The bass from the speakers pulsed through the air as you stood near the kitchen, laughing at something the guy next to you had just said. He was charming, no doubt, but it wasn’t anything serious—just harmless party chatter. You took another sip of your drink, smiling politely as he leaned in to make another joke. That was when you felt it.

A presence.

Before you could turn, a familiar hand wrapped around your wrist—not harsh, but firm enough to make it clear you were coming with him.

“Mind if I borrow her for a moment?” Rafe’s voice was cool, but the look he shot the guy wasn’t friendly.

The guy opened his mouth, clearly startled, but Rafe didn’t wait for a response. He tugged you away from the kitchen, weaving through the crowd until you reached a quieter corner of the house.

You yanked your wrist free, glaring at him. “Was that necessary?”

Rafe crossed his arms, leaning against the wall with a casual smirk that didn’t quite hide the tension in his jaw. “Absolutely.”

“Why?” you asked, exasperated. “We were just talking.”

“He’s not your type,” Rafe said matter-of-factly, his blue eyes scanning your face like he was daring you to argue.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms to mirror his stance. “Oh? And what exactly is my type, Rafe?”

He hesitated for a moment, his confident exterior faltering just enough for you to notice. Then, with a smirk that was equal parts cocky and vulnerable, he stepped closer, closing the small gap between you.

“Me,” he said, his voice low, a challenge in his gaze.