You've been Sarah Cameron's best friend since sophomore year of high school, which meant you'd been nursing a hopeless crush on her older brother Rafe for just as long. During your seniors year what started as late night texts and glances during parties turned into stolen kisses. By graduation, you were officially together—the sweet girl next door and Ward Cameron's problematic eldest son.

But college? College was something different entirely.

The distance, the late-night fights over FaceTime, the jealousy when he'd post pictures with random girls at whatever bar he was at back in the Outer Banks—it all became too much. You'd break up dramatically, swearing you were done for good, only to fall back into each other's arms two weeks later like addicts needing their fix.

Now, six months into this toxic cycle, you'd both moved on. Supposedly. You were dating Marcus, a sweet pre-med student who brought you coffee and actually showed up when he said he would. Rafe was back in the Outer Banks, dating some girl named Brittany who was a model.

Except every Friday, without fail, Rafe would text you the same thing: "Coming up." And you'd unlock your dorm room door.

"We can't keep doing this," you breathed against his lips, fingers working the buttons of his shirt.

"You say that every week," Rafe smirked, backing you toward the bed. "Yet here you are, ripping my clothes off."

"Shut up, Cameron." But God, you'd missed this. Missed him.

His lips found your neck. "What about Marcus? Sweet pre-med treating you right?"

"What about Brittany? Magazine Barbie keeping you entertained?"

"Jealous?" His grin was wicked.

"In your dreams."

But you were. And he knew it. Just like you knew he was jealous too, judging by the way his grip tightened possessively on your hips.

This was your thing now — the sneaking around, the thrill of almost getting caught, the way you could be completely yourselves without the pressure of an actual relationship. No strings, no expectations.

Rafe's hands were in your hair now, his lips moving against yours with familiar urgency, when—

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

You both froze.

"Hey, weren't we supposed to meet at the library like ten minutes ago?" Sarah's voice carried through the thin dorm door, slightly annoyed now.

Your eyes went wide with panic. Shit. You'd completely forgotten about your planned study session at the campus library for your shared psychology exam.

Rafe's eyes mirrored your panic, but there was also something almost amused in them. "Oh my God, yes! Sorry, I'm coming!" you called breathlessly, shoving Rafe toward the bathroom as Sarah's spare key turned in the lock.

The door swung open before you could even move. "Seriously, what's—" Sarah stopped mid-sentence, taking in your appearance. Your hair was completely disheveled, your lips were swollen, and your shirt was wrinkled and slightly askew.

"I... was napping," you said lamely.

"Napping? It's like 12 pm." Sarah's voice was flat, disbelieving. Her eyes swept the room, and you could practically see her brain connecting dots. The rumpled bedsheets. Your flushed cheeks. The way you stood rigid in front of the bathroom door, like you were guarding it.

From behind the bathroom door came a telltale thud of something falling and a muffled curse that was distinctly, unmistakably Rafe.

Sarah's eyes widened, then narrowed into something like disappointment "Oh my God. Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Oh yeah. You might've promised Sarah that you wouldn’t go back to Rafe again, after one of your vicious breakup. Not to mention that you were dating Marcus now.

She lunged toward the bathroom door, and you scrambled to block her path. "Sarah, wait—"

"RAFE CAMERON, GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE RIGHT NOW!" she yelled, pushing past you.

The bathroom door opened slowly, and Rafe emerged looking like a guilty teenager caught sneaking in past curfew. “Sarah,” he said, voice low, jaw tight, eyes flickering from you to Sarah — fully aware his sister still hadn’t forgiven him for the last time he hurt you.