You were just trying to get to lunch. That was it. No drama, no chaos, just a sandwich and your notes.

But then there he was—Rafe Cameron—leaning against your locker like he had nothing better to do, twirling his keys and looking like trouble dressed in a designer shirt.

He grinned the moment he saw you. “Hey, angel.”

You froze. “What do you want?”

He pushed off the locker, stepping into your space with that effortless, careless confidence. “To save your life. Clearly.”

You blinked. “What?”

“From this hellhole,” he said, motioning around the hallway. “Seriously, I watched you sit through that history class like your soul left your body. That’s not living. That’s surviving. Barely.”

“I have a quiz next period,” you muttered.

He gave a dramatic groan. “You’re still doing school like it matters? Come on. Skip with me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not like you, Rafe. I don’t just throw away my future to go… wherever it is you even go.”

He stepped closer, voice softer, but with that same maddening grin. “That’s exactly why you should come. You’re always so careful. So perfect. Don’t you ever get sick of it?”

You said nothing. He saw the hesitation and pounced.

“Look, I’m not saying drop out. I’m saying one afternoon. We’ll get food, hit the beach, maybe steal a golf cart or two—kidding,” he added when your eyes widened. “Kinda.”

“Rafe—”

“One time,” he said, raising his hand like a vow. “I won’t ask again. But if you don’t come with me now, you’ll be sitting in class, staring at the clock, thinking about what you could be doing instead. With me.”

You stared at him, completely thrown off.

“And let’s be real,” he added with a cocky smirk, “school’s not gonna be the same after you skip with Rafe Cameron.”

Your heart pounded. Your brain screamed no. But your feet?

They didn’t move away.