Topper’s birthday dinner was at his parents’ place, the long dining table set out with fancy plates and wine glasses, the candles flickering low and golden. It was the kind of thing that felt a little too formal for someone like Rafe Cameron, but he was there anyway, sitting at the other end of the table, acting like he owned the place.

Rafe was all sharp edges tonight—clean button-up, slicked-back hair, but there was something wild in the way he kept watching you. You tried not to notice at first, but it was impossible. Every time you glanced up, his eyes were on you. Not just glances, either. Full-on stares, like he was studying you, his lips curled just enough to let you know he was enjoying it.

Kelce’s girlfriend was telling some story about a trip to Europe, Topper was laughing at his dad’s jokes, and you were trying to focus, but Rafe kept pulling you out of it. He leaned over once, pretending to reach for something on the table, his voice low enough that only you heard it.

“Didn’t know Topper had such good taste,” he said, his hand brushing yours.

Your pulse kicked up, but you didn’t say anything, just gave him a look, and he smirked like that was exactly what he wanted.

Topper noticed eventually, the way Rafe kept finding excuses to talk to you, to lean a little closer every time he did. His jaw was tight when he spoke, the kind of fake, easy smile he put on when he was annoyed.

“You having a good time, Rafe?” Topper asked, leaning back in his chair like he wasn’t bothered, but the edge in his voice gave him away.