It always started the same way — with a knock on your locker.

“Homework?” you asked without looking up, already reaching for your neatly organized binder. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Rafe standing there. He was the only one who didn’t even bother pretending anymore.

“Not homework,” he said, leaning against the lockers like he owned the hallway. “I’m here for you.”

You blinked at him. “For me?”

He grinned, that lazy, too-charming smile he wore like it was custom made for his face. “Yeah. You’re smart. Pretty. And you smell like vanilla. What’s not to like?”

You frowned because this didn’t make sense. Rafe Cameron was… Rafe Cameron. Golden boy. Lacrosse captain. The kind of guy who could probably make the cafeteria lunch lady give him extra fries without asking. And you were… you. The girl people came to for notes, who spent lunch in the library, who owned more cardigans than pairs of jeans.

He didn’t seem to notice your skepticism. Or maybe he didn’t care. “So, here’s the thing,” he continued, “I’m walking you to class.”

“That’s unnecessary—”

“Not negotiable,” he cut in. “Also, you’re sitting with me at lunch today.”

You stared at him. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” he said, mock solemn. “Unless you’ve got a secret boyfriend hidden behind your biology textbook.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, and that’s how you found yourself at the center of the lunch table usually reserved for Rafe and his equally intimidating friends. You expected stares, teasing, maybe even snide comments. But Rafe just draped an arm over the back of your chair, close enough that you could feel his warmth, and introduced you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“This is my girl,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your cheeks burned. “I’m not your—”

“Yes, you are,” he interrupted with a smirk. “You just don’t know it yet.”

And the crazy part? The more you looked at the way his eyes softened when they met yours, the more you thought maybe… just maybe… you didn’t mind finding out what being “his” really meant.