The summer heat had finally began to break. The night was cool enough where you needed a blanket again, where cuddling up next to your boyfriend would be appreciated. But you didn’t have a boyfriend anymore. You sat up from your bed with a frustrated sigh, reaching for the sweatshirt you’d discarded on the floor earlier. Rafe’s sweatshirt. You tug it on, letting it wrap your body up in its warmth.

You missed him. It was a feeling that plagued you more on nights like this, when it was late and you couldn’t sleep. Your mind would inevitably drift to nights spent in this bed with him. Nights that you were up late for a very different reason than insomnia. You hated clinging to the memories of him. You hated missing him. It wasn’t you. You didn’t even think it was possible for you to miss someone as much as you missed him, it wasn’t certainly far more than you had predicted.

Instead of laying back down in your bed, where you knew sleep wasn’t likely to come, you padded down the hallway to the living room. Pausing to look at the framed photo of you and Rafe that you hadn’t been able to put away. Your fingers traced over his smiling face. Proof that the two of you had once been very happy together. You drop your fingers from the picture, wondering if he was missing you even in the slightest?

Not likely. Rafe wasn’t one to get emotional. Even if he was missing you, he was far too prideful to acknowledge and admit it. He had blown into your life, capturing your heart with the first smirk he directed you away, and then he’d gone just as quickly. He’d set fire to your life, and it had burned out far too quickly.

You sat on the couch, not bothering to turn on a light, tucking your legs up in your hoodie. You brought the fabric to your nose, inhaling deeply. But it no longer smelled like citrus and smoke. All traces of Rafe’s scent were gone. It just smelled like you now.

A car door slams loudly outside, bringing your attention away from your thoughts of Rafe. You glance at the clock on the wall, 2:35 AM. Most likely one of your neighbours coming home from a night drinking. That sounded good right about now. You made a mental night to plan a girl’s night out soon.

You hear someone stumble, and then what sounds like a body connecting with your door. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, as you hear the door rattle. You search around the room for something to defend yourself with, grabbing a fireplace poker.

Armed, you move towards the door, where the doorknob rattling continues, followed by muffled swears. Those sound vaguely familiar. You drop the poker down to your side, and pull the door open, only to be greeted by a drunken Rafe Cameron staring at you. His eyes roam over you, landing on the poker in your hand, and he looks at you with amusement.

“Planning to poke me to death?” He drawls lazily, his words slightly slurred. You can smell the bourbon wafting off of him.

“I wasn’t expecting company. Especially not piss drunk company.” you say, running a hand through your hair. He nods, his eyes still full of amusement.

“Figured we should talk, princess”