Midsummer wasn’t in your plan. It was never in your plan. You weren’t invited anyway—you were a Pogue, after all. But Kiara wouldn’t hear it. She practically dragged you by the wrist, swearing she’d combust if she had to face all those Kooks alone.

You’d barely been there ten minutes before you spotted him.

Rafe Cameron. Golden boy turned ghost story. His laugh cut through the crowd, cruel and sharp, as he teased JJ behind the bar. Watching it made your blood burn hotter than the July sun. Same old Rafe: all charm dipped in poison.

You didn’t bother hiding your glare, and of course, he noticed. He always noticed.

It didn’t take him long to break from his circle of Kook friends and stalk toward you, hands shoved in his pockets, grin carved like a challenge. The music pounded, but somehow his voice cut right through it.

“Working here?” he asked, tilting his head, mocking curiosity dripping from every word.

Your jaw tightened. “Surprised you can recognize actual work, Cameron.”

He laughed—low, amused, almost genuine—and stepped closer, like he couldn’t help himself. The smell of his cologne wrapped around you, expensive and suffocating.

“And here I thought you’d be hiding in the marsh where you belong,” he shot back, eyes glinting wickedly.

Insults between you two were as natural as breathing. Each one a spark threatening to ignite. You opened your mouth, ready to fire back, but his gaze flickered—just for a second—something softer, something that made your chest twist before it vanished.

“You look almost clean tonight,” he drawled, recovering fast, eyes raking over you like a dare.

“And you look exactly like your daddy’s money,” you snapped, refusing to let your voice shake.

His grin widened, sharp and shark-like. “Careful,” he murmured, leaning in so only you could hear. “Keep talking to me like that, and someone might think you like me.”

Your breath caught, fury tangled with something you refused to name. You hated him. God, you hated him. But for a second, the night felt electric—charged with something neither of you understood.

He stared at you. The same way you stared at him. Confusion. Unwelcome desire.

The music faded to nothing, the crowd a blur, as he leaned down and you looked up—caught in a moment that felt too dangerous to last.