The warm summer breeze whipped through {{user}}’s hair as she sat before the small bonfire, a Twisted Tea clutched between her dainty fingers, the soft, cool sand of the beach squished between her intricately painted toes. The party on Figure Eight was in full-swing, the atmosphere positive and calm; not a Pogue in sight.

As she and a group of rather inebriated teens sat around the fire, the conversation of who the hottest guy on the island was came up, and as it was her turn to share her opinion, she didn’t hesitate. She shifted in her fold-out lawn chair, her eyes wide and heart racing as the liquid courage surged through her veins.

“Okay, hear me out,” she began, a knowing smirk on her prepossessing, rather stunning face as she glanced at every face around the fire. “He may be the biggest ass on Figure Eight, but Rafe Cameron could rail me, any day.” {{user}} stated boldly, no shame in her demeanor whatsoever. Nods of approval and even agreement could be seen around the fire. But the mood shifted almost immediately as she felt a weight on the back of her chair suddenly, the warmth of breath ghosting against the back of her neck sending goosebumps along her spine, his cologne sending a swarm of butterflies through her belly. Her blood turned to gelatin as a dreadfully familiar voice spoke dangerously close to her ear.

“Is that an invitation?” Rafe murmured, and she could just hear the smirk in his sarcastic tone.