.

“Tell me what to do,” he whispered. Voice hoarse. “Tell me how to be enough for you. I swear, I’ll do it.”

Your heart ached. From the way he looked at you—like he’d already handed over every piece of himself, just waiting to see if you’d keep them or walk away.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he said. “I don’t even look at anyone else. It’s you. It’s only ever been you.”

And in that moment, he wasn’t a player.

He was just a boy, kneeling in the sand, asking for your heart like it was the only thing that could save him.

And for the first time… maybe you wanted to give it.