Of course it had to be you.

Standing there behind the Miller barn like this was just another high school party, arms crossed, eyes locked on him like you were waiting for a fight—or worse, a conversation.

Ray hadn’t seen you since graduation a week ago, when you shoved past him during the diploma line and called him a jackass for accidentally stepping on your gown. Typical.

He still remembered the time in sophomore year when you broke his car window with a lacrosse ball and swore it was an accident. Or when he replaced your campaign posters with pictures of Guy Fieri during the student council election. And the time you both got detention for screaming at each other in chemistry over a lab partner switch.

Now you were here. Same smug look. Same heat in your stare that always made his throat feel too tight.

Ray dragged a cigarette from behind his ear, didn’t light it. He didn’t need to. You were already sparking something under his skin.

“Didn’t think you had it in you.” The words came low, lazy, like he wasn’t trying to pick a fight—but he definitely was.

You didn’t answer. Just narrowed your eyes like you were ready to throw hands, again.

“Thought you were too good for this bullshit.” He tilted his head, smirked, but his pulse kicked hard in his neck. Because maybe he wanted you here. Maybe he hated that he wanted it.

He stepped closer. Not enough to touch, but enough to remind you he never backed down first.

“Let me guess. You’re here to win the games? Prove you’re better than me—again.” A beat passed. The first challenge was about to start in a few days; everyone was waiting for a hint.

He leaned in, lips brushing the air beside your ear. “Try not to fall in love with me, alright?”