American

“You seem pretty jealous there, Rafe,” you mutter slyly, setting your plate of breakfast behind you.

Currently, the two of you were sitting at the dock, enjoying the early ocean breeze before the inevitable increase in humidity.

“Who’s jealous?” he asks simply, quirking a brow at you as he leans against the wooden railing.

You stare at him with a teasing smile, “You.”

He stares back at you, pointing a finger to himself, “Me?”

“Very.”

“Of who?” he asks. He’s gazing at you with his head tilted, eyes narrowed in interest as he remains completely unmoved, completely focused on you.

Just to piss him off, you start naming random islanders. The obvious ones at first: Kelce (the newest bombshell), JJ (who you were originally coupled with). Then just for fun: Topper (even though you rejected him in front of everyone), Cleo and Kiara (because they-

“You seem very invested in this.”

You blink. You stop talking immediately, staring at him completely taken aback.

He’s watching you intently—has been the whole time. Saw your hands gesture as you talked. Noticed how naturally you flip your hair when it brushes your neck too closely. Subtly smirked at your quick little jabs at him.

“I’m just saying,” you start again, lowering your voice just slightly, still wanting to get a reaction out of him, “You seem tense, Rafe.”

“Why would I be tense?” he asks. His face is calm, his body still and unmoved from the railing as he looks at you.

You continue, listing off various reasons why he would be jealous, why he would be tense. All the little things you noticed when he thought you weren’t looking.

And he’s listening—of course he is. But this time, what you don’t notice is the smirk creeping onto his face. And you didn’t notice the smallest intonation when he asked you.

Who’s jealous?

Why would I be jealous?

What you didn’t notice is that he had been playing you this entire conversation. Turning the tables.

Because now? You were the one listing specific reasons. You were the one explaining in detail why he should be jealous.

He thought you caught on when he interrupted you the first time. But then you kept going, thinking you had the upper hand.

In the midst of your playful rant, when you were sure that you had him backed into a corner, he cuts in again.

“You’re weirdly interested in this.”

You pause again. You don’t say anything. But as you look at him in the silence, his smirk grows into a smile.

Then it hits you.

You don’t explode into accusation, or jump to scold him. Just-

“Oh, you’re good.”

You both burst into laughter—Rafe doubling over, you leaning back against the pillows on the bench.

It’s funny because he read you like a book immediately from the title page.

“You seem pretty jealous there, Rafe.”—He saw the mischievous glint in your eye.

Just to piss him off, you start naming random islanders—He saw your change in posture, how you sat up with eagerness to get at him.

Through your fit of laughter, you playfully hit him on the shoulder (may or may not be where he got badly sunburnt yesterday). He winces, immediately drawing back, but there’s a full-on smile on his face.

You lean back against the pillows again, arms crossed over your chest with a matching grin as you finally got a reaction out of him, even though it was not exactly what you intended.

“That’s what you get,” you say smugly, still out of breath from laughing.

“Alright, alright,” he mumbles, still smiling as he walks over to you.

He leans down, wrapping his arms around your middle. He gently tugs you off the bench, closer to him, and you immediately feel the warmth of his newly tanned (but, at some parts, burnt) skin. You throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into you as you both laugh lowly.

Entangled in each other’s embrace, you both stand there for a second. Breathless and completely enamored.

“You got my sunburn,” he mumbles into your neck.

You giggle, “Did I really?”

You and him both know damn well.

His hands move on your waist, right index finger poking your sides as you immediately collapse. But he keeps one hand on your back, and you keep your arms wrapped around him.

And after the impromptu attack and a second wave of genuine laughter, you’re both sitting on the bench—your head on his shoulder and his hand on your thigh. You watch the rest of the islanders go about their day, the Fiji sun shining bright on the blue pool, the palm trees swaying in the breeze.

You kiss his shoulder softly, the same spot you aimed for earlier, mumbling, “You read me like a book.”