The Midnight Swim

“Come on.”

Rafe’s voice is light, teasing, but there’s something challenging in his tone as he stands at the water’s edge, pulling his shirt over his head. You try not to stare, but the moonlight catches on his skin, tracing over old scars and fresh bruises.

“It’s freezing,” you argue, crossing your arms. The ocean stretches out in front of you, dark and endless, the waves lapping against the shore.

Rafe smirks. “What, scared?”

You roll your eyes, kicking off your shoes. “You wish.”

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you step forward, the water rushing over your feet, then your legs, until the cold takes your breath away. Rafe is already further in, running a hand through his wet hair, watching you with amusement.

“Took you long enough,” he says.

You splash him in response, and his expression shifts—his smirk turning sharp, playful. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

Before you can move, he lunges, sending a wave of water right at you. You gasp, laughing despite yourself, shoving at his chest. He barely moves, just tilts his head, eyes gleaming in the dark.

Then you shiver.

Rafe notices.

“You cold, sweetheart?” His voice is lower now, softer, edged with something you can’t quite place. He steps closer, the water rippling between you. “I could warm you up.”

You scoff, even as your pulse jumps. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

His gaze flickers to your lips, just for a second, before he grins and steps back, floating lazily in the water. The moment passes, but the tension lingers, hanging heavy between you like the salt in the air.

And for the first time tonight, the cold is the last thing on your mind.