I hadn’t meant for it to be anything more than a distraction.

I’m halfway across the crowded living room when I see him — my ex — wrapped around some girl like he owns her. My stomach twists, a sick little lurch, and I feel my pulse spike. My hands clench around my drink. How could he look so smug? So… happy?

And then I see him.

Rafe Cameron. Leaning against the snack table like he’s part of the furniture, drink in hand, smirk perfectly in place, hair tousled just enough to look effortless. His eyes land on me and, suddenly, the room shrinks. Everyone else disappears. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t stop staring.

I’m not supposed to do this. This is just a distraction — a quick kiss, just enough to make my ex squirm. Nothing more.

But before I can talk myself out of it, I find myself stepping closer, grabbing his shirt. I pull him down and kiss him.

He doesn’t hesitate.

His arm snakes around my waist, pressing me flush against him. His mouth moves against mine slow, deep, deliberate — like he’s been waiting for me to crack first. Heat radiates off him in waves. The party, the music, the ex — all gone.

And then I hear it.

A sharp, incredulous gasp from behind me. My ex is frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, jaw tight. He’s staring at us like he just walked into someone else’s dream — or nightmare. His face drains of color, fingers twitching like he wants to step in but doesn’t know how.

I can feel Rafe smirk against my lips as I register it.