The night was loud—the kind of loud that made your chest vibrate and your head spin a little. Music was blasting from someone’s speaker, laughter floated through the salty air, and the bonfire crackled right in the middle of it all. Everyone was either drunk, half-drunk, or pretending not to be. Typical Kook party.

I wasn’t even supposed to be here. But my friends begged me to come, and honestly? I was bored enough to say yes.

I had on this tiny white tank and cutoff shorts, skin still warm from the sun, hair a little messy but cute.

Of course he was here. Rafe. Looking smug, wearing that stupid backwards cap and flashing that cocky smile . And yeah, I hated him. Always had. He was loud, arrogant, thought the world revolved around him when in reality he was just a obnoxious frat boy wannabe. And he hated me right back.

Our eyes met for like half a second before I rolled mine and turned away. I wasn’t about to feed into his ego. No way.

But somehow, after an hour and a drink or two, I ended up wandering away from the fire. And ended up leaning against the passenger side of a black truck.

His truck.

I didn’t even realize until I turned and saw him walking toward me.

I ignored him and kept sipping from my cup, leaning right against the side of his truck out of pure spite.

He raised a brow. “You’re real comfortable with my ride all of a sudden.”

I gave him a fake sweet smile. “Didn’t realize this rust bucket was sacred ground.”

“You’re kinda leaning on her like you wanna be bent over it.”

I choked on my drink.

“Excuse me?” I blinked, coughing and laughing at the same time.

He grinned like he just won a prize. “What? You’re the one pressed up against her like that. Don’t blame me if my imagination’s active.”

“You’re actually disgusting,” I shot back, wiping my mouth

He snatched my drink and took a sip himself “cheap beer. Tastes good after you drank from it though.” He shot me grin

God, I hated him. I hated how good he looked with his sleeves rolled up and that backwards hat. But most of all, I hated that my thighs squeezed together just a little when he looked at me like that.

He leaned closer to me “you smell like 10 pounds of weed.” I say, locking eyes with him.

Rafe leaned in to whisper in my ear “why dont i make you smell like me.”

I turned my head fast, ready to snap—but somehow my face ended up inches from his. Our noses almost touched. My chest brushed his. His hands went to the truck behind me, caging me in.

My heart was racing. My palms were sweaty. And when he leaned in just a little more, I didn’t stop him.

Instead, I said, “You kiss me, and I swear I’ll slap you.”

He shot me a cocky smirk. “Worth it.”

And then he kissed me.

Rough, hot, like he was claiming something he wasn’t supposed to want. And god help me—I kissed him back. Right there against his truck like two idiots who hated each other just enough to make it interesting.

When we pulled away, both of us breathing hard, I blinked. “I still hate you.”

“Good,” he said, licking his lips. “I’d be bored if you didn’t.”