what would carl sagan do?

W E E K T W O // W E D N E S D A Y 7 : 5 8 A M

You woke with a boner pressed against your butt and a big, warm hand cupping your right boob.

WHAT THE—

Oh. Right. Rafe.

Last night. Yeah. Um...

Don't freak out. Don't freak out. Don't freak out.

DON'T FREAK OUT ABOUT RAFE CAMERON'S FUCKING BONER BEING PRESSED AGAINST YOUR FUCKING ASS, HOLY SHIT.

You inhaled quietly, eyes squeezed shut, and let out a shaky breath as your brain struggled to catch up with the situation you’d woken up in.

For a moment, you were completely disoriented, the only things grounding you being the warm body molded to your back and the small ball of fur your hand rested on.

Nacho.

You opened your eyes to near-darkness. You could barely make out the curled shape of your cat beside you, the faint patterns on the bedroom wall just visible in the low light.

A soft purr filled the quiet as your fingers instinctively combed through Nacho’s fur. The air smelled like freshly washed bedsheets and Rafe’s stupidly addicting scent.

This was so fucking weird and unreal and yet it felt like you'd been waiting your whole live for this. Okay, just half of it but still.

Fifth-grade You would’ve giggled, kicked her feet, and flushed hot at the idea of cuddling with Rafe in the same bed with no bra on. And she also would've given you the biggest side-eye of the century for whatever the hell you’d done last night.

Just brushing the memory of what went down in the main saloon made your adrenaline spike to the moon.

You.

Had.

Dry.

Humped.

A boy.

AND NOT JUST ANY BOY. NO. FUCKING RAFE.

Oh god, oh god, oh god. This was... it was... oh god.

WHY THE FUCK HAD YOU DONE THAT?!?!?? Which horny-ass demon had possessed you and whispered, Yes, girl, dry humping your crush while completely stoned out of your mind is an excellent idea?

Nah. Not a demon.

You.

And yet, it felt like a distant fever dream. Like you had been watching through foggy glasses (well, no shit, dude, you'd done edibles) but at the same time the memory was so clear and real that there was no doubt it really happened.

You could still feel the ghost of his touch on your body. The way his hands had grabbed and squeezed your ass, how he’d kneaded your breasts, filling the air with low groans and quiet whimpers. How his soft lips had met yours over and over again, and how he’d made you feel like a freaking cat in heat.

It was almost impossible to stay with one thought. Your head still felt slightly dizzy, images and half-formed moments flashing behind your eyelids whenever you let them fall shut again.

Too much had happened to properly process any of it.

The spa session. The lap sitting. The kiss and—

THE KISS.

I FUCKING KISSED HIM.

FIRST.

That was probably the boldest thing you’d ever done with a boy. Well, until the dry humping. But still. Especially with the boy currently behind you, still very much bricked up, his morning wood pressing into your lower back and making your stomach do something weird.

God, you'd kissed him on your own account.

TWICE.

Unreal. Unreal. Unreal. Unreal. Unreal.

Seriously, half a cookie had fried your brain enough to make a move on your years-long crush and—

He moved.

Oh. My. God.

A quiet groan slipped from his lips against your neck, his nose nudging your skin, his hand on your breast tightening as his boner shifted against your ass.

UM.

Heat rushed to your cheeks as your heart rate spiked, your body going rigid at the sudden movement.

You had no idea how to react.

Was he awake? Was he trying to initiate something? Did he know you were awake?

SHOULD I SAY SOMETHING?

WHY WAS THIS SO AWKWARD, HOLY FUCKING SHIT.

Okay, okay, okay, maybe you could just--

BZRRT. BZRRT. BZRRT. BZRRT.

Startled, your body froze completely, the remaining sleep evaporating in an instant. At the same time, Rafe withdrew his hand and pushed himself upright, causing Nacho to jump off the bed just as stunned.

"Shit, how early did you set your alarm?"

HIS VOICE.

Low and groggy, that sleepy rasp in his tone making the funny feeling in your stomach drop even lower and—OH FUCK.

It wasn’t your mom calling that made you freeze.

It was the time on your phone.

8:00 AM.

Within a second, you pushed yourself upright too, eyes adjusting to the cool glow of your screen as you accepted the call.

School had started fifteen minutes ago.

Shit.

“Morning, Mom,” you mumbled, very deliberately refusing to acknowledge how your nips were visible through your pajama top.

On the other end, you heard an engine start. “Morning, sweetie. Was your first period cancelled?”

Something like that.

"Uh... yeah." She handed you that lie on a delivery plate, so might as well take it. "Forgot to tell you yesterday. Sorry."

“Oh, it’s fine,” she said, though there was doubt in her voice. “I was just heading to a meeting and saw Rafe’s car still parked in the driveway. I was worried you two overslept.”

...

You grimaced, guilt tugging faintly at your chest. “No, yeah, thanks, Mom. We’re already getting ready.”

Rafe snorted, earning himself a soft punch to the shoulder. He muttered a quiet “Sorry” and leaned back against his pillow.

"Okay, honey." The sound of a blinker started ticking. "I have to go now. Text me when you're gone, so I can send Mary over to clean up the yacht. Gillian and Amara are coming over tonight. I need it prepped."

Panic bloomed in your chest at the thought of your housekeeper discovering… certain items hidden around the place.

You shook your head instinctively, even though she couldn’t see you. “Uh, no, no, it’s fine. Rafe and I are going to clean it after school.” You met his surprised look with a suppressed smile before continuing, “Our project stuff is still there.”

“I’ll tell Mary to be careful with your project,” your mom replied. “She’ll leave everything exactly how it is.”

Eugh, why was she so stubborn?

“She already has so much to do,” you argued, softly slapping Rafe’s hand as he impatiently fumbled with the sheets. “We’ll have it ready for your girls’ night by seven. Max.”

For a moment, just the engine of the car was audible. Then your mom sighed. "Six. And I want fresh sheets on the bed." After a beat, she added, "If needed."

A. W. K. W. A. R. D.

Oh god. She definitely thought you’d had sex in it. Kill me now.

"Uh, yeah, sure," you answered quickly before she found the comfort of asking questions about last night. "We gotta go now. See you later, love you, Mom."

"Love you too, baby."

With that, you hung up and exhaled heavily. Then you turned to Rafe, your heart suddenly pounding even faster. Somehow this whole... situation felt awkward as hell and you had no idea why.

“So my girl wants to see me again later,” he said with a chuckle, his gaze flicking to your chest before meeting your eyes again. “Already making use of our new upgrade, huh?”

This was weird.

You felt weird.

WHY DID YOU FEEL WEIRD?

Fuck.

“What’s wrong?” His tone shifted instantly as he sat up, the blanket pooling around his waist. “What did she say?”

You shook your head again, trying a smile but somehow you failed at making it genuine (WHAT WAS UP WITH YOU?). "No, she was just worried we overslept. Which, well, we did." The most awkward chuckle ever escaped your lips. "Didn't you set an alarm?"

A faint accusation swung in your tone and you cursed yourself for it. It wasn't his fault.

“I did,” Rafe shrugged. “Forgot to charge my phone. Must’ve died overnight.” He blinked, scratching his jaw. “Is that why you’re upset? Because we’re late?”

“I’m not upset,” you said quickly, hating how confusing you sounded even to yourself. “I just…”

Okay. Real talk. What the fuck was wrong with you? It certainly couldn't be the sleepover, because that had been fucking great.

"Was it..." He gestured vaguely between the two of you. "I mean do you remember what happened?"

You nodded immediately, eyes widening at the uncertainty in his voice. “Yes. Yes, of course. I remember everything. I just—” You cut yourself off, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know what’s up with me. I’m sorry. This isn’t about you.”

His brows furrowed. "You sure? Because it sure as hell seems like it."

Great. Now he was confused and probably pissed at you acting all mysterious when you had no clue yourself what was nagging at you.

Your phone buzzed again. Kelce's name flashed on it with a text notification. You could already imagine its content.

"I'm sure", you said, locking your phone before Rafe spotted his best friend texting you and start an argument. "Let's just get ready for school. I don't wanna get detention for missing a whole period."

Rafe studied you for a moment longer, jaw tight, before getting out of bed with a muttered “Fine.” His back was to you as he pulled on his clothes.

You couldn’t help but admire his broad upper body the moment his pajama shirt dropped to the floor. And yet, the tension in his shoulders didn’t go unnoticed.

Fuck. Dude. You’d pissed him off. And that, in turn, stirred some panicking minions awake.

Did you maybe actually regret—

“Was it my boner?” he suddenly asked, turning around, hair disheveled from pulling a fresh polo over his head.

You blinked, stunned. "What?"

“My fucking morning wood,” Rafe clarified with a flick of his hand toward his crotch, frustrated, whether with you or himself, you couldn’t quite tell. “I can’t control that, okay. I—”

You shook your head quickly, cheeks burning. “I know! No. I—no, it’s not that.”

"You pissed I had my hand your chest?"

"Uh, no, I believe I agreed to that last night, didn't I?"

Rafe grimaced. "Is that a question or an answer?"

He grew more restless by the second, and your own anxiety rose with it. The not knowing—why this was even happening—made everything worse.

“An answer, Rafe. Look, I don’t—”

"Do you regret last night?"

There it was.

Blunt. Bare. No room to dodge it.

For the tiniest second, you hesitated.

It wasn’t even a thought, really, more like your body stalling before your mouth could catch up. Your chest felt tight all of a sudden, your heartbeat loud in your ears. Then you shook your head. Quick. Almost too quick. "No! I don't. Of course I don't."

Rafe searched your face like he was trying to read something written between your expressions. Something you apparently weren’t saying out loud.

His jaw tightened. "You do."

"I just said I don't." You frowned, a sharp sting blooming in your chest. "Listen, okay, I--"

"Shit, I knew it," he cut you off, a flicker of anger and hurt crossing his features. He ran a hand over his face with an irritated smile, gesturing toward you with his other. "That's why I fucking told you not to do any freaky shit with your mind all gone."

The sharpness in his tone made you wince. For a second, you genuinely didn’t know how to respond, because you’d thought you’d left this version of Rafe behind days ago. But here he was again: angry, frustrated, cutting you off mid-explanation.

And, honestly, this reaction kinda... scared you.

Not in a he’s-going-to-hurt-me way. No. It was the fear—maybe the understanding—that Rafe Cameron always bared his teeth eventually. No matter who stood in front of him.

You frowned and tapped your temples with your fingertips. “My mind wasn’t all gone. I was very much present the whole time. I was high, yes, but I made that decision fully conscious.” You lifted your shoulders, gesturing at him, irritation slipping through. “No idea why you’re being so irritable right now, but I—”

“I’m not irritable,” he snapped, his belt clicking shut with a harsh clink.

"You are," you countered, his irritation flaring up your own, "and I'd highly appreciate it if you didn't interrupt me every two seconds."

A muscle jumped in his jaw. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed back his frustration. He exhaled heavily, defiance written all over his posture. “Right. We should go. Don’t want you getting detention.”

"Okay, stop." You stood, pushing off the blanket, as he was about to head to the door. You shook your head, both annoyance and softness in your voice. "Rafe, what's going on?"

He turned immediately, tapping his chest with his fingers. “What’s going on?! I’m trying real fucking hard to be the good guy here and not fuck this friendship up. Then you go push me into grinding my cock, and now you’re being all weird and secretive and expect me to believe it’s not because of me.”

You paused.

He was joking right?

"I 'pushed' you into what happened?" Your whole face was twisted into disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"You practically begged me to rail you, so yeah."

The words hit you like a punch. The anger drained out of you instantly, replaced by hurt and pure confusion. “So you’re saying I what… that I forced you?”

Rafe grimaced, eyes widening. His hands clenched, unclenched. Then he dragged a hand over his face, exhaling hard.

“No. Fuck. Shit. Of course not.” He squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shit, I just…”

You stared at him, waiting for an apology, an explanation, anything. You knew Rafe was awful at communicating. But right now, you couldn’t bring yourself to be understanding when he’d basically implied what happened was one-sided.

Ninety-seven percent sure he hadn’t meant it like that. Still, that was a low blow.

“You’re being a real asshole right now,” you said, hurt and anger tangling in your voice.

Rafe's eyes snapped open. For a moment, you feared he'd lash out at you when you spotted the fury flicker in his gaze but instead his shoulders slumped and he nodded, defeated. "I know, I'm sorry."

He sat down on the edge of the bed, turning his back to you again. He rested his elbows on his knees. “Fuck. It’s just… the way you’re acting makes me feel like I did something wrong. Like you regret last night but you’re too scared to say it.”

There you had your answer, laid out pretty clearly.

The heaviness lifted off your chest at the revelation, though it stung deeply how you had unintentionally pushed him away.

You went around the bed to sit down beside him, head tilted forward to seek his gaze.

"Rafe," you said softly, quieter this time. "You did nothing wrong."

Your heart clenched at the sight of his trembling fingers, his eyes glossy. “Then why does it feel like I did?”

“Because you’re right. I am being weird.” You exhaled, frustrated. “But I swear on my life, it’s not because of you. And I don’t regret what we did. Not even a little. This is just…”

Just what? What the fuck was your fucking problem?

"It's me," you realized, bitterly. "My head. But the problem is that I don't know what's wrong either. It's like there's this vibe that's off inside me but no clear thought or feeling attached to it."

You debated reaching out for his hand but your own inner turmoil held you back. "But please believe me that it's nothing that you did or said that caused whatever's going on inside me."

Rafe studied your face for a moment, perhaps searching for a lie in your words. Then his gaze dropped to his fidgeting fingers, one hand playing with his bracelet. "How can you be so sure? It wouldn't be the first time I triggered your minions."

"Because my gut tells me so." The words came instantly. And you knew they were true.

And Rafe possibly believed the same. His pretty eyes snapped up to yours, the blues tainted in a deep softness that made you wanna kiss him all over again.

Maybe you would've if the courage of last night hadn't left you feeling like an awkward little gremlin.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re using my tactic.”

Your shoulders relaxed. You smiled back. “Yeah. It’s surprisingly helpful.”

"'Surprisingly'?" He scoffed, offended in the most unserious way. "Why do you think I don’t overthink shit, huh?" He tapped his temples dramatically.

"Because your brain lacks thinking?" you blurted, and immediately burst into a laugh at the way his hands dropped, his face deadpan.

His eyes narrowed. "You think this shit’s funny? Throwing your fuckass minions at me, making me question whether I fucked up?"

Your laugh died in your throat, guilt and confusion gnawing at your chest. "What? No, I--"

You stopped when you caught the mischief glinting in his eyes. That stupid grin.

"You're such an asshole," you said, nudging him away at his shoulder with an expression that was half frown, half suppressed smile.

He caught your wrist and tugged you closer.

“Call me ‘asshole’ one more time,” he murmured, breath minty from last night’s toothpaste, eyes flicking to your lips, “and your cheeky little ass is taking the bus to school.”

Oh, how easy it would be to close the distance and meet his beautiful lips in another heated kiss but nothing about this situation or you was easy, so the only response you managed was a flustered chuckle, followed by a sheepish, "My deepest apologies, Mr Cameron."

Bruh.

You made this boy come in his pants last night, and now you couldn’t even flirt back properly.

But Rafe didn't mind. He just let out a sweet little chuckle, his eyes softening while his hands reached out and pulled you to your feet.

For a moment, neither of you let go.

“Are you really sure your minions aren’t spiraling because of me?” His eyes popped vividly against his aquamarine polo.

You nodded, this time, a warm smile appearing on your lips. "I'm sure." Gently, you gave his hands a soft squeeze, your eyes not leaving his. "I enjoyed our sleepover very much and I think if you were the reason for my weird demeanor, I'd just... know. But this, whatever it is, it's got something to do with me. I'm just not sure what it is."

“Okay.” His thumbs brushed over your knuckles, making your heart jump. “When you figure it out, let me know. I’ll beat the shit out of the fucker in your head pressing random buttons.”

You laughed, loud and genuine. Just this sentence alone almost managed to ease all the tension and funny feelings in your chest.

"I will," you said, melting under his gaze.

Eventually, Rafe let go of your fingers, and gave your butt a soft pat instead. "Alright, then, c'mon, beautiful. I wouldn't mind detention with you but my dad would actually kill me if I missed that dinner because of that"

Oh.

Fuck.

Ward Cameron. His girlfriend-meet-and-evaluate dinner. The is-my-son-finally-serious dinner. The possibly-deciding-a-business-deal dinner.

Ha. Yeah. That one.

You'd totally blocked out the upcoming event and now it was looming right above you like a dark, heavy cloud threatening to burst open any moment, and not even an umbrella could save you from the floods of water crashing down on you.

And considering Ward Cameron would be present, there was a chance you might even drown.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

Without waiting for their response, you locked your phone with a sigh and let it slip back into your bag.

You knew, of course, that all of these girlies meant well—each in their own way (side-eye toward Kie)—but you were slowly starting to understand why Rafe found them annoying.

Which was rude because they didn't annoy you. No, that was the wrong term. It was more like... well... okay maybe they were a teeny tiny bit annoying with their constant need for updates and trambling around on Rafe.

Sure, that boy wasn't a saint but he also wasn't some mean-ass fuckboy who just wanted to rail you and drop you right after.

HAHAHHAHA RIGHT??????

And somehow, you found Cara’s and Molly’s curiosity less exhausting than the others’.

Maybe the one-year age gap actually made a difference. Or maybe it was the fact that you’d known Sarah, Kie, and Cleo for, like, four days max, and your nervous system tensed up every time they got too nosy.

“Seriously, how the fuck do you handle these rats?” Rafe muttered, one hand gesturing toward the buzzing phone in your bag, the other gripping the steering wheel of his Benz. “Just knowing they’re snooping again pisses me off.”

You chuckled. “Then you’d better brace yourself for lunch. Cara’s gonna play Sherlock Holmes.”

"Absolutely not." A sharp scoff left his lips as he raised his brows and tapped his chest. "The moment one of them opens their mouth about last night, I'm out."

“Out?” An amused smile tugged at your lips. “You? Avoiding confrontation? Who are you—Gandhi?”

Rafe shot you a nasty side-eye and snorted. “Nah. Gandhi would have a cardiac arrest if he knew what pacifistic shit I’d love to be doing with you right now.”

GOOD SIR?

Your lips pressed together in a flustered smile, ears burning as your brain very helpfully supplied visuals you absolutely did not need right now.

“Can’t believe you’re still shy after grinding on my cock last night,” Rafe remarked with a boyish chuckle. “Makes me wanna pull over and repeat that shit.”

ENOUGH.

A shaky exhale slipped past your lips and you nodded slowly, suddenly hyperaware of the heat radiating off your skin, like it might actually give you away. You smiled sheepishly, eyes flicking anywhere but him. “Or maybe we just… try not to arrive any later at school. Andrade’s gonna kill me.”

“We’re already late. Ten more minutes won’t hurt my baby,” he murmured, eyes still on the road, a stupidly satisfied grin playing on his mouth.

Jesus fucking Christ, this morning, he was really milking the flirting.

Not that you were complaining.

Being wanted by Rafe felt insanely good—easily one of the best feelings on earth, right after making him come in his pants beneath you, hearing him whimper and fall apart—but it also stirred something restless inside you. Something tight and uncomfortable, made worse by how awkward and sheepish you suddenly felt in your own skin.

Okay. Be real.

You’d always been awkward. His comments had always knocked the air out of you. But this felt different. This wasn’t just flustered nerves or butterflies.

This was something else.

A strange, buzzing discomfort crept through your body, like your nerves were overstimulated, vibrating just under your skin. Your chest felt tight, your shoulders tense without you meaning to, and there was this prickly warmth crawling up your spine that made you want to shrink and laugh and crawl out of yourself all at once whenever you thought of last night.

Which was… stupid. Honestly.

Because last night should’ve fixed this. Dry-humping a guy like that—him—should’ve flipped some internal switch from awkward to chill. You’d been bold. Way bolder than your usual self. And you hadn’t hated it. You’d actually loved it.

So why did your body wake up today acting like you'd tripped down the stairs in front of the whole school?

It wasn’t fear. And it wasn’t regret either.

It was more like this stupid, fizzy awareness under your skin. Nerves buzzing, cheeks heating up whenever your brain replayed certain moments a little too vividly. Like, wow. Okay. You really did that. You really put yourself out there like that.

And suddenly that confidence from last night felt… embarrassing? Not bad-embarrassing. Just very oh god, that was me.

And that was the confusing part. Because Rafe hadn’t changed. He was still easy, still respectful, still stupidly charming. If anything, he’d done everything right.

So this weird self-conscious spiral clearly wasn’t about him.

It was about you.

About realizing—maybe just now—how exposed you’d actually been. How real it suddenly felt. And instead of feeling more relaxed like you’d expected, your brain was stuck somewhere between Never felt so hot about myself and I made a complete fool of myself.

But for some reason, you didn't dare speak it out loud.

Not now. Not after he’d already been so reactive earlier, clearly afraid you regretted things. He’d even shown signs of overthinking himself, and the last thing you wanted was to shove him into a spiral of his own by bringing up your self-consciousness.

Knowing Rafe, he'd either get irritated, trying to shut your own spiraling down in his passive-aggressive way or, and this was the option you feared the most, he'd fall into one of his self-deprecating moments in which his anger and frustration was directed inward.

And you sure as hell didn't wanna be the reason for Rafe questioning or second-guessing himself for a feeling that was purely caused by your own head.

Nope. This was a you problem.

And you weren’t going to burden him with it.

No time for any big talk anyway because his Benz was already rolling into the parking lot of the Kildare Academy. Starting any heavy topic now before class would mess with you both.

So all you did was set up hanging out with him after school to clean up your mom's yacht as promised, and possibly talk about your inner turmoil. Plus, Rafe had to pick up all his gifts he'd left behind in the rush this morning.

And did you weirdly, painfully, catastrophically reject a kiss by turning it into a hug when he helped you out of the passenger seat, holding your hand, gazing into your eyes with those deep blue eyes of his, leaning in while his other hand cradled your neck?

YOU DID.

And did he look startled—utterly confused—when you pulled away to half-squeeze, half-shake his hand like a FUCKING BUSINESSWOMAN FINALIZING A TRANSACTION—

JESUS HOLY FUCKING SHIT WHAT THE FUCK WAS WRONG WITH YOU?!?!??

GOD.

FUCKING SHIT.

The worst part? He didn't stop you when you gave him an awkward goodbye with that stupid cringe-ass smile of yours. He didn't look mad, angry or upset.

No, this poor boy just looked after you, sheer confusion written on his face while he watched you go, probably wondering what he did wrong that made you act like the most stupid bitch alive.

FUCK.

The moment you stepped into the main building, you hurried toward your English class, trying to drown out the guilt and deep embarrassment churning in your stomach.

Your hand was already on the door handle, fingers curling around the cold metal—

Then you froze.

You had to fix this.

At the very least, you owed him an apology for whatever the hell that awkward goodbye had been. And surely Mrs. Andrade wouldn’t appreciate you texting in the class you’d already arrived late to.

So…

There.

Without giving it much thought (ha, yeah, sure), you let your phone slip back into your bag and knocked on the wooden door.

"Yes, please?" Mrs. Andrade's voice called out.

Okay. You got this. You got this. Just open the door and smile shyly. Yes, yes, like that. Try to ignore the staring, judging eyes of the fifteen students already seated inside.

Andrade raised a critical brow, glancing at her watch before lifting her gaze back to you. “Almost fifty minutes late, Miss Y/L/N. Care to explain why you missed an entire period?”

I overslept because I didn’t set an alarm since I was completely engulfed in the warmth and comfort of a boy I just kind of rejected after my first intimate experience with him. Oh, and I might still be a little dizzy from an edible.

“There was an emergency with our cat, and we weren’t sure if we needed to drive to the vet,” you said instead, delivering what was quite possibly the most unnecessary lie in existence. "I'm very sorry for being late. It won't happen again."

At least you owned the cat in question, so it wasn't that far from being a made up scenario. Plus, Andrade knew of Nacho and, to your luck, she was a cat lady herself--owning three adopted balls of fur--so the way her harsh expression softened slightly was almost expected.

She nodded stiffly, a flicker of understanding passing between you. “Very well. I’ll leave it at a warning.” She gestured toward the third row. “Take your seat. We were just going over the premise of The Handmaid’s Tale.”

You nodded gratefully, adjusted the strap of your bag, and hurried to your seat without meeting anyone’s amused or irritated gaze on the way.

Not even Kelce's.

He was seated at a single table right beside you today, and you could practically feel his eyes burning into your side. His stupidly bright grin was visible even in your peripheral vision.

Eugh, two things.

You’d forgotten to answer his earlier check-in text and you’d shoved away the inconvenient fact that you’d have to face all of them at lunch with Rafe, meaning yet another awkward interaction was inevitable.

But thank God Kelce didn’t try to talk to you. That spared you a second warning from Mrs. Andrade for disrupting class, saved you from repeating yourself, and—more importantly—kept you from getting dragged into a conversation about your first sexual experience with a boy.

Which, yes, you knew that both Kelce and Topper were aware of what went down last night as Rafe had admitted. So you two were even, considering you also told the girls a few details.

The rest of the period dragged on like hell.

Your fingers kept fidgeting with your bracelet, Andrade’s voice fading into background noise as you fought the urge to pull out your phone and check for a message from Rafe.

The absence of a notification buzz created its own kind of buzzing under your skin. Nerves prickling uncomfortably, your thoughts jumping from one to the next without ever settling.

At least the faint fog in your head cleared up over the passing of the period and you could finally think clearly again. Or well, in your case that wasn't a blessing, it was the biggest curse someone could throw upon you.

Because now there was nothing stopping the full awareness of what the fuck had happened last night from crashing down on you.

Your first real contact with sex.

And that—holy fucking shit—sent an unnervingly deep pull through your chest, curling down into your stomach so sharply you almost excused yourself to the restroom, convinced you might actually puke.

The only thing that saved you was the sharp ring of the bell, signaling the end of the period and the start of first break.

The second Mrs. Andrade dismissed the class, you fished your phone out frantically and—

—felt a deep drop in your stomach.

No notifications. Nothing.

Except for Cacty, reminding you that neither of you had watered it today.

Before confusion, disappointment, and hurt could fully sink their teeth into you, you typed out a few quick messages, hoping—stupidly—that Rafe would answer now.

He'd probably avoided using his phone as well, right? RIGHT???

Oh, but wait.

Sent.

That meant your messages hadn’t even delivered.

Oh god.

OH GOD OH GOD OH--

"Ayyy, Mrs. Cameron, how was your date night?"

Kelce’s voice cut straight through your internal free fall as he appeared beside you, flashing the same huge, flashy grin. “Heard you two lovebirds had fun.”

Step one: dig yourself a hole. Step two: crawl into it and perish under the weight of your own embarrassment.

Or, well, alternative route, just smile politely and say, “Kelce, hey. Yeah, I enjoyed the time with him.”

Let’s leave out the part where Rafe might currently think you regretted last night and possibly shut off his phone to shut you out.

Girl, no, stop, this was freaking insane thinking.

“Glad to hear it,” Kelce said with a chuckle, adjusting the strap of his backpack to which your eyes just so happened to notice the flex of his crazy bicep (damn). “He’s been quiet all morning though. Didn’t answer any of my texts. Everything alright with him?”

Yeah, about that…

"Uh, yeah, I mean we were in a hurry, so I guess he didn't really had the time to check his notifications." Careful, pinocchio, one more lie today and your nose is gonna poke someone's eye out.

Although, you had stayed pretty close to the truth, sooo...

Kelce nodded, grinning. "Ay, busy with his girl. Figured that much. Guess that's why you didn't bother answering either."

"I wouldn't say I didn't bother," you said, falling into step with him as he signaled to dip with a tilt of his head, "I just--"

“Nah, all good,” he cut in easily, waving it off. “No need to justify yourself. You two were busy. Easy as that.”

And weirdly enough, the fact that Kelce had been left on read by you and didn’t demand an explanation felt… refreshing.

Most people got butthurt over that kind of thing—you weren’t innocent either—but this was just another quiet confirmation that he and Molly were a perfect match. She was always sweet and understanding too, a stark contrast to Cara and Rafe.

Because let’s be real: if you ever left him on read without an explanation, his dramatic ass would absolutely go crazy.

Which, coincidentally, you now got to experience from the other side.

Cara, Molly, and Topper were already seated at a round table by the massive windows. Autumn sunlight spilled across the tabletop, warm and soft, completely at odds with the pit forming in your stomach.

You squinted slightly, half listening, half scanning the room for Rafe.

Nothing.

Topper, who’d had class with him earlier, shrugged. “He seemed in a hurry. Told me not to wait for him ‘cause he had some shit to take care of. Didn’t say what.”

“Ruthie?” Cara suggested, swallowing a bite of chickpea lasagna.

Molly tilted her head, freckles scrunching as she frowned. “But she’s sick all week, isn’t she? Seems unlikely Rafe would skip school for whatever they’ve got going on.”

You poked the food on your plate with a frown. Anger, fear and worry warred up inside you at the mention of that bitch's name.

The deal. The blackmail. The video.

You’d shoved all of it away during the sleepover but now that you were back in real life, surrounded by lockers and schedules and drama, it came rushing back.

The coke video still needed to be deleted from Ruthie's stash and because it seemed highly unlikely this would happen before the Gloaming, aka her deadline, Ward needed to be convinced to let Rafe take over the deal. That would give you two a temporal buffer to think of a strategy to get rid of Ruthie's leverage.

Emphasis on "you two".

Because you and Rafe were supposed to be a duo, to work on this task together. As a team. But the small chance he might've gone off to handle this himself without you, without even talking to you beforehand, that didn't just sting, it felt like--

"Helloooo, earth to Y/n."

You blinked, startled, your fork freezing mid-air as you looked up to see Cara waving a hand in front of your face.

Fuck.

Rafe’s absence wasn’t just triggering worst-case scenarios, it was pulling you deeper into your own head altogether.

Usually, he grounded you with a simple touch, playing with your bracelet or just making you feel safe and secure through his presence or—

I'm doing it again, shit.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, offering an apologetic smile, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck at feeling everyone's gaze on you. “Did you say something?”

Cara nodded, amused, pointing her fork at you. “Yeah. I said you two need to stop playing detectives and just tell us what Ruthie wants from Rafe.”

Uh...

"Cara," Molly threw her a calm but firm glance.

But Cara only shrugged. “What? The guy’s clearly in trouble, and not even his girlfriend knows what’s going on. Or do you?” She narrowed her eyes playfully. “And are you just protecting your man?”

His romantic interest, not his girlfriend, your brain corrected for absolutely no reason whatsoever because this whole thing was pretend, except it wasn’t, except it kind of was, and—

I'M DOING IT AGAIN HELP.

“Rafe didn’t want to share whatever’s going on with Ruthie during movie night,” Molly said evenly. “We shouldn’t pressure Y/n into telling us something he wants to keep private.”

Thank you.

Cara sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. “I know, I know. I just—this feels big.” Her gaze softened as it met yours, years of knowing you written all over her expression. “I’m worried whatever he’s tangled up in is gonna backfire on you. That bitch loves ruining people and relationships. I don’t want my girlie becoming her next target.”

Me neither, trust me.

But before you could appreciate her concern, Kelce beat you to it by lifting the questionable shadow looming over the table.

“Nah, don’t worry too much about Rafe,” he said, mouth half full of beef lasagna. “Dude’s probably just off dealing. Wouldn’t be the first time he ditched break for that.”

Dealing?

The word hit like a slap.

That... shit. Somewhere between the late nights, the soft moments, the plotting against Ruthie, and whatever you and Rafe were becoming, you’d shoved that part of him out of focus.

He didn't just snort that shit, no, he was also straight up selling it to other teens so they could use it too.

The first and only time you kind of experience this side of him was during Kelce's party last week and you would never forget how badly he'd treated you there. Dropped you to go deal, leaving you alone at this massive gathering, and was acting like a dick afterward.

So yeah, your brain conveniently forgetting that he was a freaking dealer wasn’t exactly shocking.

And now, Kelce was claiming Rafe didn't just deal outside of school as some kind of weird-ass hobby, nah, that stupid boy was also selling that shit on school grounds during school hours while there was already existing a special kind of video of him consuming that shit and now he was risking his whole freaking future by--

GRAAHHHHHH. Stupid stupid stupid. He's so fucking stupid.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” you said, your appetite evaporating.

Kelce faltered. “Shit. You didn’t know?”

“I did,” you said slowly. “I just didn’t think he’d... y'know, do it during school.”

"Oh geez," Molly said, raising her brows worried. "If he gets caught it's over for him."

Topper scoffed, shaking his head. The bruise beneath his eye—courtesy of Rafe—had faded into a dull blue. “He knows. He’s just too stupid and stubborn to stop this crap.”

Cara eyed her food mumbling, "Why is that kindaaaa..."

No. Absolutely not. Nothing hot about torching your future for quick cash.

"Yeah, we told him shit's not worth it," Kelce said, echoing your thoughts, "but that dude just doesn't listen. Not even sure why he's doing it. Not like his dad's broke."

The only reason you could come up with was Barry having leverage against Rafe but somehow you also believed Rafe just loved the thrill of it.

“And this… isn’t his first time, you said.” You kept your eyes on Kelce, disbelief and restrained anger threading your voice. “Doing this during school hours, I mean.”

He shook his head slightly as he swallowed his bite. “Nah. Doesn’t happen often. Even Rafe’s not that reckless. But sometimes, when he doesn’t flip all the white in time, he does last-minute deals at school. Charges double, though. Guess that’s his way of justifying it.”

That implied Rafe indeed was bound to some kind of deadline he had to meet. And that again meant Barry had him in his grasp otherwise Rafe wouldn't bother playing by the rules.

And now you weren't sure which one was worse: Rafe ignoring and ditching your shared lunch because he was hurt and angered by your earlier rejection, or him ignoring and ditching lunch for reckless drug dealing because he was in a different kind of trouble...

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

You stared at the little Sent again before exhaling sharply, and headed into your math classroom.

Alone.

With tense muscles and buzzing nerves you flopped onto a seat at the far back of the room and felt somehow helpless and honestly kind of insane and psycho for even being so pushy and nosy.

Especially because you sounded kinda passive aggressive in your texts and now you felt bad, crazy, worried, frustrated, angry and confused (and probably some more emotions).

Gosh, you didn't wanna be one of those controlling, obsessive girlfriends who always needed to know what their boyfriends were up to at any times. That would mean you were A: too insecure or B: you didn't trust him, or well, C: both.

Let's add D: I'm not actually his girlfriend and maybe my feelings and thoughts are all over the place due to my first intimate experience, so I'm in horrible need of reassurance and positive feedback otherwise my anxiety spikes and I get trust issues and I spiral hard and deep and lose my mind over simple normal human behavior but DRUG DEALING ISN'T A NORMAL BEHAVIOR AND AHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

You clenched your teeth, frustration clawing inside out. And you had no idea what was going on.

NONE.

Since this fucking morning you'd been off. He'd been off. But not actually 'cause he was just acting weird because you were acting weird AND EVERYTHING WAS WEIRD AND WHY AM I GOING CRAZY GOD FUCKING SHIT, I JUST--

"Adequate." Mrs Richman's voice pulled you out of your #mentallyinsane spiral as she handed you the math test from Monday.

You clutched the paper in your hand, eyes darting to the red circle with the C+ inside of it. A spark of joy glimmered inside your inner turmoil.

Adequate indeed.

Okay, okay. I need to calm down. Everything's fine. I'm just overthinking this situation and stressing out to the max.

You took a quiet inhale, setting the test neatly down onto your desk, and tried pushing out the toxic thoughts with your exhale.

I’m not dependent on his behavior. I don’t need constant reassurance to be okay. I cannot control everything.

You winced internally. You sounded like a motivational poster.

My gut tells me Rafe has a good reason for not answering my texts. Like, that guy always tries to be in contact with me, so either he freaking lost his phone or it's dead.

Wait.

Oh.

My.

God.

I'm such a stupid idiot.

You almost burst out laughing at this simple answer.

Of course his phone was fucking dead, he'd said it himself this very morning. That's why you two had been late for school and that's why it always showed "Sent". The messages simply just couldn't reach his end.

Or he has his phone shut off and deliberately ignores me hahahhaha.

Seriously, why didn't it click immediately. Like, why did you just straight up jump to the worst fucking conclusion in existence?

Because brain.

Yeah. Your great, stupid brain that shut out common sense to spread stupid fucking shit inside you to the point you got nauseous.

Yeah. Maybe therapy was in your future.

The aftermath of last night had just left you in such a confusing state of mind about yourself that somehow you just assumed he'd shut you out after that awkward kinda-rejection-goodbye earlier.

Realistically, if Rafe had been upset, he wouldn’t have gone quiet. He would’ve called you out immediately. Teased you. Pressed you. Tried to fix it. Not disappear.

It's okay, girl, you've known that guy for what, a little more than a week, you're still learning his behavioral patterns.

Alright, so the situation at hand was probably this:

Rafe was either feeling sick and went home; had to take a huge shit that cost him the whole lunch break and felt too embarrassed to tell Topper; or he was dealing coke like his best friend of ten-plus years assumed. And he couldn’t respond because his phone was dead. And everything was okay. He wasn’t an absolute wreck after your rejection and didn’t go cry at home. And he’d be at your mom’s yacht at 2 PM like you’d discussed in the car earlier.

Only that he did, in fact, not turn up at 2 PM at your mom’s yacht like you’d agreed upon.

And he also didn’t arrive in the twenty minutes after.

So you just sat there, on the outside couch of the main deck, like some stupid girl that had been ghosted, knowing damn well he wouldn't do that to you.

And that fact made the worries inside you shift a gear up. Because why would Rafe still not answer you, more than an hour after school had finished, and not show up for your promised hangout if nothing had happened?

You swallowed down thoughts about a car accident. Some different kind of emergency. Some teacher having caught Rafe dealing coke. Ruthie locking him in her basement.

But the worst thought of all was him falling back into doing coke.

Maybe he’d done a line in one of the school bathrooms because some idiot frat guy hyped him up. Maybe two. Maybe three. Maybe he was still with some asshole—

Maybe I should just shut the fuck up and stop being crazy, how about that?

So instead of going deeper into the big question of Rafe's whereabouts, you just decided to call him.

But the moment the call didn't even connect, your heart dropped.

Anxiously, you typed two more messages before locking your phone again, and let your head fall back against the couch’s headrest.

So what now?

He was twenty minutes late. You had a whole yacht to clean. You needed to finish your project by tomorrow. And you still felt this desperate need to talk to him about last night.

You didn’t regret it—you knew that—but something was off. This morning had been weird. Stressful. There was something sitting heavy in your chest, demanding to be unpacked with him.

Fuck it.

Waiting was only going to murder your brain. You unlocked your phone again and texted the one person who might actually know where Rafe was right now.

Al-right.

That was bad.

And honestly, your frustration started evolving into anger. Because he knew damn well how easily your brain spiraled. How quickly you started doubting yourself and your relationships because of that. So a little effort would’ve been nice.

He had a fucking iPhone. Half the school owned Apple products. Was it really that hard to borrow a charger and send one quick message?

And even if he wasn’t at school anymore—even if he was at some stupid frat boy’s place getting high—let’s be real, those idiots definitely owned iPhones too. So why the hell wasn’t he texting back when—

I need to calm down.

Everything's fine. You're not dependent on his replies.

If he doesn’t show up. If he doesn’t help finish the project. If he doesn’t have a damn good excuse for ditching you, then you’ll hand it in alone, and he can happily enjoy his F.

You exhaled sharply.

I'm crazy. I'm fucking tweaking over a boy I've been fake dating for two days.

Okay, nope.

One last desperate option because texting Barry and dragging Rafe's plug into your relationship was beyond insane. So you turned to the sister he loved the most.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and let your phone drop onto the couch beside you. It was best to leave it at that with Sarah.

Her almost calling Ward and possibly alerting him? Nope, absolutely not. Rafe would actually kill you if his father got involved in anything. Especially just hours before the dinner with the Camerons.

Pushing his sister any further wasn’t worth it. You appreciated her trying to help, but the last thing you wanted was to make things worse between you and Rafe.

Okay. So...

No soul knew where Rafe was and he wasn't answering any texts or calls.

If there’d been an accident, his family would’ve been notified by now. Which meant whatever he was doing had apparently taken priority over cleaning the yacht or finishing a project that actually mattered.

Getting stood up by your fake boyfriend felt like absolute shit. But there was no point in spiraling over it. You’d exhausted every option that didn’t make you look like a completely psycho girlfriend.

Fine. I’ll do it myself.

The next twenty minutes were spent vacuuming the main saloon and straightening the couch, still messy from last night.

Your hands paused.

God. Right there.

You'd really rode him right on that spot. You'd made him groan and moan and come in his pants. A flush of heat spread on your cheeks as you pictured it all again.

His big hands on your ass, guiding your movement, the way he seemed so drawn into his moment, by you, how his lips felt on yours, how he played with your breasts, how he called you—

"Baby."

Your head snapped away from the spot, landing straight on his stupid face. A bundle of flowers was clutched in one hand, a cute-looking gift bag dangling from the other.

Somehow, that was enough to melt the stern expression on your face into something softer. A gentle wave of relief washed over you, knowing he was okay.

But just as quickly, your frown returned, if not as hard, because if he looked completely safe and sound, why the hell did he show up only now?

“You’re late,” was all you managed to say, bitterness creeping into your tone. A brief glance flicked to the digital clock on the wall. “Almost a full hour.”

Rafe nodded, an apologetic smile tugging at his lips as he stepped fully into the saloon. “I know. I’m really sorry. I got caught up.” He lifted his hands slightly, as if surrendering. “Got this as an apology for my pretty girl.”

Was that really his plan? A pet name and some gifts, hoping you’d melt just enough to swallow whatever half-assed excuse came next?

Oh, you were pissed.

“By what?” You didn’t even look at the flowers.

He probably thought this was how he got away with things. Just like yesterday, when he’d invited you to dinner after the Peter and Caleb incident, all charm and distraction.

And why was his apology so… dry anyway? You’d kind of expected more.

He exhaled, slow and heavy, shaking his head as irritation crept into his voice. “Some shit with my dad. I couldn’t leave because I can’t lose the chance at the deal. I swear I would’ve dipped sooner if I could.”

“Your dad,” you repeated, tasting the lie behind his words. “He called you home while you were in school?”

Rafe’s brows twitched, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Look, Y/n, I’m sorry I missed our shared lunch, but I was—”

"Please don't tell me you were dealing." The words left your mouth before you could stop them. Accusatory and laced with genuine worry.

When he didn’t answer right away, just stared at you, caught—maybe surprised you knew—you pushed on. “Really? In school? That’s just reckless, Rafe. Why would you even do that?”

"I know that okay," he snapped. "I'm not fucking stupid."

No denial. No softening. Just straight into defense.

It caught you off guard. Your frown deepened. “You sure? Because trying to sell that stuff in broad daylight on school grounds is just—” You sighed, exhaustion weighing down your chest. “What if you get caught? Just imagine—”

"I KNOW!"

Your mouth snapped shut at his yell.

A heavy, unsettling feeling spread all over your chest, leaving your nerves buzzing and anxious.

Rafe winced, dragging a hand down his face before setting the flowers and gift bag on the couch. “Fuck, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Don’t ‘baby’ me right now,” you cut in sharply. “You don’t get to shout at me when all I’m doing is worrying about you. There’s already a fucking video of you drawing that shit, saved on Ruthie's phone, and now you’re risking everything for what? A couple of bucks?”

You stepped closer, tapping your chest as if grounding yourself, ignoring the guilt flickering at his expression. “I was waiting for you. Do you know what that does to me? To my head? Not knowing where you are all day, no answers, no idea when you’ll show up. We have a project to finish, a yacht to clean, and—” You gestured sharply toward the clock. “Is it really that fucking hard to show some basic decency and be on time?”

Crazy. Crazy. Crazy. Crazy. Crazy.

Oh my fucking, god, I'm a fucking crazy psycho bitch HELP.

The air felt thick, heavy with everything neither of you wanted to say out loud. The tension pressed in so tightly it almost made you want to bolt from the salon altogether.

The same question echoed again: why was this escalating?

Last night should’ve pulled you closer. Instead, it felt like it had carved a small but painful distance between you. One where both of you were reaching and still missing.

“Alright. Yeah. I guess that was shitty and rude,” Rafe finally admitted, his voice strained but controlled. “I dealt drugs to some dickheads at school. That’s stupid, sure. And I missed our lunch for that. I know.” He exhaled sharply. “And I also know your little minions were probably running around freaking out about me being late.”

His jaw tightened. “And maybe I was fucking late because you turned me down this morning.”

He stepped closer, confusion and hurt bleeding into his tone. “You said something was off with you. Fine. Okay. I got that. I respected that.” His eyes searched yours. “What I don’t respect is being treated like I’m not trying my hardest for you. Like only the way I mess up matters.”

He scoffed quietly. “When you reject me, or push me away, leave me standing in the parking lot like some stupid fucking idiot, that’s just… fine?” His voice wavered, just slightly. “That messes with my head too, okay?”

He shook his head, tapping his temples. “I spent the whole morning and afternoon replaying everything. Wondering what I did wrong. My phone was dead—which, by the way, I told you before we even left for school—and it drove me insane that I couldn’t text you or talk this out.”

His gaze hardened, not cruel, just defensive. “So yeah. I’m sorry I left you hanging. But don’t act like I’m the only one who could’ve done something differently today.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

This felt like pre–Kelce’s party Rafe mixed with post–Kelce’s party Rafe. Defensive, yeah but also self-aware. He wasn’t only dumping everything on you, he was owning his part, too.

And maybe that was the most human and honest thing he'd expressed all day.

You never wanted him to be some kind of scapegoat. And god, you definitely never wanted him to think you saw yourself as some flawless Mary Sue who did everything right. You were both just two stupid teenagers with bad coping mechanisms and too many feelings and not enough emotional vocabulary.

So maybe—maybe—your anger had been less about what he did and more about needing something solid to blame.

Sure, he could've just not dealt drugs in fucking school, and yeah, he could've just turned up on time and maybe let any of his friends know that he was okay and he'd just be late.

But...

“You’re right,” you said quietly, stepping closer and bridging the last bit of space between you. “I’m sorry.” Your fingers hesitated before finding his bracelet, a stupid flutter of warmth sparking at the fact he’d worn it all day. “I freaked out this morning when you tried to kiss me. And it wasn’t just that, it was… the whole day.” You huffed out a breath. “I woke up and something inside me was just off. Like one of my minions had a system crash and no one knew why.”

When his expression softened, even just a little, a shy smile tugged at your lips. “At first I thought maybe I regretted last night,” you admitted. “But I don’t. Like, at all. I’m really sure about that.” You exhaled. “But then I acted weird, which made you act weird, which stressed me out, which stressed you out, and the whole ride to school was just...”

You let out a breath. “I made things awkward by turning your kiss—probably you trying to comfort me—into a hug and I felt so stupid afterward I just left. And I’m really sorry if that hurt or felt like rejection. I was overwhelmed and I should’ve explained instead of just… disappearing.”

“I figured,” Rafe said, his voice warmer now, the sharpness gone. His fingers found yours, thumbs gently rubbing your knuckles. “That you were all over the place in your head. Especially after last night.” A small, awkward chuckle left him. “I think I just thought I… earned the right to kiss you or something. Like it’d help you calm down.” He huffed. “Guess that backfired.”

Of course. He’d just been trying to make you feel better.

A shy smile curved your lips. “I am okay with kisses. You just… picked the wrong moment. Holding my hand or—” You laughed under your breath. “A hug would’ve worked better. Kisses can be overwhelming when they come out of nowhere.”

“Nah, not for me,” he grinned. “You could kiss me anytime and I’d be grateful. But I get it, it’s different for you.” He tried to look serious, brows furrowing, before lifting your hand and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it. “Next time I’ll ask your minions if their lady is open to being kissed.”

He was so stupid. He would’ve absolutely thrived in medieval times as a jester.

You laughed, your whole neck flaring up. "Thank you, m'lord."

Jester weren't lords, were they? Welp, who knew.

“But actually,” you added, pressing your lips together in a mock-accusing smile, “I think all of this tension could’ve been avoided if you had just—y’know—charged your phone for, like, five minutes at some random school outlet.”

For a brief moment, he looked like he was about to argue. To come up with some half-baked excuse for why that hadn’t been possible. But instead, he nodded, reluctant acceptance written all over his face. “Yeah. You’re right. I guess part of me was… scared you were pissed and weren’t gonna answer.”

“Rafe,” you blurted out, deadpan, “I spammed your entire phone. I even annoyed Kelce and Sarah trying to find out where you were. I was literally glued to my screen waiting for anything from you.”

He blinked. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

"Well, shit, guess I am the asshole after all."

You chuckled. "No, you're not. We both acted stupid today."

"But I was the bigger idiot." He swallowed hard, guilt flickering over his face. "I mean how I acted this morning and the stupid stuff I said... Shit, that was a massive dickhead move."

"Rafe, it's okay, I was being weird and stressed you out and--"

"No." He shook his head, squeezing your hands. "Saying you begged me to rail you... god, that was... fuck you should've slapped me for that. That was a fuckass thing to say. Especially to you. And I want you," one hand came up to your face and tapped your temple softly, "and your minions to know that I never wanted—want—someone to fuck as much as you, okay? That desire’s not one-sided and I—“

He barely finished before you burst into startled laughter.

Oh, how this boy always found the perfect soothing and gentle words a girl wanted to hear.

But no for real, the fact that snippet of conversation had bothered him that much he actually spent time thinking and reflecting on it, fucking shit, that warmed your heart so much, you fell a dozen times harder for him.

A slow grin turned on his face. Your laughter turned into a sheepish chuckle as his hands slid around your waist to pull you flush against him.

"What's my girl laughing at? Me, huh? For being sincere?", he asked, the blues in his eyes looking like the goddamn sea after a storm.

His warm hands grounded you and that's what you were missing all day: his touch.

You shook your head, your arms carefully sliding around his neck. "No, I'm just... feeling appreciated by my handsome boy."

Cringe? Yes. Did his eyes light up like the sun itself? Also yes.

“It’s what you deserve,” he said, thumbs pressing gently into your sides. “You might be a little chaotic up there, but I shouldn’t have left you hanging after last night. Did the others give you hell?”

Internally, you soaked the positive shift in energy up with a smile. "Ehh, they are playing detectives again about what business is going on with you and Ruthie but I faithfully deflected."

"Of course you did." The cheekiest grin twisted on his lips, his eyes dripping with nasty thoughts. "My good girl."

Oh!

Um.

The heat on your cheeks came naturally. A startled chuckle left your lips. "I think I got a boner now."

"Oh, oh, yeah, I... wow, I can feel her press against me," he replied with a stupid grimace. "Want me to take care of her?"

"Her?"

"Yeah, your girl dick." He looked so sweet with his boyish grin. "Maybe that's the reason you felt off today."

"Huh?"

Rafe nodded, his whole demeanor suddenly shifting into business. "Yeah. 'Cause you didn't lemme take care of you last night. So maybe... dunno, you felt like I used you or some shit?"

"No," you gently said, playing with the strands of hair on his neck. "That wasn't a transaction, Rafe. I... what I did, I did it because I wanted to and expected nothing in return. It was for your pleasure, okay?"

For a moment, he was quiet, his little boy brain trying to absorb the information.

Then he tilted his head, confused. “Then I genuinely have no idea what’s stressing your minions out.”

"Well... I think I know." The thought of admitting it out loud already felt somehow embarrassing which was funny because--

"Then tell me, fucking shit," he insisted in his soft aggressive way.

You laughed, ears burning, fiddling with the collar of his polo. “I’m embarrassed.”

"About what?"

"Last night," you smiled awkwardly. "About myself."

Rafe was staring at you like you just told him 1+1=Elephant. "The fuck are you talking about?"

DO I REALLY HAVE TO SAY IT?

"I mean I felt kinda self-conscious." It felt so stupid saying it out loud. "Maybe not in that moment but when I think back and replay the scene in my mind, I just... cringe at myself. I feel embarrassed and weirded out and—"

"Y/n. I came in my fucking pants like some pathetic loser after you dry humped me for barely two minutes," Rafe interrupted with a deadpan expression. "That shit was embarrassing."

He raised his brows, eyeing you with disbelief. "God, what you did? Fuck. I... shit that was like the hottest shit I've ever seen. The way you grinded over my cock so teasingly, the way you looked so completely lost in the moment, feeling yourself, how you reacted to my touch and—“ He nodded, exhaling hard. “Already hard again just thinking about it."

Your gaze fell instinctively to his crotch and a shy laugh slipped out before you met his eyes again. The sincerity and honesty in them felt grounding.

"I'm fucking serious," he continued. "You drive me fucking crazy, okay? In every way. And you have literally nothing to feel embarrassed about, alright? Shit, I should be the one feeling that way for letting you even think that bullshit."

"What? No, Rafe that's not your—"

He cut you off with a grim shake of his head. "Yes it is my fault. I should've been more... fuck, I don't know. I should've hyped you up more afterward. I was just so..." A breathy laugh. "Fuck, I felt so high after that and not because of the edibles, just to be clear."

You mimicked his laugh, hesitatingly searching his face for any sign of lie but you found none. Only raw sincerity.

"Okay," you said slowly, pressing your lips together for a second before a soft smile appeared. "Thank you. I think I really needed that. Some kind of reassurance. It was stupid freaking out over that. It was just the first time I ever did something like that and I was scared I looked weird or embarrassing doing it."

Another shake of his head as he squeezed your waist, a lopsided grin tugging at his mouth. "Alright, how about we repeat that shit now and I show you just how fucking attractive and absolutely not weird or embarrassing you are."

SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE. I THINK I'M DYING OF SHEEPISHNESS.

"Or how about we get our asses moving and finally start cleaning the yacht," you countered, smiling like a flustered mess. "There's also this art project we have going on, if you remember, that needs to be finished by tomorrow."

Rafe gave a low chuckle in response. "And afterward we're gonna reward ourselves with some upgraded bonding time I've heard."

“Uh-huh,” you said skeptically. “From whom?”

"Your girl boner."

You laughed. "We'll see about that.

"My girl's a nerd first and freak second," Rafe teased, his hands wandering just a little lower. "I don't mind, though."

You patted his chest, heart fluttering despite yourself. “Or maybe your girl just doesn’t want her art grade to suffer.”

"What about me suffering?"

“Oh, you are going to suffer,” you replied, raising an unimpressed brow, “if we don’t get everything finished by five. Then you can listen to my mom lecture us about why the yacht isn’t ready for her girls’ night and—”

“Alright, alright,” Rafe interrupted with an exaggerated sigh. “Let’s get to work then. Forgot I need us both ready for Wheezie’s game later.”

You blinked. That detail had… absolutely not registered today.

"What game?" you asked, genuinely confused.

“Her volleyball game,” he clarified. “She’s got a match against some other club later and was very insistent about dragging you along. I kinda forgot to tell you yesterday.”

AJDEHNWJDNEWL HIS LITTLE SISTER WANTED YOU THERE? That alone dissolved the last remnants of tension in your body.

“That’s so sweet,” you said softly. “I’d love to come watch.” You tilted your head, nerves prickling. “I assume your family will be there too?”

Rafe’s jaw tightened just a fraction. “Yeah. Sarah and Rose are coming. Dad’s tied up with business. Some meeting, I think. With Whitmore probably, otherwise he wouldn’t miss her match.”

Okay, okay.

Sarah you could handle. Rose was... well, you'd never really engaged in a conversation with her but she seemed managable. Plus, she was "just" his stepmother and you knew him and her weren't really on great terms.

Nonetheless, you needed to look the girlfiend part, even in front of her.

“So what’s the schedule for tonight?” you asked, already hearing your minions whispering about all the ways you could mess this up.

Rafe grinned. “I pick my gorgeous girl up at 7:45 while I’m driving Wheezie to her match prep. We watch the game, then head over to Tannyhill for dinner.” He patted your butt lightly. “Wear something nice. But don’t pressure yourself. I want you comfortable, alright?”

Comfortable. Ha. Right.

Nothing about a dinner with the Camerons would be comfortable, considering it wouldn't just be a dinner but some kind of interrogation about you and Rafe, and you just needed to pretend to be his perfect girl he'd been dating for a month while convincing everyone it was real, that Rafe was good for you, that he was responsible and, oh not to forget, how the dinner probably decided upon if Rafe got the deal and—

"Nah, stop that," Rafe cut off your downward spiral, his hands going up to cup your cheeks, eyes piercing into yours, "I can see your minions blaring some alarm horns. You're gonna do just fine, okay? You're pretty and smart and you're not some fake-ass bitch," he grimaced as the word slipped past him. "Some... Oh, fuck it, you know what I mean. You're perfect."

His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, down your neck, his gaze dipping to your lips.

“And I’d really like to kiss you now,” he added quietly, “and show you I mean it.” A beat. “If that’s okay.”

All you did was nod, a nervous breath leaving your mouth.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

Rafe closed the distance in an instant, his warm lips meeting yours in a soft and engulfing kiss. Slow, warm, intentional. Not rushed. Not needy. Just there.

And the strangest part was how different it felt from last night.

No haze. No edibles blurring the edges. No adrenaline drowning out your thoughts.

You were completely sober now and somehow, that made it even more intense. Clearer. Safer. Like this moment actually stuck, instead of slipping through your fingers.

Right now, you didn't even care if and what this kiss meant. The only thing that mattered to you was how adored you felt by a boy that usually talked in curses and radiated tension.

But all he did, in this very moment, was make you feel safe and steady in a way that even managed to make all your bickering minions shut the hell up.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

T A G L I S T F O R M (taglist for this series is CLOSED but you can sign up for my other stuff through this link)

When everyone was on board, buckled up in their seats, the pilot started take off procedure, and Topper leaned over to Kelce, hoping the noise of the plane would block what he was gonna say.

“Hey, don’t you think they’re acting weird?” he whispered in Kelce’s ear, and he looked at him confused.

“Who?”

“Rafe and Precious.”

Slowly, Kelce turned his head towards your seat, where you were napping, your head leaned on Rafe’s shoulder while he was scrolling on his phone. Then, he looked at Topper again, giving him a look.

“You’re acting weird,” he pointed out, slipping his AirPods out of the case. “And don’t breathe in my face, it breaks me out.”

With that, Kelce put both of his AirPods in, drowning out Topper, who only settled into his seat with a frown. Something definitely changed.

“Mom? Dad? I’m home.”

Even though the hadn’t seen their cars, you still called out. But the house seemed to be empty. You left your suitcase in the laundry room, before you headed straight to your bedroom, changing your clothes before throwing yourself on your bed with a deep exhale.

When you first packed for Nassau, you couldn’t wait to leave. Now, it felt so good being home again. Funny how things worked out.

For the first time, you were alone since you broke things off with Rafe. It was weird, how almost nothing changed between you, except for the fact that he probably would have spent your last night in Nassau in your bed. But that was just the thing, wasn’t it? You didn’t know any other way of being around him. Honestly, the smartest thing to do was getting some distance, which was partly the reason why you were so glad to be home. Smartest didn’t mean easiest though, because avoiding Rafe meant avoiding Topper and Kelce too, and how were you going to explain that?

Suddenly, you remembered what Topper said to you at the Spring Fling.

“Seriously precious? You know this isn’t gonna end well. And it won’t just affect you and Rafe, it’s gonna affect me als Kelce, too. How the fuck are we supposed to choose sides if you’re our best friends?”

At that point, you thought Topper was being dramatic, but now it seemed like reality. To your horror, you weren’t even sure if either of Topper or Kelce would choose your side, if it ever came to it. Yes, they were all your best friends, but at the end of the day, they were all guys. And guys usually stuck together.

And were you willing to lose your friends just because you couldn’t deal with your feelings? Not the easiest pill to swallow. With a small sigh, you turned over in your bed, feeling like you could use a little nap. Just before you fell asleep, your phone buzzed next to your head and you picked it up, squinting at the screen.

rafe [04/23/24: 2:21 pm]: you get home okay?

precious [04/23/24: 2:22 pm]: yeah

The small read appeared under your messages as soon as you sent it, the ellipsis popping up. They stayed for a good while, making you wonder what the fuck he was writing, until they disappeared. You frowned, then, the ellipsis returned, before your phone buzzed again.

rafe [04/23/24: 2:25 pm]: are we good?

Seemed like you weren’t the only one thinking about this.

precious [04/23/24: 2:26 pm]: yes

You kept it short, because there really wasn’t much more to say, locking your phone and muting it for good measure, before you rolled over, quickly falling asleep.

When you stirred awake agian, you were disoriented at first, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. The sun was still up, the orange glow in your bedroom telling you it was nearing sunset, so you mustn’t have been asleep for long, but you could tell that someone came home in the meantime, because you could hear the tv.

With a yawn, you padded on downstairs, finding your mother in the living room, snuggled up under a blanket. She lifted her head when you appeared in the doorway, clearly surprised to see you.

“Hi mom.”

“Hi honey. I didn’t know you were home already.”

“Yeah, I got home a couple of hours ago,” you replied, slinking into the arm chair. “No one was home.”

“I was having lunch with Anne at the country club and your father is at work,” your mother explained, taking you in. “How was Nassau?”

You shrugged. “It was nice. Good weather, the usual. How have things been here? Anything new?”

“Not much to tell,” your mother said, “been having some migraines lately, but otherwise things have been the same.”

“Migraines?” you asked, raising a brow at your mother and she nodded.

As if on cue, the sound of a motorcycle revving its engine suddenly filled the neighborhood and your mother groaned in annoyance, rubbing her temples with the tips of her fingers.

“Not again.”

“What is that?” You asked curiously, trying to get a peek out of the window.

“Some kid keeps turning up in our drive way with his bike, revving his engine like a goddamn hooligan,” your mother complained and you turned back to her with a frown.

“Is that why you’ve been having migraines?”

“What do you think?” your mother snapped at you. “I’ve been calling the sheriff’s department about it, but by the time they get here, he’s always gone.”

“You called the sheriff’s department over this?”

Your mother glared at you, your tone suggesting that she overreacted. “What was I supposed to do?”

The motorcycle engine rumbles to life again and your mother winced, reaching for her phone, but you stopped her.

“Mom, let me just take care of this, okay?”

Your mother didn’t look entirely convinced, but she nodded anyways, sitting back down as you walked out of the living room, heading straight to the front door. As you stepped out on your porch, craning your head to find the motorcycle, you let out an exasperated sigh, when you recognized the owner.

“Seriously?”

JJ let out a bright grin when he saw you on the porch, driving around in a circle before he came to a stop in front of you.

“Hey princess, I was starting to think you’ve been hiding from me.”

“That would imply that I waste my time thinking about you.”

JJ clutched his heart, as if you’d just shot him. You rolled your eyes at his theatrics, biting back a laugh.

“You really know how to bruise a guy’s ego.”

“What are you doing here, JJ?” you asked, leaning against one of the porch posts, crossing your arms over your chest.

JJ let out a small laugh, running a hand through his dirty blonde hair.

“Wanted to show you my bike,” he said, as if it wasn’t obvious. To prove his point, he revved the engines loudly, and you could basically see your mother steaming with fury in the living room.

“You’ve been giving my mom headaches with your bike,” you pointed out, the corner of your mouth ticking up.

“Well, tell her my sincerest apologies,” JJ replied, bowing his head with a flourish. “I was trying to see you.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“Me?”

He shrugged, fixating on the mirror on his left handlebar. “I mean, yeah. I was able to fix it with the money I earned from working at the Country Club. Thanks to you. The least I could do is show you where the hard earned money went.”

Your smile softened a little and you ducked your head.

“I’m glad I could help.”

JJ gave you a grin, giving the bike a gentle clap on the exterior.

“It rides like new,” he said proudly and you snorted a little.

“I’ll take your words for it.”

“Or you could try it out yourself?”

You raised an eyebrow at him and he only met your look with a straight fact, tilting his head towards his bike.

“Come on, just one ride.”

JJ wrapped his hands around the throttle and you quickly held your hands up, stopping him.

“Please don’t do that again. My mom is this close to flipping out,” you told him, but he only grinned at you.

“So princess, what do you say? You down for a day outside of your castle?”

A laugh on your lips, you fixed him with a look before you gave in. Taking a few steps back to the front door, you yelled: “Mom, I’m going out!” before you shut the door behind you, jogging down the steps to the drive way.

JJ pulled a helmet out of nowhere, handing it to you, despite his own lack of one.

“Where’d you get that?” you wanted to know and JJ winked at you.

“Can’t reveal all my secrets now, can I?” He teased. “Now go ahead and put that on. I ain’t got enough money to repay your parents if something happens to you.”

“Yeah yeah, and people say chivalry is dead.”

You shook your hair out, grinning at JJ while you put on the helmet, before swinging your leg over his bike, settling on the seat behind him. As expected, you were sat snug behind JJ, as one did as a passenger on a bike, and you tried not to let it affect you, only doing a half assed job about it.

“Don’t be shy to hold onto me tight if you’re scared,” he said over his shoulder and you only gave him an eyeroll. You wrapped your arms around his waist, just as he revved the engine one last time, driving off your property.

Despite the helmet on your head, your hair fluttered in the wind and you felt an odd sense of freedom. The boys have never taken you on their bikes before, mostly because it was inconvenient when it was the four of you, you just tended to take a car, but they also often argued that it was too dangerous. You called bullshit on that.

Figure Eight blew past you as JJ rode the bike down the street. You weren’t exactly sure where he was taking you, but he wasn’t exactly taking the direct route towards the Cut like you had expected. Instead he drove along the coast, until the road turned into a dirt pathway, leading uphill, the sun rays filtering through the branches of the tree. JJ slowed his pace, when you finally reached a clearing by a cliff, coming to a stop.

JJ leaned the bike to the side, his foot supporting the weight, allowing you to get off. You took your helmet off, shaking your hair out before pushing the helmet in JJ’s hands, before you walked to the cliffside, not waiting for him to join you.

“The infamous JJ make out spot,” you mused when JJ finally sidled up to your side. You didn’t turn to look at him, but you could tell that he was grinning.

“Ah, my reputation precedes me.”

“I aspire to be as delusional as you sometimes,” you snorted with an eyeroll, sitting down on the grass, stretching your arms out behind you. It didn’t take long for JJ to do the same, his legs sprawled out over the ground. A comfortable silence settled over you, while you took in the view. It was pretty nice, you know, considering what this spot was known for. In all fairness, the view probably was the reason for its popularity among your horny peers.

“Thanks for getting me out of the house,” you then said in a somber tone; the look JJ gave you was a surprised one, his brows raised.

“Didn’t you just come back from… Wherever you were?”

“Eh.” You shrugged with your shoulders. “I mean yeah, but I was with the boys, even if we were in Nassau, it didn’t feel like I was doing something new. This is not routine for me.”

JJ looked at you with a glint in his eyes. “Well, then it’s my honor to break you out of your routine, princess.”

He then eyed you up and down carefully, before meeting your eyes again. You raised a brow at him, unimpressed.

“Nassau, huh? I been thinking that you’re glowing more than usual.”

“Oh come off it,” you laughed, throwing your head back. “Seriously, do you just come up with these lines or did someone have to teach you?”

“‘s a quality I was born with, princess,” JJ said with a wink, as if it was something to be smug about. You merely snickered, knowing arguing with him about this was no use so you pushes yourself to stand again.

As you dusted off the dirt off your hands, you glanced down at JJ who was still sprawled on the floor, watching you curiously.

“Come on, let’s go get some tacos,” you suggested. “My treat.”

His nose wrinkled as he hesitated but you only rolled your eyes.

“Or does your fragile masculinity not allow that?”

With a sigh, JJ pulled himself up, regarding you with an impressed look. “You really know how to push my button’s you know that?”

“‘s a quality I was born with princess,” you mocked him and he only barked out a laughter, handing you the helmet, that sat on the saddle of his bike. The drive to taco truck didn’t take long, with you giving JJ the directions over his shoulder, holding onto him a little tighter than necessary. The sun had set while you had sat on the cliff side, the remaining heat of early summer dissipating as the dusk crept onto the island; you felt the wind biting at your bare skin as JJ sped his bike over the island.

You were almost glad when you finally pulled up by the truck, climbing off the bike before JJ settled down. Unconsciously, your eyes flitted over the tables as you took off your helmet, not recognizing any of the faces that were there. At least none that would throw a fuss over you spending time with JJ Maybank willingly. Not that you cared what people were thinking, but you weren’t in the mood for explaining yourself.

As usual, Spanish music floated from the inside the truck as you approached it, and it didn’t take long before Mateo came up to the window.

“Hola hermosa,” he greeted you, leaning on the counter to peer down at you as you smiled up at him. His eyes swept to the back, where JJ was standing behind you with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Mateo looked back at you, his eyes full of questions. “No Rafe today?”

You shook your head, though his question was warranted, had you ever come here without Rafe?

“No, no Rafe today,” you replied with a wry smile. “Can I get some carne asada tacos?”

Mateo gave you a quick nod, turning to prepare your order, his eyes still on JJ who sidled up to you, curiously glancing over the display.

“Aren’t you going to ask what I want to eat?”

“For some reason, I think you’ll be fine with whatever I ordered,” you quipped back and JJ gave you an exasperated look. Mateo’s eyes never left you during this quick exchange, and he cleared his throat, pressing the tacos onto the grill.

“¿Quieres chile en tus tacos?” he asked JJ, who only furrowed his brows, turning to you. You bit back a laugh, shaking your head.

“He’s white, Mateo. No spice for him.”

Mateo let out a small grunt and JJ hummed, crossing his arms as he looked you over.

“I didn’t know you speak Spanish.”

“I get by,” you answered with a shrug, making Mateo snicker. He shook his head as he flipped over the tacos.

“¿Desde cuándo andas con este chico?” He asked you, and it was then that you realized the reason for his sudden switch. “No da más que problemas.”

Your eyes flitted over to JJ, who was none the wiser, muttering under his breath as he read over the menu. “¿Estás haciendo una suposición basada en su apariencia?”

“No hermosa,” Mateo sighed, giving you a look. “Olvidas que Carmen tiene tu edad.”

Ah, Carmen, his niece. She must have been in JJ’s grade in Kildare County High.

“Estoy segura de que Rafe tampoco aprobaría que pasaras tiempo con este chico.”

You tried not to let your anger flare up at his words, your eyes snapping up to Mateo. You weren’t sure if it was because he brought up Rafe, or because he was insinuating that you needed anyone’s permission when it came to the company you were seeking.

“I’ll be fine, Mateo.”

Your tone was cold, and your switch back to English told Mateo everything he needed to know. His warm brown eyes softened when he looked at you.

“Sólo intento cuidar de ti.”

Mateo slid your order over the counter along with two cans of coke. You handed him the money, with plenty of tip, despite your sour mood, grabbing the two cans of coke, leaving the food for JJ to take as he trailed after you to a table on the far corner of the court. Wordlessly, you cracked open a can of coke, taking a sip while JJ sat down with your food. Your sour mood must have been showing on your face, because he only took a quick look at you before biting into his taco, immediately moaning out.

“Holy fuck this is good.”

“Still questioning my taste?” you asked him, bemused as you pushed the other coke can towards him, reaching for you own tacos. JJ shook his head quickly, shoving the rest of his taco into his mouth, already reaching for his next one. He was acting rather clumsy, the sauce running between his fingers as he tried to maneuver the taco as cleanly as he could. It was kinda cute, you weren’t going to lie. You had perfected the art of eating tacos, with just a squeeze of lime, but that was after years of practice.

“First time I’ve seen a Pogue talking smack about me,” JJ said offhandedly, licking the sauce from his fingers. You raised a brow at him, but you weren’t surprised; just because JJ didn’t understand the language, didn’t mean he was slow.

“First time, really?”

JJ gave you a look, swallowing his second in two bites before he answered.

“You know what I mean.”

You shrugged, your palms finding the edge of the bench as you leaned back. “Mateo means well. I just don’t like being told what not do to.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” JJ snickered, wiping his hands on the napkins. “Besides, you can’t listen to Mr. Diaz. He’s biased.”

“In what way?”

“Carmen. She’s his niece, right?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “… Yeah. What have you done to her?”

“Oh ye of little faith,” JJ sighed, balling up his napkin and tossing it on his empty paper plate before responding. “She was pretty into me, approached me during a party down by the boneyard.”

“So you hooked up and then ghosted her.”

JJ fluttered his eyelashes at you, metaphorically zipping up his lips with his fingers. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“You’re so annoying,” you said in exasperation. Nevertheless, a laugh escaped you and JJ grinned, like that was his goal all along.

You spent the rest of the evening sat by the food truck, with Mateo occasionally peeking out from the truck to see you still sat with JJ. It was mostly spite, that kept you rooted at the spot, but you genuinely really enjoyed JJ’s company, which you didn’t expect. While his first impression on you did prove to be true, a charming flirt, he also showed surprising depth, especially when he talked about his friends. He was clearly fiercely loyal to them, which did remind you of your own friends, but you tried not to think about it too long.

The neighborhood was quiet when JJ finally dropped you off in front of at home. The house was dark, your parents must have already gone to bed, so you tried to keep your voice down. The last thing you needed right now was your parents throwing a fit when they found out whom you’d been spending time with.

“Thanks for today,” you said softly, his helmet under your arm. “It was… Nice.”

JJ swept his hair off his forehead, grinning at you. “Careful, people might think you actually like me.”

You rolled your eyes at him with a head shake, shifting on your feet, before you offered him his helmet back. JJ glanced down at the helmet, before pushing it back into your hands.

“Keep it. You might need it next time.”

Like you said, charmer.

Ducking, your head, you smiled at the ground before lifting your head again. You didn’t know what you were thinking, or if you were thinking at all before you leaned in to kiss JJ. Even though he wasn’t expecting the kiss, he was quick to kiss you back, his hand on your waist. If it weren’t for the helmet, you were sure he’d have dragged you right back on his bike with him. Before it could get any further, you pulled back as much as you could, JJ’s grip on your waist tight.

“Good night, JJ,” you murmured your mouth curled up in a grin. JJ sighed softly, before he let go of you.

“Night princess.”

You chuckled quietly to yourself as you headed back to the house, the porch light flickering on, but you don’t turn back to him, despite knowing he was still there. Just as you reached your front door, you turned your head.

“Hey JJ.”

He lifted his head, his face illuminated by the porch light, a raised brow. You opened the door, halfway into the house before you answered.

“Next time you want to see me, just text me. I don’t need my mom on my ass because your bike’s exhausting pipe giving her migraines.”

JJ only laughed, his hair falling into his face. “I don’t have your number, Princess.”

“Ask Sarah.”

You shut the door behind him, but you could still hear his laughter over the roaring of his bike as he sped off the drive way. You were still grinning as you placed the helmet on the dresser by the front door. This night had not gone the way you had expected it to go.

Turning the lights on, you walked upstairs to your bedroom quietly, shutting your door behind you, before you laid on your bed.

“Aw, fuck,” you hissed, as something poked into your waist, and as you reached under your blanket, you were surprised to find your phone. You hadn’t even noticed that you’d left it at home. The screen lit up, with numerous notifications, most of them trivial, some of them Rafe.

rafe [04/23/24: 7:26 pm]: you wanna go grab pizza?

rafe [04/23/24: 8:02 pm]: ?

rafe [04/23/24: 9:31 pm]: rude as fuck

It was then that you realized, in all the hours you spent with JJ, you hadn’t once thought about Rafe.

“Huh.”

────────────

translation:

“Do you want chili on your tacos?”

“Since when do you hang around with this boy?” & “He’s nothing but trouble.”

“Are you making an assumption based on his appearance?”

“No, hermosa.” & “You forget that Carmen is your age.”

“I’m sure Rafe wouldn’t approve of you spending time with this boy.”

“I’m only looking out for you.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Rafe drives down the dark street, silent while his mind races and whirls with regret.

He shouldn’t have offered to come with you tonight. He shouldn’t have let himself see you like that, with all your friends, with the guy who’s blind to how lucky he is that you love him.

Envy courses through him, burning and vicious. Who would he be if he had a life like Beck, surrounded by people who loved him? Why couldn’t he have that? Why couldn’t he be someone else? Someone you’d want?

“You might be right,” you say happily. “Maybe Beck is jealous. He wouldn’t stop looking at me tonight.”

Rafe is still in his head. He hated that your eyes wouldn’t stay on his at that party. That other eyes were on you.

“Neither would that guy who plays for Hatfield,” he mutters.

“Marcus?” You sink further into the passenger seat, settling in for the hour-long drive back to campus. “What do you mean?”

He rubs his jaw, reminded of how warm your cheek felt on his when you whispered to him during that stupid game of truth or dare.

“He likes you, too,” he says.

You have to laugh.

“No way.”

“So, he’s never tried anything,” Rafe states, unconvinced.

You look out your window as he turns onto a busier street. Through your high school days, Lyla had implied that Marcus had a crush on you, but you refuted it every time.

“Well…” You sigh. “Lyla thinks because he asked me to a dance one time, it meant something, but he told me himself he was asking me as a friend.”

“He said that to not look like a loser if you shot him down,” Rafe huffs.

“I’m not so sure,” you say.

His pain weighs even heavier. It’s messing with him how you imply that guys don’t look at you like that. It took you this long to say that maybe Beck’s jealous.

You’re oblivious to the effect you have on people. On him.

Frustration wrenches in his chest and his words come out unfiltered.

“You really are clueless about this shit,” he mutters, his voice clipped.

It’s the first time Rafe’s words truly cut into you. You’re used to his brashness, to how he doesn’t hesitate to let you know when you’re irritating him, and normally it makes you laugh or roll your eyes.

But this stings. And it throws away the joy you’d felt seconds ago. You’re already painfully aware that you’re inexperienced, having spent so much time stuck on one guy who kept you trapped in a confusing loop.

Despite the pang in your heart, it’s comforting to know, to really know, that you could never like Rafe like that.

You’ve seen bits of tenderness in him, but he’s more hard, icy edges than anything else, and he’s not the type of person you’d ever feel safe giving your heart to.

At least you know you’ll be able to avoid Rafe hurting you the way Beck has.

Rafe glances over to see you turned away, your dejected pout reflected in the window. He hates himself for being such a dick, but fuck, it kills him that you act like it’s ridiculous that someone could have feelings for you.

He’s falling off the edge right in front of you and you don’t see it. And it dawns on him that it’s a good thing you don’t, because you wouldn’t fall with him.

“That was mean,” you say quietly. You look over and catch glimpses of the writing you left on the inside of his wrist as the streetlights flood in and out of the car. “Even for you.”

The thinness of your voice is a razor that slices into him.

“You’re not always right about everything, okay?” Rafe says stiffly.

“I never said I was,” you reply. You look out the window again and take a moment before you continue speaking. “But what happened with Beck did mess with my confidence, if that’s what you’re getting at. And you’re not making it any better.”

Knowing he’s only adding to your baseless insecurities cuts him deeper.

“I’m sorry, alright?” he mumbles. He stares ahead as he pulls onto the freeway. “All I’m tryin’ to say is that you don’t need to be so jaded just because one asshole strung you along.”

Your ache numbs a little. In his own, tactless way, he’s attempting to help.

“Your approach needs work,” you say flatly, “but I see your point.”

Tension sinks between you, every sense of camaraderie gone. And Rafe is desperate to undo it, to make you feel better.

“You can tell you’re getting to him?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say in a hush, although the high of witnessing Beck’s jealousy is gone now.

It’s satisfying to know he’s seeing what he’s missing, but it hurts that you had to go to these lengths for it to happen. It hurts that you still care.

“Good,” he says.

Rafe’s met with no response. And he wants to beg you to speak. His lips part, heart hammering.

“What are you thinking?” His deep voice fractures the silence.

You bite your lip, remembering the first time you were in this car, when Rafe suggested he drive you back home because you wouldn’t stop talking.

Now, he wants you to talk, and if he didn’t ask, you wouldn’t offer up your thoughts like you usually do. Not after that dig.

“You ever wish you could make yourself not care about something?” you eventually say.

“All the time,” he admits within an exhale of relief that you answered him.

“Really?” you ask, your brows lifted in surprise.

He knows he manages to seem like he doesn’t give a shit about most things. It’s a defense mechanism that works until his anger gets so heavy that he cracks.

He refuses to crack in front of you again. Right now, he’s okay with giving you the vulnerability you’re always trying to coax out of him if it means you’ll be you again.

“She told you I wouldn’t move on, right?” he says sardonically.

You gaze at him, reminded of the way his ex had laughed when she told you he wouldn’t stop bothering her.

“I kept trying to work things out and I – I wish I didn’t.” He shakes his head, embarrassed. “And I don’t even want to be with her now, but I care enough to want to piss her off. I know that’s not normal.”

You eyes are fixed on the license plate of the car ahead of you. The things you know about his past relationship, things that Emma said, things that he said, come together to paint an ugly picture.

“I think it’s how a lot of people would feel,” you say. “It doesn’t sound like she was very nice to you.”

Rafe knows he could be just as poisonous, raising his voice and escalating fights, but Emma made him feel like he was insane for being human.

Any time he was hurt, she said he was overreacting. He wasn’t allowed to be angry. To be sad. To be anything.

And he always feared she was right. He was too much, felt too much. He’d heard it from so many people, the first and loudest voice being his father’s.

“She wasn’t,” he answers. “I wasn’t, either.”

You don’t doubt it. You can only imagine how vicious their arguments were.

“Can I tell you something?” you say.

He’s upset, but he takes a page out of your book, trying to lighten the mood.

“You’re going to do it anyway,” he mumbles.

Despite yourself, you chuckle.

“You already very kindly established that I’m no expert on relationships,” you say, your joke splitting the tension, “but do you ever think that maybe things were toxic between you?”

You’re prying again, but Rafe’s relieved you are, because it means you’re okay.

Maybe his relationship was toxic, but he doesn’t know otherwise. It’s how he operates, always on the cusp of chaos, always on the edge of imploding.

“What?” he asks, just to stall.

“You said you wanted to hurt each other when you fought, right?”

The tires continue to rapidly roll over the asphalt with rhythmic pats, the wind whooshing over the windows.

“Yeah.”

“What’d you fight about?”

“Everything,” he says. “I mean, yeah, I have a short fuse and I – I say shit I don’t mean, but she acted like she never did anything wrong.”

“That’s hard to deal with,” you sympathize. “What’d she do wrong?”

He grits his teeth. The memory of how Emma would shut him down whenever he had a problem with something she did flashes through his mind like a bad dream he wants to forget.

“She acted like she only liked me when I was happy,” he tells you, on edge, in disbelief that he’s hearing his voice admit these things.

“What would she do when you weren’t?” you ask.

His jaw tenses, the memories of Emma’s shouted words a punch to the gut.

“She’d tell me to grow up,” he says dryly.

Rafe is sure you’d never say something like that to him, but there’s still an alarm going off in his head that he’s opening up too much, giving you what you need to hurt him, sharing criticism that you might silently agree with.

Every piece that he shares with you could serve as proof that he’s a catastrophe of a man that you’d be better off staying away from.

You look down at your lap, your heart pinching. The space between you is delicate, fragile, a bond you never could have imagined growing between you.

You’re upset to think about how Rafe clearly already doesn’t really do feelings and was made to feel bad for showing his to his girlfriend.

Emma had called him pathetic, but you feel that the word describes her instead.

“That’s not fair,” you say. “Nobody deserves to hear that from someone who’s supposed to care about them.”

He only offers a rigid shrug.

You’re still curious about what he told you when you asked him why he liked her. He’d said things were simple with her, that she made him feel uncomplicated, but it sounds like all they did was bicker.

You want to know why he tried to get back together after they’d had such a rocky relationship, why he’d called her crying.

“You said she made things easy?” you say.

He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, not sure how much more of this conversation he can take.

“When we weren’t fighting, we had fun,” he explains. “I didn’t have to think about anything, you know?”

And she never pushed to see the pieces of himself that he hides. And all you do is push, so why the hell is he losing his mind over a girl who’s done nothing but try to make him face what he runs from?

But when he looks at you again through the darkness, it’s like he can see how good you are.

And that’s why.

That’s why you’ve taken him captive. You’re warm, the way you find joy in almost everything, the way you’re unabashedly yourself, the way you want to understand people for who they really are.

You take in his awestruck expression, looking like he can’t believe he just told you all that.

You get it now. Emma didn’t want to deal with the heavy stuff. And it worked for him. Until it didn’t. It doesn’t sound like they had that deep of a connection if she punished him for having feelings.

“I really don’t like her,” you say quietly.

“Damn,” he murmurs. “Brutal coming from you.”

You chuckle. Rafe takes a few breaths before he speaks again, hating that he actually feels shy right now.

“Sorry I said…” He trails off, not wanting to repeat the word clueless. He went too far. “You’re smart, okay?”

“You’ve mentioned that a few times,” you laugh.

“We friends again?”

You smirk.

“Maybe if you say please,” you say.

“Shut up,” he laughs.

“Hmm.” You squint. “Try again.”

You watch him with an expectant expression, a playful smile on your face.

“Please,” he mumbles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Alright, you don’t have to beg,” you chuckle.

Rafe groans in annoyance and you laugh again, picked back up out of your low mood.

You get the feeling of being linked to him again, the one you had when you watched him from the stands before you even spoke.

He’s wading through the pieces of a broken relationship, and you’re trying to shake yourself out of infatuation, and they’re different circumstances, but you both need the same thing. To not care anymore.

“I read something about how the opposite of love isn’t hate,” you say. “It’s indifference. Eventually, you won’t care about what she thinks. And you’ll find the girl you need when the time’s right.”

Rafe stares ahead.

“Yeah,” is all he can say. Because he’s already found the girl he needs. She just doesn’t need him back.

════════

In the span of almost five days, Rafe has gone from bad to worse.

On Sunday, the team just barely won the first game of the tournament. He watched from the bench, pissed off beyond belief watching the gameplay. They were lucky the opponents’ offense was so choppy.

It was both frustrating and validating when his coach told him that he hopes Rafe can play game two, because defense is suffering without him.

Yesterday, he saw the team’s physical therapist. He managed to move his arm with full mobility, but still felt a minor, stubborn pinch. He was cleared for game two, so long as he saw a doctor to get imaging done and make sure he wasn’t putting himself at risk.

He had the appointment this morning and he’s already dreading the call with the results. He can’t lose hockey. It’s the one thing keeping him sane.

Now, he’s walking under the hot afternoon sun, on his way to an off-campus uptown cafe you’d suggested for your tutoring session. He had to park two blocks away after looking for a spot for ages.

He’s in a foul mood, rereading your text just so he doesn’t take it out on you. You gave him the head’s up that this place is usually busy and parking could be tough, offering to stick with the library if he preferred.

He went along with what you wanted, because he’d rather not let you down. At this point, it hurts seeing any hint of sadness on your face. He’s still pissed off at himself for what he said to you in his car last weekend.

He steps into the small cafe, the air smelling of coffee, the machines whirring over overlapping conversations. He finds you in the corner, your head adorably tilted in thought as you type on your laptop.

The knot in his stomach loosens once you look up and smile at him.

Every morning, every afternoon, every night, you’re on his mind. You’ve thrown him completely off center, dominating every second of his day, the longing to see you when he’s not with you insatiable.

Rafe strides towards you between full tables, and you take a moment to drink him in, the strong, self-assured way he walks, never the type to act like he thinks he doesn’t belong wherever he is.

“Hey,” you say. “Was parking okay?”

“You warned me.” He pulls out the chair across from you, dragging it across the hardwood. You shut your laptop. “Why are we here? I got that tattoo for nothing?”

You glance at his wrist to see that the marker has washed off.

“It’s gone anyway,” you giggle. “I thought we could use a change of scenery. Plus, this place has the best treats.”

You slide a small brown paper bag towards him.

“I’ll trade you for your laptop,” you say.

Minutes later, you’re checking in on his grades. Your stomach drops when you see a warning in red text next to last week’s submission link.

7 days late.

“Rafe,” you say soberly. “You forgot to send it in.”

You look up at him from across the table, confusion creased into his features as he finishes chewing.

“Remember, last week?” you say. “Your laptop died and I told you to submit the essay before midnight?”

He readjusts his posture.

“It’s not a big deal,” he sighs defensively.

“It’s 5% lost every day,” you reply. “I’ll submit it now.”

He scowls, agitation rippling over his features. It discredits the text that Lyla sent you the morning after her birthday party, not that you believed it anyway.

My mom said it’s cute how obviously in love Rafe is with you.

The way he’s looking at you right now is the farthest thing from love. Like he said, he’s a great liar.

“This matters,” you reiterate. Rafe glances away. It’s hurtful to witness how disinterested he is.

You submit the assignment, displeased by his apathy, reminded of how much his bad attitude and moodiness can get to you, but try to remain positive.

“Let’s see what you have so far,” you say, opening his draft document. “This week’s discussion question is about the significance of time in the novel. Did you notice it was sometimes spelled with a capital T?”

Your brows pinch in concentration as you lean forward, reading what he’s put together. It’s sparse, disjointed, just like his work when you first started tutoring him. It’s like he’s gone backwards.

You look up at him, but his eyes are downcast, lips turned down. Something’s wrong.

“You didn’t get much time to work on it?” you say, keeping a kind tone to your voice.

“This book made no sense,” he mutters.

“It is pretty convoluted,” you say. “But there’s substance to it. I like how it explores the idea of friendship. Speaking of, friends tell each other when something’s wrong, so get to talking.”

If Rafe didn’t know better, he’d think you're trying to hurt him.

Disappointing you was painful enough. It’s why his instinct was to act like that late assignment wasn’t a big deal; because then, he wouldn’t have to accept that he was messing up in front of you yet again.

And now, you’re rubbing it in that you only see him as a friend, adding salt to the wound.

“It’s been a shitty week,” he admits.

You lean over to push the bag of treats a little closer to him, earning a nearly silent chuckle.

“Is your shoulder feeling okay?” you ask.

“I had to do some scans,” he says. “I’m waiting to see if I can play. But I’m good.”

Your lips purse in thought. It’s like Rafe is nothing but knee-jerk reactions, snapping when he’s mad, direct about when he’s annoyed, but he hides everything else, as if he’s telling himself he’s not allowed to feel anything besides anger.

You wonder if he was always like that, or if his last relationship left that particular scar.

“Is midterm season getting to you?” you ask. “Because it’s getting to me. Studying’s hard enough and now I have a group project that’s been keeping me up at night.”

“It’s that bad?” he says, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“You know when you’re put into a group with guys who think dropping paragraphs into a slide deck counts as contributing?” you say. “And when you try to meet up outside of class to practice the presentation, they pretend they didn’t see your text? Does that kind of stuff not happen to you?”

A smile pulls on his lips.

“Just me, then,” you reply.

“Do I need to talk to anyone?” he asks, and he realizes he’s only half-joking.

“You mean like, to threaten them? Only if you can fit it in your schedule,” you joke. “I don’t want to put you out.”

You think he’s kidding. He’s not. He feels insanely protective over you, and while he can see that you’re not that bothered by this, he’d get those idiots you’re working with in line if you needed him to.

This is only getting more difficult. He wants to tell you that he’s serious. That he’d do anything to make things easier for you, that you don’t deserve to be ignored, that you should cut this act out and be with him for real.

But he has to accept that while he’s spent his life being ruthlessly honest about what he thinks about people, good or bad, he needs to swallow down his words around you.

He can’t talk like that with a girl who’d never want him. Who he’d never recover from getting rejected by.

“You know you can tell me when something’s bothering you, right?” you say. “It’s not like I’d…”

You don’t finish your sentence, your gaze soft. He can tell you’re trying to reassure him that you wouldn’t criticize him for being stressed like his ex used to, the reminder of your last conversation planting discomfort in his chest.

“I didn’t mean to forget,” he utters, eyes darting away again. You nod. So he does care. And now you feel bad if you made him feel ridiculed.

“Was I too intense?” you say dolefully. “I’m sorry. I just want you to do well. We worked hard on that assignment and it’s a waste of effort to lose points for lateness.”

You pull out your notebook, full of study notes you took last semester.

“It’s okay,” you conclude. “It’s just one assignment. We’ll finish up this essay and then start prepping for the midterm.”

Rafe’s muscles loosen, in awe of how quickly you just turned his mood around.

“Oh, before I forget,” you say, “do you want me to come to the next game? I can drive up with Lyla. It’s an away, right? This Saturday?”

“You did your homework.”

“Did you forget who you’re talking to?” you laugh.

“Yeah, you should come,” Rafe says after a beat. “If I play.”

“Deal,” you say with a grin.

He’s hopeful you follow through. Because even if you’re there as a friend, as all you’ll ever want to be to him, he plays better knowing you’re watching.

════════

Rafe sits on the team bus on the way to game two, his eyes following the dips and valleys of lush trees lining the road. Music buzzes in his earbuds, his fingers interlaced in his lap, his knees bouncing.

He needs this before big games; the closest he can get to solitude, confining himself into his own mind, finding focus.

He’d never liked quiet until he started playing hockey. He chased noise, commotion, distractions. And he still gets his dose of chaos with every game, but it’s always preceded by this stillness. This moment he gives himself for the calm before the storm.

He got the call yesterday. The scans came back fine. They showed nothing serious, no signs of tearing, no reason for him to be freaking out.

Rafe texted you right away, finding himself wanting to tell you of all people the good news first, even before his coach.

As expected, you responded with an enthusiastic message telling him you couldn’t wait to cheer him on. The focus he’s trying to find right now keeps getting derailed by thoughts of you.

The song fades out, replaced with ringing. He picks up his phone to see that you’re video-calling him.

His stomach flips and he feels like a little kid with a crush on a girl in his class. The effect you have on him is starting to get really damn embarrassing.

Your pretty face appears on his screen, the backdrop a well-lit ceiling and colorful display shelves.

“Hello,” you greet him cheerfully. “We just stopped at a gas station. Do you want me to grab something for you for after the game? You know, because you’ll need nutrients and electrolytes and all that.”

“I will?” he says, his lips turned up in a smirk. “No shit?”

“Okay, I’m just being nice,” you laugh. “Don’t you get tired of being so sarcastic all the time?”

“Not really,” he replies.

Isaac, who always sits beside him on these drives, hears Rafe mumbling. He leans over and gazes at the screen.

You see the corner of Isaac’s face, then grin and wave.

“Hey, I have a really quick question,” Isaac says.

“What’s up?” you ask.

“She said to leave her alone,” Rafe murmurs.

“I did not,” you laugh, realizing only Rafe can hear you through his earbuds.

“Lies,” Isaac says. “I have this essay that’s killing me. You’re good at that stuff, right? Could you look at it for me? Please? It’s a huge chunk of my grade.”

“Sure,” you say with a nod. “Send it to me. You can get my email from Rafe.”

“She said no,” Rafe says.

“I saw her nod,” Isaac retorts.

“I’ll give you her email, alright?” Rafe says impatiently. “You done now? I’m trying to talk to my girl.”

Isaac feigns offense and leans away after giving you a thankful smile.

“You don’t need to get me anything,” he tells you.

“Suit yourself,” you say. “How are you?”

“Good,” he says simply, because he can’t be honest that he’s nervous about this game, nervous that he’ll mess up his shoulder again, nervous that he’s falling so hard for you that you could shatter him without even knowing it.

His mind is blank, words refusing to form.

“Okay,” you say, unhappy he’s being so short with you.

You don’t know what you did wrong, why he gets so irritated with you all the time. You’d called him impulsively, only ten minutes into your drive with Lyla when you stopped to buy a drink, but you assumed you were in a good enough place to call whenever you felt like it.

It’s all too familiar, this sinking feeling of questioning what a guy thinks of you, just like you always did with Beck. You know things between you and Rafe are platonic, but you thought he’d like to hear from you, because you like to hear from him.

Still, you can’t pretend that the sound of him calling you his girl didn’t make your heart lift with an unwelcome warmth. You remind yourself it’s a lie. Beck’s surely sitting close by, overhearing Rafe’s words.

“I’ll see you after the game,” you say low-spiritedly.

Rafe grimaces, guilt sinking into his bones. You’d once told him he makes you feel annoying and you were joking, but he hates to think that he’s really making you feel like that.

“How ‘bout you?” he asks hurriedly. “How’s your drive been?”

“Aside from Lyla’s road rage?” you joke.

“I do not have road rage,” Lyla defends herself with a playful gasp from the other side of the aisle.

Rafe watches as you look off-screen, the corners of your eyes crinkled as you laugh.

“Be careful,” he says, worry icing his chest. “Tell her to drive safe.”

“Oh, my God, I do!” Lyla half-shouts with a laugh. “Is he always that protective?”

“It’s why I like him so much,” you answer.

This is the point where Rafe would just be direct. He doesn’t play games. Never has. He’d ask you, straight up, the next time you're alone, if you meant that or if you were just faking affection in front of your best friend.

But he can’t do that when he already knows the answer. You told him yourself last weekend. I like you. Just not like that. Imagining something more with you just makes him a masochist.

“I’m offended that your boyfriend doesn’t trust me,” Lyla says.

“He doesn’t trust anyone,” you counter playfully. You look back at the screen. “I’ll let you go. Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Look what I found,” Lyla sing-songs. She holds up a bottle of the drink you’ve been looking for.

“I love you,” you tell her.

Hearing you say those words and knowing they’ll never be directed to him is its own brand of agony. And it’s so soft, so insane that he’s already thinking about love, but you’ve thrown him for such a loop that he can’t control it.

He catches his reflection in the corner of the screen. It’s almost unbelievable how good he is at it, looking so careless, numb, when his heart is cracking down the middle.

“Good luck today,” you say to him. “You don’t need it, though.”

“Thanks,” Rafe replies. “See you.”

You hang up.

“For a second, I thought you were telling Rafe you love him,” Lyla says.

“Oh,” you laugh, turning to look at the items on the shelves again. “No.”

“Do you?” she asks. “Or do you see it getting to that point?”

“Maybe,” you reply.

“You’re giving me crumbs,” she whines.

You meet your best friend’s eyes, having already heard her complaints about how little you share about your relationship. You’re tight-lipped about Rafe because you’d rather not have to stomach the shame of feeding Lyla lies.

“What do you want to know?” you ask.

“Everything. Start with the juicy stuff. Have you guys kissed?”

Imagining what it’d be like to kiss Rafe makes your stomach flutter. You wonder if his kisses would be like him; rushed, hard, impatient, or if he’d be soft and gentle and slow.

Your cheeks burn as you think about it, once again trying to pull yourself back into reality.

“Lots of times,” you say with a shrug.

“Have you guys…?” She raises her brows.

You laugh nervously. Her brother saw you leaving Rafe’s room. You doubt they’d ever gossip about you like that, but it’s better to keep the lies consistent.

You nod in response.

“And?”

“Let’s not do this here,” you chuckle, playing it off. “I don’t want strangers overhearing.”

Less than a minute after you hang up, Isaac gets Rafe’s attention with a nudge. He takes out an earbud.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Isaac says, “but how’d you get her to like you?”

“How the hell do I take that the right way?” he replies.

“No offense. She’s just so… nice,” Isaac tells him. “It’s a good thing. I can tell you’re happy. Way happier than you were with what’s-her-name.”

Rafe suggested this ploy so it’d seem that way. But with time, with getting to know you, with seeing what it’s like to be someone you care about, it’s become the truth.

════════

The game is hardly a nailbiter. Within the first period, you can tell the opponents aren’t strong contenders. It ends in an easy win.

You catch Rafe’s gaze a few times throughout the game, but you don’t get a chance to talk to him. On your way back to campus, he texts you that the team is celebrating their win in one of the common rooms in the athletes’ dorm building.

Lyla parks and before you can let her know you’ll call Rafe to come downstairs, she pulls out her phone.

“Hey,” she says after a pause. “Can you come down and let us in?”

You unbuckle your seatbelt, stomach turning. You know she’s talking to her brother.

“I could’ve called Rafe,” you say nervously when you step out of the car, walking side-by-side to the building.

“It’s no problem,” she says. You can tell that she thinks she did you a favor by taking care of it, but these days, being around Beck brings you an unwelcome, awkward tension.

Beck lets you in, holding the front door open as you exchange casual greetings. You pace through the lobby and the elevator door slides shut behind you.

Beck stands by the buttons, Lyla leans against the corner between you, and you cross your arms and look up at the numbers changing.

“When’s the last time just the three of us hung out?” Lyla says lightheartedly. “And this doesn’t count.”

Your eyes flit up to Beck, whose stare is already on you. Lyla has no idea what’s gone on between you, that an unspoken heaviness has settled between you since that day in front of his exam room last semester.

Does he regret it? Does he want to take it back? Does he wish he’d never spent years leading you on and just pursued you from the beginning? Does he want to tell you what he’s really thinking? Will he ever?

The questions swirl through your head, a pattern that, at this point, you could do in your sleep.

And you realize that the answers don’t matter. Not really. Because if it takes a lie, a delusion that you’re with another man for Beck to see your worth, he never deserved you in the first place.

It gives you hope that you’re finally taking back your heart, piece by piece.

You need to allow yourself to see who you are without this hold he has on you. To love yourself instead of waiting for somebody else to. To give yourself space to be you, unencumbered by what anyone else thinks.

“It has been a long time,” you say. “I think we’ve all just been swamped.”

“Swamped?” Beck asks you. “You doing okay?”

His eyes drift over your face, shadowed with a hint of sadness.

The elevator reaches its stop. The doors open with the ding of a bell. And you nod.

“Yeah,” you answer. “My head has never been clearer, actually.”

════════

Rafe was hoping you’d still be wearing his jersey, rubbing it in Beck’s face that you’re wearing his name, no matter if it is just a ploy.

His throat tightens when his eyes land on you as you step into the common room, taking you in as he leans against the armrest of a couch. You’re not in his jersey. And you’re with Lyla and Beck.

His heart sinks. Why didn’t you call him to come get you?

“Hey,” you say, beaming at Rafe as you approach him. “You were great tonight.”

You pull him into a hug, arms draped around his wide shoulders, inhaling the smell of his body wash.

Part of you is embracing him because it’s what a girlfriend would do. The other part is because it feels good to be held by someone who knows just how much pain you’ve been holding onto.

Rafe’s hands tighten at your waist, his nose in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.

“Pretty relaxed celebration,” you say, looking around when you part. Teammates and their friends and girlfriends are scattered around the room, grouped in different conversations.

You look at Rafe again and you swear that he’s somehow getting more handsome the longer you know him. Being inches away from him after daydreaming about kissing him makes the realization all the more overpowering.

The only thing you can feel is frustration because this is the last thing you need, to jump from liking one guy to another. Especially to one who has proven that he’d only hurt you.

You need your crush on Rafe to remain superficial. Any deeper and you’re just opening yourself up to more heartache.

“Yeah, this is really lowkey,” Lyla agrees with you. “You guys didn’t have it in you to party?”

“We’re pretty worn out,” Beck explains.

“Are you?” you ask Rafe, gazing up at him in that way that he’s grown to adore.

He is. He’s exhausted. And he’d fucking love it if you could go to his room just down the hall, lie in his bed together, doze off wrapped up in each other.

“Getting there,” he replies.

“I’ll let you guys talk,” Lyla says, then looks at you. “Or whatever it is you do.”

“Lyla,” you groan with a laugh. She slips away, prompting Beck to do the same. Nowadays, he seems to hate being around you when you’re with Rafe.

“What was that about?” Rafe murmurs to you quietly.

You lean on the armrest, settled next to him with your arm pressed against his, finding that you’ve grown to enjoy the conversations you’re always having outside of the crowds, the feeling of being tucked away into privacy together.

“She’s annoyed that I’ve been so secretive,” you reply just as quietly. “I don’t give her details about us, but can you blame me?”

“What does she want to know?”

“If we’ve kissed and… stuff,” you say, looking at the floor, feeling too awkward to tell him the truth. “I said yeah, but I couldn’t exactly come up with details about something that never happened.”

Rafe’s eyes lower to your lips, staring while your gaze stays on the floor.

“You tellin’ me you want to break your ‘no kissing’ rule?” he asks in a joking tone, as if his heart is pounding in his ears right now.

“No,” you chuckle, looking back up at him. “I still want my first kiss to be real.”

It’s the first time he doesn’t like the sound of your laugh, because it’s apparently funny to you to consider having genuine feelings for him.

He swallows down the bitterness, determined not to punish you for his own pain. He’s done that before and he hated himself for it.

“If I played so great, why’d you take off my jersey?” he asks.

He didn’t his best tonight, feeling pricks of pain in his shoulder only a few minutes into the game. It made him afraid of getting into any hard collisions. He’s never been like that. It’s just as aggravating as it is depressing.

You lace your fingers together in your lap, fidgeting.

“I left it in the car,” you answer. You don’t offer him anything else, a faraway look in your eyes.

“Did something happen?”

You breathe out slowly, still in disbelief of how easily Rafe can read you. It’s a good thing you’re not really falling for him. He’d be able to tell.

“You’re too perceptive,” you murmur. He smirks. “It was just a weird elevator ride.”

“You could’ve called me to let you in.”

“Lyla called him before I could.” You clear your throat. “I’m finally seeing him act how I always wanted him to and… it doesn’t feel like I thought it would.”

Rafe studies you intently, hanging onto your words like they’re the only thing keeping him breathing.

“Everything that happened with him made me so insecure,” you confess. “And I think I shouldn’t date for real until I’m totally over him.”

At least Rafe won’t see you with another guy once you call this off, but now he’s wondering if he’ll see you at all, if you want to stay friends with someone like him, if he can manage being platonic with a girl who has so ruthlessly claimed his heart.

“And that’ll be long after we stage a mature, civil breakup where we mutually decide we’re better as friends,” you say. “And we are staying friends, got it?”

You offer him a smile. He returns it, relieved that you answered his unspoken concern, lucky that you want him around at all.

Rafe hopes you mean it, that you’re not just being nice. He can’t not have you in his life. He’ll just have to get used to quietly wanting you.

“Do we have to?” he teases, keeping his pain hidden.

You breathe a laugh, gently elbowing him, the contact making your heart feel a little less heavy.

It’s moments like these, when Rafe jokes with you and flashes his dimpled grin and shows glimmers of softness, that you worry your feelings will plunge into dangerous territory.

But you spent too long silently hoping someone would like you back. You can’t do it again.

(to be continued)

author’s note my bad… i love a man yearning too much to end it just yet… slowest slowburn i’ve ever written stg

Something people don’t know about Spencer Reid at 19 years old: he was a whore. And this is not an exaggeration. The little fucker (pun intended) got around. It was the brains, and the way he explained things without speaking down on anyone. It was the way he grew his hair out in the winter so it fell into his face just the right way. It was the long, skinny fingers that girls just wanted to deepthroat. The veins in his neck, his arms, and the way he licked his lips. The way some girls said he would go down on them for hours upon hours and how, allegedly, his dick was the equivalent of a snake — long, skillful and intimidating. That is what got him a bunch of pussy. Being kind and helpful and laying down pipe so well that it was spoken about around campus.

His set was the undergrads. Girls were into the genius thing. He was the same age as the sophomores and some of the freshmen and everything he heard was Oh my god, you’re already getting your doctorate? How old are you? 19? No way! Are you a genius or something? And here, this response, is key:

He’d say, “Or something.”

He was mysterious and collected and had an apartment off campus. He went to parties just to stand against the wall and sip on a cup of water. He’d play games of poker just to win a bunch of money and give it back. It was during one of these games that he first saw you. He was on a winning streak, and he had a girl hanging onto his shoulder. She was sweaty and playing with his hair. In his hands, he had a winning lottery of cards and just as he went to slam them on the table, he caught a glimpse of you and only a glimpse. The two of you held eye contact, and you raised your cup to him. The cards fell out of his hands and the room erupted in chaos and you disappeared.

“I’m out,” he said, much to the dismay of the crowd, and he brushed the sweaty girl off of him and he stood from his chair. By the time he pushed his way through the crowd, you were gone and for a long time, he carried on thinking that he had lost his mind. That he imagined you, that you were merely a hallucination that had overtaken his thoughts. For most of the night, he thought he was seeing you everywhere. When he found you smoking on the patio, he had to catch his breath. Think of what to say. Fix his hair.

He approached you with his hand in his pocket, only one, and the other held his solo cup. He had a method, and it was full proof. Working the hair and deep eye contact and leaning in close enough to make himself desirable. He does this with you and you exhale smoke, look him up and down.

“You’re new,” he says.

“Fresh out the box,” you shrug. “Who are you?”

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m Spencer. I go by Reid.”

“Okay.”

“Did you know that more than six million Americans are living with a disease caused by smoking?” he asks.

“Yeah. It also causes erectile dysfunction. I like to take my chances, y’know?”

He chuckles, he thinks: where the hell did you come from?

“What’s your major?” he asks.

“Chem.”

“No shit,” he smiles. “I’m studying chemistry, too.”

“Never seen you around.”

“I’m a graduate student.”

“And you just like to hang out at undergrad parties, or . .?”

“I’m 19.”

“You a science experiment or something?”

And here is where he looks at you, really looks at you. He grins, “Or something.”

You toss your cigarette on the ground and stomp it out. “Okay, well,” you pat his shoulder. “See you around, Spencer.”

He thinks: that has never happened before.

You’ve walked away before he can find the breath to speak and when he does, he says, “Just . . . Reid . . .”

Spencer fucks two other girls before he sees you again. With both, he’s a lot rougher than usual. He’s out of his head. He tosses them around and he keeps switching positions and he can’t come unless it’s in their mouths. You’ve thrown him off his game and it’s funny because you don’t even know it. The day he ate a girl out in the back of the library, you were studying there. The brothel was conveniently located in the chemistry section and you caught him in the act. He had his hand over her mouth because she was going to come and her back was against the bookshelf. Spencer was finger fucking her and you assume it’s good because she’s going cross-eyed. You clear your throat and her eyes focused on you and she scrambles to pull her dress down. She pushes Spencer off, he goes, “What? What?”

He turns to see you and his jaw is hanging open and he wipes it with the back of his hand.

“Really, dude?” you say. You roll your eyes, you grab your book and walk away.

He runs after you, but you had already made the decision to leave the library and he could not find you. Spencer thinks it’s just his luck. He feels every interaction ruining his chances of ever getting into your pants. He wishes he knew your name. He wishes he knew more about the girl who smokes cigarettes and majors in chemistry and only catches him when he’s least expecting it.

A week later a rumor is going around that he got a girl pregnant. This is the first you ever hear of him. Of course it is not said directly to you, but you overhear it in class. You raise an eyebrow, you scoff, you get back to your notes.

“I think she’s lying,” one girl says.

Another sighs, “Why, Audrey?”

“Because everyone who’s hooked up with him has said he’s extremely careful. That —“

“I’m sorry. Everyone? Didn’t you hook up with him?”

“We didn’t have sex, it doesn’t count.”

“I would say if body fluids were exchanged, that counts.”

“He’s cautious, is what I’m trying to say, smart ass. He wouldn’t fuck up and knock someone up.”

“And how are you so sure? You barely know him.”

“I know him well enough.”

“Yeah. You and everybody else.”

When it comes to light that it was, in fact, a rumor, there is a moment of silence in which Spencer does not have sex. He loses the urge for it and he does not come to any parties. His first night back out is a grand appearance. Girls and guys alike flock to him when he enters the room and he seems out of it.

When he is nowhere to be found a few hours later, there are whispers. Did he leave? To buy diapers, maybe? No, that was just a rumor. Maybe off with his new flavor of the week? Possibly, but who here hasn’t he fucked?

He goes outside in a corner of the garden and lays in the grass. He stares at the sky and the stars and for once, he wishes he was drinking. He wishes he could find a way to ascend from his body, someway, somehow. He feels so heavy and he could fall asleep.

“Hey. Earth to ET,” you call.

He lifts his head up and he gives you this real, genuine smile.

“Brought you a drink,” you tell him, holding two cups in your hands.

“Oh, I —“

“Calm down, dude, it’s sparkling water.”

You take a seat beside him and the grass pokes you through your jeans. “Thank you,” he says. He takes a big gulp and he lays back down. You look up to the sky, trying to imagine what’s there. What’s jumping out to him, what’s speaking to him.

“Hey,” he is looking at you now. “I’m sorry. About the library.”

You shrug, take a sip of water, “Not my business.”

He goes quiet and he stares up at the sky.

“We don’t have to talk about that, y’know,” you tell him. You lay down beside him and he feels as though he can’t breathe. “We can talk about . . . I don’t know, the olympics. The weather. That cloud right there in the shape of a dog.”

He observes the cloud, he tilts his head, “I don’t see it. A cat maybe.”

“A really big rabbit.”

He laughs, he says, “Maybe,” and then he says, “I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.”

You choke on your water, but to be completely fair, you shouldn’t have been drinking while laying down. You sit up and hack it up and Spencer watches the whole thing. “I’m sorry,” you say. “But we were just talking about clouds. What about that triggers an existential crisis?”

“No, no,” he sits up. “The existential crisis started long before the clouds. I think I was born with it.”

“Hm,” you hum. “Y’know, I’m not a psychology major. I can’t give you the great answer.”

“That’s okay,” he chuckles. “The, um,” he holds up his cup, but he is looking at you. “The sparkling water is enough.”

You nod, you almost smile. “Well, I’ve got to get back to my friends but you should keep looking at the clouds. Hey!” you exclaim, as you stand up, “Maybe that’s what you could do with your life. Be a cloud.”

“Ha. Ha.”

“Or, a sunflower,” you back away. “A patch of grass. A shooting star.”

“You really are not a psychology major.”

“You’ll figure it out,” you turn your back to him and as he is watching you walk away, his eyes go wide and he begins to chase you.

“Wait!” he calls. “Wait!”

You turn around and he is running so fast that he nearly collides with you and he catches himself on his toes. He huffs, he puffs, “What, what’s your name?”

You tilt your head. Now, you smile, “[y/n].”

You walk away and he watches you disappear and when you are out of his vision, he whispers, “[y/n] . . . hm.”

Spencer gets your number from a friend. This friend sucks him off and immediately asks, “How do you know [y/n]?”

Spencer’s heart drops and he leans against the wall. He hasn’t even had a moment to catch his breath. “How do you know [y/n]?”

“She’s my lab partner. She doesn’t seem like your type.”

“Oh, and you know my type, huh?”

“I know you,” she says. “I know [y/n]. Not a match.”

“Don’t be jealous. It’s not a good look on you,” he tells her.

“Don’t be so full of yourself. I’ll give you her number if you want.” At this point, she is reapplying the lipstick she used to paint Spencer’s dick.

He is quiet and it is obvious.

“Wow . . .” she whispers. “You want.”

She is civil and hands over her phone and she has you saved as [y/n] (chem lab). Spencer takes a quick picture and gives her a kiss on the cheek. “This dress looks real nice on you.”

“Oh, boo you whore,” she rolls her eyes and he laughs as he leaves.

Spencer waits until he is out of her sight to freak out. He cradles his phone in both his palms. It is precious, it holds a single image and is his one mode of communicating with you. He doesn't call you until the end of the day. Just as the sun is going down. He has his phone sat on the bed and he paces back and forth. The line rings and it rings.

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello?” you repeat.

He clears his throat, “Hi, [y/n].” His voice cracks and he wants to shrivel up and die.

“Who’s this?” you ask.

“It’s Reid,” he says. “Spencer. Spencer Reid. You brought me the sparkling water, I had the existential crisis?”

“Ah, library boy,” you laugh.

“Just Reid is fine,” he smiles. “Are you busy?”

“Why?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to . . . I don’t know, hang out?”

“Hang out?” you repeat. Slowly.

“Yeah. We can go anywhere. I can meet you or come pick you up.”

“Why don’t you come here?”

“Oh,” his eyes go wide and he rushes over to the phone. “To you?”

“Yeah, to my dorm. I’ll send you the room number. Just text me when you’re here.”

“Oh. Okay,” he can’t hide this grin in his voice. “Okay. I’ll be there in 20.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

After he hangs up, he showers. He does his hair and he picks out sweatpants that are extra flattering. He never uses cologne and when he sprays some, it makes him cough. You don’t send your address until 10 minutes later and he is out the door as soon as he knows where to go.

He shows up tactically late and knocks on the door with his other hand in his pocket. The door opens and he says, “Oh. Sorry. I must have the wrong room,” because a guy answers.

“Who is it?” you call from inside.

“String bean,” the guy replies.

“Hey, Spencer!” you greet him. “Come on in.”

The small room is crowded, with only five people occupying the space. Spencer does not know all of them but they all know him.

“Hey, dude,” you turn around for a moment to grin at him. “We’re playing connect four. Jace is playing the winner, but you can play after that.”

“Or you can have one of these,” the guy hands Spencer a red cup and it is almost hot. “My own special creation. Way more fun than connect four.”

Spencer takes the cup and he feels like a fucking idiot. For the first time in his life, he feels not a single brain cell in his head. He looks around the room, at your friends, at you. You are having a blast, you are hardly acknowledging his existence and he wishes he was alone with you.

He looks down at the drink in his hand. This icky oozy cup of filth and he drinks it. He knocks it back and it knocks the wind out of him in turn. The Guy laughs and catches Spencer before he stumbles to the ground, “Ha!” he laughs. “I like you, string bean. Here,” he hands him a drink. “Have another.”

And Spencer does. He drinks until he can’t see straight (which, admittedly, happens only after a few cups) and he crashes onto a futon. He watches from the side as you laugh. It is a gorgeous and full laugh that makes the room stop. A guy walks up behind you and whispers in your ear and you look at this guy in a way that Spencer wishes you would look at him.

By the time he passes out in the bathroom, everyone has gone. And it is just you and him. The Guy tries to stick around, even offers to drive Spencer how. But you tell him, “I’ve got him. He’s harmless.”

You spend the night making sure he doesn’t die. If he was semiconscious, his pulse would be racing. He has no idea his head is in your lap. That you’re wiping the sweat of his brow and the vomit from his lips. The snot from his nose. And when he is lying there, sweaty and wet and red, you think: he is kind of cute.

Spencer wakes up on the floor. He is laying on a tile and his mouth is slimy. His head is killing him, his body aches from being curled up in a ball. He tries to push himself up but he collapses back to the floor. He doesn’t know you’re there until you chuckle. You cover your mouth as he looks up at you, “Hey, sleeping beauty. Thought we lost you for a minute.”

“[y/n]?” he mumbles, his face still pressed to the floor. “Where am I?”

“My bathroom.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll leave,” he says. “As soon as I can get up.”

“Take your time, party boy. I have nowhere to be today.”

He lets out a long sigh and it takes all his strength to get himself up. He grumbles and leans back against the bathtub.

“I feel gross,” he says.

“You look it.”

“Thanks.”

“I like the sweatpants, though.”

He smiles. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Did it ever occur to you . . .” he starts. But he can’t seem to put the words together. “. . . That when I asked to hang out . . . I don’t know, when I asked to hang out . . . I only . . . wanted . . . to hang out with you?”

You look at him for a long time. Heat is rising to your face and you put your hand to your cheek. “No. It hadn’t occurred to me.”

“Oh, well,” he sighs. “You’re an idiot, then.”

You burst out laughing and he is relieved. He could listen to this sound all day. “Real bold coming from the guy who can’t hold his liquor.”

“Liquor?” he exclaims. “That was liquor?”

“No, it was juice. Of course it was liquor!”

“Oh, my god,” he slumps. “I hate liquor. Must kill liquor.”

“I think liquor’s gonna win that fight.”

It is silent for a moment. He is gazing at you from the corner of his eye and you will not look away from your lap. He goes to speak, but you do so first. “Let’s hang out,” you tell him. “Just the two of us.”

“Right now?”

“Mhm,” you nod. “Right now.”

“I,” he stutters. “I’m hardly in shape to go out.”

“Be there or be square,” you say, standing up from the floor. “I’m gonna change.”

Spencer forgets the hangover in an instant and stands up too fast. He catches himself on the sink and sticks his head under the water. He washes his face and uses his finger to brush his teeth. He walks out of the bathroom to find you fully dressed for the day.

“So,” he says. “Where to?”

You walk to a diner down the street. Spencer sets a napkin down on the chair before he sits.

“Really?” you tilt your head at him.

“Just a precaution,” he smiles and starts to look at the menu, “God, this all looks . . . terrible.”

“Best hangover food in town. Give me that,” you take his menu from his hands and hand both to the waiter. You order for the both of you and he is in shock.

“I’m hungover but I can talk,” he says.

“Why? So you could order a glass of water and a piece of toast? I don’t think so.”

A big breakfast is set on the table after a few more minutes. There’s waffles and eggs and bacon and sausage and toast. Spencer could vomit just looking at it. But you tell him to take just one bite and then he cannot get enough.

The two of you stuff your faces and giggle at each other incessantly. “Right?” you ask.

“It is good,” he says with a full mouth. “It’s almost like I can remember what happened last night. Oh, god. Did I sing?”

You burst out laughing and food shoots out of your mouth and people stare. “The entire intro to Grease, actually.”

“Ah, fuck,” he puts his hands over his face as he laughs. “Never again.”

He continues eating his food. You watch him shove it down and there is a small smile on your face.

After dinner, you walk. Not a stroll, not a casual walk in the park. You walk. You tell Spencer is keep him from focusing on all the food in his gut. And you walk. You walk for hours. You talk for hours. Your voices sing the sun to sleep. You see the city and you see Spencer under the light. He wants to hold your hand. Not to be sappy or romantic, just to make sure he doesn’t lose you. Just to keep you close.

He keeps making jokes in effort to make you laugh and the sound echos down the empty street. He is so lost in you. He is so infatuated with you. That when a car rolls by, he does not see the puddle and gets splash by a wave of fallen rain. It narrowly misses you. You dodge out of the way as the car drives off and watch the entire thing in almost slow motion.

“Oh, my god!” you laugh. You cackle, actually. You bend over in hysterics. “I’m so — I’m sorry, I just —“ you’re cut off by another laugh. If Spencer didn’t enjoy the sound so much, he’d be angry. But you are happy. You are happy because of him, and that is okay.

He asks if you two can stop by his place before he takes you home. He walks there soaking wet and you walk at his side.

“I’m sorry for laughing,” you tell him. “That was a dick move.”

“Hey,” he shrugs. “You don’t ever have to be sorry about that.”

Spencer’s place is clean. About as clean as it gets for a 19 year old boy. The books as organized and shelved away. Blankets are folded and set neatly on the couch. The tile in the kitchen is spotless. The air smells nice and fresh.

“I just have to run into my room. I’ll be back,” he tells you as he walks down the hallway. He disappears and you continue to observe the apartment. Find little details of Spencer written in the walls. Your curiosity piques at the thought of his room. What it looks like, where he sleeps. You take a breath, you hold it, and you walk down the hall.

He is putting on a new shirt when you walk in and his hair is messy. “Nosey much?” he asks with a smile.

“Very much,” you step into his room and he watches you look around. “It’s cute in here.”

“Oh, yeah. Cute is just what I was going for.”

There’s a night light in the corner in the shape of a rocket. A pile of clothes on the floor right beside it. A picture of an older blond woman on his dresser. The room is filled with soft hues of blue and black and there are more books in a box beside his bed. There is a stereo against the wall. You walk up to it and hit play. Classical music leaks from the speakers at a subtle volume.

You turn around and eye him and he immediately says, “I just use it to fall asleep.”

You chuckle, “Sure.”

You walk across the room and pick up a single solo cup. It is empty and old and nearly the only piece of trash in sight. You go to throw it in the wastebasket, but he rushes over to grab it. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he grabs the cup from you. “That’s not trash.”

“Oh?” you raise your eyebrows. “It’s not?”

“No, no,” he shakes his head.

“Then what is it?”

He sighs, slowly and deeply, “It’s . . . the cup. From that night. When you — when you brought me . . .”

You tilt your head at him. Your face is stoic and void. “No shit.”

“Yeah, now that you mention it, it’s trash. I’ll just,” and he pops the cup in the waste and fiddles with his hands.

“God,” you roll your eyes and laugh. You’re trying to lighten the mood. “You’re obsessed with me, dude.”

“I’ve been obsessed with you since I met you, [y/n],” he says, and he follows it with a soft laugh. “I’ve been thinking about you. Nonstop. How could I not?”

And, for once, you’re speechless.

“I mean, you’re beautiful. You’re funny. You have this awful sense of sarcasm that makes me feel small and . . . silly and I like that. Your laugh takes up an entire room and I just, I want to be around it, I don’t know. I like that you . . . let you let me sleep on your bathroom floor. That you find me obnoxious and you let me know. I like . . . you.”

When you say nothing in response, he sighs and it is full of disappointment. He turns away and begins to dig for his drawer. For what, you’re not sure. But you are sure of one thing.

“Spencer,” you call, in a low, soft voice.

He turns around with a smile that quickly dissipates when he sees your chest. Bare, covered in a bra that pushes your boobs up in a way he likes. He loves. His jaw drops, just slightly, and he shakes his head from side to side to make sure this is real.

“[y/n] . . .” he whispers. “What are you doing?”

You chuckle, “What does it look like?”

He steps close to you. In slow, small steps like he is afraid you’ll run away. But you want this. You tell him, “I want to. I want you.”

And as his hand snakes around your waist, shakily and steadily, he asks if you’re sure. You nod, you take his face in your hands and you kiss him. It is a gentle and staggered kiss, each second bringing your lips closer and closer until they are smushed into one another’s. Spencer’s eyelids fall, like they are heavy and he cannot keep them open. He hums into your mouth and pulls you in by your waist. Your boobs graze his chest and he is craving the skin to skin contact.

He only breaks the kiss to take his shirt off. You run your fingertips up his chest, trace his collarbones to raise goosebumps on his skin. You kiss his neck and his knees buckle beneath him. Your lips are so soft, plush. They taste nice and he is getting drunk off of your saliva.

Your lips travel down his chest, your palms holding onto his biceps. You can feel his muscles tightening, growing tense and full of anticipation. You drop to your knees and hold his gaze. He tells you that you don’t have to and you tell him to shut up. He watches you undo his pants, and his cock is so hard that it nearly pops out of his clothes.

You had to look at it for a moment because it is big and you aren’t sure if it will all fit in your mouth. He repeats that you don’t have to. “I can do you if you want. I’m dying to.”

And because you are full of spite, you look him in the eye and take his length into your mouth. You hold the base in your hand and hollow your cheeks as you pull back. It is everything Spencer has wanted and more. Your mouth hugs him in just the right way and he thinks every other girl must have been doing it wrong.

You spit on his cock and it makes it easier for your mouth to slide up and down his shaft. Spit is dribbling onto your chest and it makes you look messy but Spencer can’t take his eyes off of you. He gives you quiet compliments of ooh’s and ahh’s and one, clear “Fuck.”

You take him to the back of your throat and he nearly stumbles over, so he removes himself from your mouth and pulls you to your feet. He catches your face in his hands and gives you a slimy kiss. His tongue traces a trail from your chin to your neck to your chest. He licks the saliva from your breasts and moans at the taste.

He would fuck you in his bed, where so many other girls have laid before you but this was different. And the two of you wind up laying on the carpeted floor of his bedroom, Spencer on top of you, his torso between your legs, your hands in his hair, your tongue in his mouth. The bra is thrown to a corner of the room and Spencer cannot get enough of your boobs. The way they sit perfectly and beg to be sucked. He covers them in hickeys from the suction of his mouth. Your nipples get hard between his teeth. You moan for him and it makes his head fuzzy.

He removes your pants and runs his hands over your thighs, squeezing them gently before he takes off your underwear. His hand lays flat on your tummy and he takes you in. The bleary look in your eyes and the glow around your body. When he begins to eat your pussy, it is with slow movements on his tongue and his hands gripping your thighs. He hums against you, but he is quiet because he likes to hear you moan. He buries his face into you and devours you like he is starving. Your back arches off the floor and your pinch at his shoulders. He reaches up and plays with your nipples and the stimulation causes your moans to grow three times in volume.

His fingers slip into you and you cannot take it. Your body shakes and he holds you against his face to keep you from squirming. Gotta make her come, he thinks. Gotta make this good. Gotta make this shit fucking fantastic. And so he finger fucks you like his life depends on it. He sucks on your clit until it’s pulsing between his lips. And when you come, he keeps his mouth on you until you are pushing him away.

He climbs back on top of you with a toothy grin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and gives you a kiss. Your lips only move against his just slightly. You are worn out and reeling.

“Yeah?” he whispers.

“Oh, yeah,” you laugh and you guys smile into another kiss.

You part your legs as he puts a condom on and you notice his hands are shaking. “Don’t lose it on me now,” you tell him. “Come here.”

He moves over to you and you crawl in his lap. His breath catches his throat when you grab his cock and it comes to a complete halt as you slide down onto his length. You roll your head back, feeling so full and warm. He holds onto your waist and kisses your neck and tells you, “You feel so good.”

You move your hips against his and the sensation rocks you both so intensely that you embrace each other. The sweat on your skin binds you together and Spencer whispers, “Keep going.”

So you tangle your hand in his hair and grip onto his shoulder and ride him. On the floor. In his dark room, in his dark apartment as the moonlight creeps in through the window. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and moans softly. He says your name over and over, “[y/n] . . . oh, god, [y/n].”

“Mm,” you hum, falling all over him as your hips quicken in pace. “Mhm.”

He catches your lips in a deep kiss and his jaw drops to release a grunt. “You’re so good,” he tells you. “You’re so, so good. Fuck.”

You are whimpering into his ear and he runs his nails down your back. “Louder,” he commands, but you are never loud enough. He wants the walls to shake and your throat to be sore, to know he’s doing good. “Louder,” he repeats. “Louder.”

He holds you tightly and he will not let you go. He can feel you crumbling, getting closer to the edge. You tighten around his cock and you grind your hips into his and you tell him, “I’m gonna come.” So he reaches down and rubs your clit and your body spasms. You throw your head back and groan and Spencer pushes his hips up as much as he can. He plunges himself into you and he watches you come undone. Fall apart.

“Oh, fuck,” you mumble. Your eyes are roll back and your move yourself on his dick as if on autopilot. Spencer is entranced by you. By the sounds you make and the way you look while you’re getting fucked. He’s thought about it many times, what it would be like.

This is better.

Spencer’s nails are digging into your hips and the pain is just enough to get you there. You come down on his cock in just the right away, you grab his wrist and hold it tight and you cry out as you come. You gasp for air and shake and claw at his skin.

When Spencer can pull himself away, he flips you over. His dick is still inside of you as he lays you on the floor. He gives you slow and steady strokes and he nuzzles his nose against you. “Keep coming on my cock,” he tells you. “Do it again. Do it again.”

It is an easy order to obey when he puts your legs over his shoulders and pushes into you. His hips are skillful and full of motion, like the movement of a wave. He watches your face twist up and contort, your jaw dropping and your eyes squeezing shut. “You’re so hot,” he whispers to you. “So fucking hot.”

And it is throwing you for a loop, his words. How vulgar they are and how low his voice is as he says them. He sees you rub your clit and starts to fuck you faster. Harder. The floor squeaks and you can see his muscles flexing underneath his skin. He leans in to put his forehead against yours. He smiles at you and you smile back and your smile breaks down into a soft moan.

“You’re gonna make me come again,” you tell him.

“Oh,” he grunts, sinking all the way into you. “It’ll be an honor.”

You hold him close, you listen to him pant and whine in your ear. He kisses your neck sloppily, leaving traces on spit from your earlobe to your jaw. You rub your clit in soft, slow circles until you feel the tension building in your gut. You close your eyes and let out a long and strangled moan.

“Mhm, I know,” he whispers. “I know.”

You lick your lips, purse them together and when you look into Spencer’s eyes, you choke. You tense up and moan his name and come on his cock. He shoves his tongue in your mouth and holds you tightly as you tremble. “Mm,” he moans. “There ya’ go. So fucking hot.”

At this point, all his body weight is on you and he is pounding into you with messy thrusts and jagged grunts. “Can I come?” he asks you. “Can I come?”

You nod quickly, you grab a hold of his face and give him a kiss. It is long and sticky and perfect. Your moans are mixing together in the air, loud and incessant and nonstop. His body grows weaker by the second. It grows heavy and he can barely hold himself up any longer. You kiss his neck and lick his jaw and he tells you he’s close. “I’m gonna come, [y/n],” he whines. “You’re gonna make me come. God. Fuck!”

And when he does, when you make him come, he collapses on top of you. His mouth falls onto yours and he releases a loud groan against your lips. He spills into the condom and thrusts himself into you a few more times. When it is over, he lays on you and plays with your hair.

He can’t look at you while he says it, but he tells you, “It’s never been like that for me before.”

Chapter 1 - Out on the Weekend

Chapter 2 - Today My Life Begins

Chapter 3 - Brand New

Chapter 4 - Bonfire Heart

Chapter 5 - Nobody’s Supposed to be Here

Chapter 6 - Lonely Together

Chapter 7 - All At Once

Chapter 8 - Half of My Heart

Chapter 9 - As it Seems

Chapter 10 - She Had the World