You hated Rafe Cameron.

Like, actually hated him. Since you were kids, he’d make your life hell. Stupid dares. Petty comebacks. Fighting over dumb stuff like who had the better beach house view.

And now that you’re both 18? Still the same Rafe. Same smirk. Same cocky attitude. Same way he’d brush past you at parties like he owned the whole island.

But the problem was you didn’t just hate him.

You wanted him. Craved him.

And apparently, he wanted you too — because ever since that one night at Topper’s party, where the two of you ended up alone in the pool house, hands everywhere and morals nowhere… things changed.

Now, you were sneaking out. Meeting him behind your house at midnight. Letting him climb through your window like something out of a movie. Still insulting each other every day like nothing happened.

Still pretending.

“You’re seriously insane,” you snapped, slamming your car door as he parked in your usual spot — again. “You don’t have to keep doing this.”

Rafe stepped out slowly, that cocky smirk already forming. “You keep calling me insane, yet I’m not the one who moaned my enemy’s name last weekend.”

Your face flushed. “Shut up.”

“Oh, hit a nerve?” he mocked, walking toward you until your backs were almost touching the car. “Don’t act brand new. You wanted it just as bad.”

“You were drunk.”

“You were louder than me.”

You shoved him — hard. He caught your wrists fast, holding them with way too much ease. His face inches from yours now, voice low. “Why do you keep pretending you don’t want me? You think I forgot how you looked under me?”

Your heart pounded. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re obsessed with me,” he smirked. “Still taste you when I close my mouth, baby.”

You hated him. You hated how he made your knees weak. You hated that he was right.

Worst of all? You wanted him again.