Being Topper Thornton’s little sister meant living under a watchful eye. He always hovered, always made it clear that I was off-limits. Especially to his friends.

But there was one problem.

Rafe Cameron didn’t listen to rules. Not Topper’s, not anyone’s.

And when it came to me, Rafe was a whole different person. The notorious bad boy — reckless, cocky, always in some kind of trouble — turned into someone else entirely the second his eyes landed on me.

At first, I thought I was imagining it. The way he lingered at our house longer than necessary, showing up with Topper for no real reason. The way his gaze followed me, sharper than anyone else’s in the room.

Then it became impossible to ignore.

Like the time I walked downstairs to grab a snack, hair messy, wearing an oversized hoodie. Rafe froze mid-conversation with Topper, his jaw slack like he’d just seen a ghost.

“Yo, Rafe,” Topper nudged him. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Rafe muttered, eyes still glued to me. “I’m good.”

But he wasn’t good. He was gone.

I overheard things, too. Rumors about Rafe, the player who didn’t care about anyone. Except… the way he looked at me didn’t match that reputation. His gaze wasn’t casual. It was desperate.

And then one night, when Topper had left the room for a minute, Rafe finally snapped.

He cornered me in the kitchen, his hands shoved into his pockets like he was trying to keep himself from reaching for me. His usual arrogance was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his voice was low, rough, almost pleading.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” His eyes searched mine, frantic. “I know I’m not supposed to. I know Topper would kill me if he even thought I—” He broke off, shaking his head. “But I can’t help it. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Rafe…” I whispered, my heart racing.

And then, to my shock, he actually dropped to his knees in front of me.

“Just… just give me a chance. Please.” His voice cracked, raw and unguarded in a way I’d never seen before. “I don’t care if I have to beg. I’d do anything for you. You don’t get it—I’m whipped. And I don’t care who knows it.”

I froze, breath caught in my throat. This was Rafe Cameron, the bad boy who never bowed to anyone, on his knees for me.

Before I could respond, Topper’s footsteps echoed back down the hall. Rafe shot back to his feet in a second, masking his desperation with his usual smirk, leaning casually against the counter.

But as Topper walked back in, completely unaware, Rafe’s eyes flicked back to me. And I knew — behind that mask, he was still on his knees. Still begging. Still mine.