Rafe Cameron was wasted.

Not the messy, angry kind—no, tonight he was all lazy grins and heavy-lidded eyes, an arm slung around your shoulder as he half-stumbled, half-dragged you across the beach.

“Bunny,” he slurred, stopping suddenly and turning to you, his hands landing on your waist. “You know you’re my favorite person, right?”

You snorted, pushing his damp hair back from his forehead. “You’re drunk, Rafe.”

His lips twisted into a lopsided smirk. “And you are beautiful.”

You rolled your eyes, but the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing keeping him from floating away—made your stomach flip.

“C’mon, let’s get you back—”

Before you could finish, Rafe scooped you up off the sand, spinning you around. You shrieked, gripping onto his shoulders. “Rafe Cameron, put me down!”

He only laughed, a deep, carefree sound that you didn’t hear nearly enough. “Nah,” he grinned, eyes sparkling. “You’re staying right here.”

And then he stumbled, nearly taking both of you down into the sand.

You gasped as you landed on top of him, his chest rising and falling beneath you as he blinked up at you, completely unbothered.

“You’re such a menace,” you huffed, brushing sand off his face.

Rafe grinned, hands settling on your hips. “Yeah, but I’m your menace.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

Before you could react, he leaned up, brushing his lips against yours—whiskey-laced, slow, teasing.

And just like that, you were drunk on him.