It started like every other reckless night we promised we wouldn’t have again. Just four of us—too much eyeliner, heels too high, drinks too fast. The club was loud, sweat in the air, bass under our skin. I remember spinning, laughing at nothing, yelling over music that didn’t matter. I was too far gone too soon. That giggly, stupid kind of drunk where everything is funny, and you forget to care.

My friends—God bless them—dragged us out before I made a scene. We searched up a quieter place. Something smaller. More shadows, less chaos. A bar just around the corner.

It smelled like wood and old stories, the lights low and golden. We ordered more drinks like we hadn’t had enough. My lipstick was half gone, and my jokes were getting worse, but somehow that just made us laugh harder. We were free. Loose. Floating.

Then we saw them. Four men—cops, still in uniform, drinking like it was their first breath after a long day. And they looked… too good. Like trouble dressed in navy and authority. One in particular. Blonde, sun-kissed skin, blue eyes like oceans I could drown in. Arms crossed, smirking. Rafe.

I don’t even remember thinking. I just walked over, like he had already called me with his eyes. My friends followed, quieter, holding their drinks like shields. I was talking nonsense, but he listened like every word meant something. He told me his name and I said it back too softly. Rafe. It tasted expensive on my tongue.

He sipped from my mojito and cringed. “Too sweet.” I laughed. “Guess I’m not your type then.” He didn’t answer, but the way he looked at me said everything.

I remember the way his eyes followed me when I licked the salt from my skin. The way his hand brushed my lower back—firm, possessive. We were playing with fire, and neither of us wanted to stop.

The rest? It’s blurred.

Elevator lights. His breath on my neck. Whispers I can’t remember, but the way he said my name lingers.

I woke up tangled in black satin sheets. The room glowed red. King-sized bed. No one beside me. Just the quiet hum of a new morning and the ghost of last night still clinging to my skin.

And then I saw it.

Behind glass—the uniform. His.

It hit me like a slow burn. I sat up, sore in all the right ways, my phone buzzing endlessly. I checked it.

99+ messages.

“Are you alive??” “Tell us EVERYTHING.” “You actually did it with a cop?!”

The name came back to me with a heartbeat. Rafe.

I heard the shower running. Steam curling into the room. And his voice—low, humming something soft. It felt so far from the chaos of last night. Calm. Almost… intimate.

I touched my lips. They still tingled. A memory, a mistake, or maybe the best decision I didn’t mean to make.

Whatever it was… It was unforgettable.