Rafe Cameron had everything—money, power, the kind of life most people envied. But none of it mattered when it came to you. The Pogue girl who had stolen his breath the second he laid eyes on you. You weren’t just another fling, another passing face at some party. No, you were a fire he couldn’t put out, a song stuck in his head, looping over and over again.

But you? You kept your distance. Always laughing, always slipping through his fingers just when he thought he had you. A tease, a challenge, the one girl who wouldn’t just fall into his lap.

Now, here you were, tangled in his sheets, the scent of smoke and sweat lingering between you. Sunlight streamed through the open window, casting golden streaks over your bare skin. You looked too perfect like this—half asleep, hair a mess, lips swollen from the night before. Rafe propped himself on his elbow, just watching you, memorizing the way your lashes fluttered against your cheeks.

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. I hope we’ll be together until next summer. He never said it out loud, but the thought burned in the back of his mind. You were never his to keep, but he wanted to pretend. Just for now.

“I don’t know about tomorrow,” he murmured under his breath, fingers tracing lazy patterns along your spine. “And today just follows where we go.”

You stirred beneath his touch, pressing closer, and Rafe smirked. The innocent act was long gone. Not after last night. Not after the way your body spoke louder than your words.

His eyes drifted to the small earring lying beside his pillow—yours. A piece of you left behind, like a quiet claim.

Rafe didn’t care about the outside world today. The beach, his so-called friends, the expectations of being Ward Cameron’s son. No, he’d rather be here, wrapped up in you, losing hours between the sheets, in the bathtub, anywhere you’d let him.

You were the closest thing to him. His sun, his sky.

And for you? He’d get up early. Every damn morning.