Rafe was confused. She had left without saying a word. No explanation, no warning—just silence and the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air long after she'd gone. He didn't know why she left or if it was something he'd said or done. The unanswered questions coiled around his chest like a tightening noose, each passing moment only amplifying his frustration. He told himself to let it go, but no matter how hard he tried, her presence lingered in his mind, relentless and consuming.

She had a way of doing that—getting into his head and refusing to leave. He thought of her smile, the way her lips curved like they were hiding secrets she'd never share. Her loose strands of dark hair always seemed to escape their hold, brushing against her cheeks, and every time she tucked them behind her ear, it was like a ritual he'd memorized. She made the smallest things feel significant—like the way her laughter caught in her throat when she found something genuinely funny or how her eyes sparkled when she was up to something mischievous.

He thought about her touch. The way her fingers brushed his hand, casual yet deliberate. Like she knew the effect she had on him and wielded it with a quiet confidence. And then there were her lips—soft, teasing, leaving him wanting more every time. She never gave too much, never let him have all of her. It drove him insane in the best and worst ways.

Now all he had left was the half-smoked blunt she'd forgotten. Her lip gloss—some faint shade of pink—still stained its edge, like an invisible mark she'd left behind, claiming him even in her absence. Rafe twirled the blunt between his fingers as he sat on the balcony, staring out at the ocean. The waves rolled against the shore below, steady and indifferent, as if mocking the storm raging inside him.

"I thought you said you didn't smoke anymore," came a voice from behind him.

Rafe didn't flinch, though the interruption made him tighten his grip on the blunt. He sighed heavily before turning to face Wheezie, his younger sister, who stood in the doorway with her arms crossed.

"What do you want?" he asked flatly, his voice edged with irritation.

Wheezie raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Just saying. You're the one who gave me this big lecture about how bad smoking is for you. Looks like you're back to it."

"It's not mine," he muttered, slipping the blunt into the tin on the table.

Wheezie's eyes narrowed as she walked closer. "Then whose is it?"

"Does it matter?" Rafe snapped, his tone sharper than he intended. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself for letting her get under his skin.

Wheezie shrugged, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "If it's hers, why didn't you just give it back?"

"Drop it, Wheeze," Rafe said, his voice low and warning. He grabbed the tin and lighter, shoving them into his pocket before standing up.

"Whatever," Wheezie muttered, flopping onto the loveseat as Rafe walked back inside. "You're so touchy lately."

In his room, his phone buzzed on the dresser. He grabbed it, glancing at the screen. It was Topper.

"What?" Rafe answered, placing the phone on speaker as he rifled through his closet for something to wear.

"You coming to the Boneyard or what?" Topper's voice was loud, barely audible over the sound of music and shouting in the background.

Rafe grabbed a black button-up shirt, throwing it on but leaving it unbuttoned. "Maybe," he said distractedly. His thumb hovered over Instagram, scrolling to a familiar profile—luvvale.

Her latest post was a short video, probably taken at last night's party. She was dancing, her smile wide and carefree as the music blared in the background. She was wearing that dress, the one that clung to her in all the right ways, the one that made it impossible for him to look at anyone else.

"She's here, you know," Topper added, his voice dripping with suggestion. "Valentina."

Rafe stopped scrolling. His jaw tightened. "Yeah?"

"And so is Sean," Topper continued, his tone shifting. "He's been running his mouth about you two. Saying he caught you in the bathroom together and that you're—what was it? Oh, right—too much of a pussy to seal the deal."

Rafe's grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white. Sean. That guy had been a thorn in his side for years, always looking for ways to get under his skin. And now he was dragging Valentina into it.

"Where's Sean now?" Rafe asked, his voice dangerously calm.

"Relax, man," Topper said quickly. "He's just trying to get a rise out of you."

"I'll deal with him," Rafe muttered, grabbing his keys and heading out the door.

The beach was alive with energy. Music blared from portable speakers, and the air was thick with the smell of salt and smoke. Bonfires dotted the shore, their flames casting flickering shadows on the crowd of teenagers drinking, laughing, and dancing like they owned the night.

Near the largest fire, Valentina stood with Sarah Cameron, her wet hair glistening under the moonlight. She was wrapped in a towel, her bikini straps visible against her tanned shoulders.

"You really going back in?" Sarah asked, sipping from a can of Malibu Splash.

"Maybe," Valentina replied with a smirk. "Depends on how many more drinks I have."

Cassie appeared beside them, a vape pen in hand. "Let's go," she said, nodding toward the water. "The waves are perfect."

Before Valentina could respond, her gaze caught on someone in the distance. Rafe.

On the far side of the beach, Rafe Cameron swung his leg over his bike, the metallic groan of the kickstand snapping up barely audible over the crashing waves. He settled his helmet on the handlebar, squinting toward the bonfire as figures flitted in and out of the orange glow.

"Yo, Rafe!" Topper called out, jogging over with a beer in hand.

Rafe turned, catching the beer lobbed at him, the cool condensation dripping down his fingers. "What's up," he said, his voice low, barely audible. The two shook hands in an almost mechanical motion, their attention already drifting back to the party.

Topper fell into step beside him, leading him down toward the crowd. "So... what's the plan?"

Rafe frowned, shooting him a sidelong glance. "Plan?"

"For Val, man," Topper said, laughing as though it were obvious.

Rafe's face hardened, though he caught the flicker of surprise before it could betray him. "What would I need a plan for?" His voice was casual, bored, but his fingers tightened ever so slightly around the neck of the beer bottle.

Topper grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "C'mon, man. You've been circling her for months now. You gonna make a move, or what?"

Rafe shrugged his hand off with enough force to make Topper stumble slightly, spilling beer on his shirt.

"What the fuck?" Topper muttered, glaring, but Rafe wasn't listening. His eyes had zeroed in on Valentina, who was walking toward the cooler just a few feet away.

Her laughter carried on the wind, mingling with Sarah's as they spoke. She ran a hand through her wet hair, the droplets catching the bonfire's light like tiny stars scattered across her skin. The black bikini she wore hugged her curves in a way that seemed almost deliberate, though the way she casually brushed off the stares from the guys around her said otherwise.

Rafe's jaw clenched. He watched the way her lips parted to catch her breath, the rise and fall of her chest, the ease with which she existed in the moment. It infuriated him—how effortless she was, how she could captivate without even trying.

Sarah was the first to notice him, her expression shifting as she stopped mid-step. "I didn't know you guys were here," she said, her voice tinged with suspicion.

Topper flashed his signature grin, running a hand through his sun-bleached hair. "Yeah, yeah, Rafe just got here. You guys can hang with us if you want."

Sarah's gaze flicked toward Valentina, her lips curling into a sly smile. "Sure," she said.

Valentina, however, didn't share her enthusiasm. She rolled her eyes but reluctantly followed Sarah's lead, her arms crossing over her chest as if to shield herself from the intensity of Rafe's stare.

"Hey, Vale," Topper said, the cheeriness in his voice bordering on obnoxious.

"Hey, Top," she replied flatly, her focus trained on the ground.

Rafe's gaze burned into her, unrelenting. He wasn't even trying to hide it. He took in every inch of her—the way her wet hair clung to her shoulders, the droplets sliding down her collarbone, the way her lashes framed her eyes as she avoided his.

Sarah, sensing the tension, stepped in. "Vale, you know Rafe, right?"

Valentina's heart jolted, her pulse quickening as she risked a glance at him. Memories from the night before flooded back unbidden: the press of his hand against her waist, the graze of his lips on hers, the way his voice had dropped to a whisper when he said her name.

Her cheeks flushed. She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek as she muttered, "Yeah. Hi, Rafe."

His lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk. "Hey, Val."

Her stomach flipped at the sound of her name in his voice, low and rough and laced with a familiarity she wasn't sure she wanted to acknowledge.

Without a word, he reached up and unbuttoned the black shirt he was wearing, shrugging it off his shoulders in one fluid motion. He held it out to her, raising an eyebrow when she hesitated.

"I can see you're freezing," he said, his tone neutral but his gaze anything but. "Just take it... or don't. Up to you."

She accepted it reluctantly, her fingers brushing against his as she slipped it on. The shirt was too big, swallowing her small frame, but it smelled like him—faintly of cologne and the sea.

"Thanks," she murmured.

"Don't mention it," he said, his voice cool, detached.

But his detachment wasn't real. It was a mask, a shield against the chaos she stirred in him. If anyone noticed the way his jaw tightened when another guy glanced her way, they didn't comment.

Later, as the party began to thin, Valentina found herself leaning against Sarah's Jeep, waiting. The saltwater had dried in her hair, leaving it tangled and sticky, and Rafe's shirt still hung loosely around her shoulders.

The sound of footsteps broke through the stillness. She turned, startled, only to see him emerge from the shadows.

"Jesus, Rafe," she breathed, clutching her chest.

He smirked, leaning casually against the Jeep. "Mhm. I like when you say my name like that. Has a nice ring to it."

She rolled her eyes, though her heart betrayed her, racing as he stepped closer.

"Left in a hurry last night," he said, pulling a familiar tin from his pocket. He held it out to her, his fingers brushing hers as she took it.

"I had a curfew," she said, her voice quieter now, almost defensive.

"Nineteen with a curfew," he teased, his smirk widening. "How bad are you?"

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. He was so close now, his gaze flicking between her eyes and her lips, daring her to make the next move.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension crackled like electricity between them, unspoken words and unfinished moments threatening to consume them both.

But before either could break, Sarah's voice rang out, cutting through the haze.

"Rafe, stop being creepy," she said, her tone dripping with annoyance.

Rafe stepped back, his mask slipping back into place. "Just making conversation," he said, his voice light, almost dismissive.

But as he walked away, throwing a wink over his shoulder, Valentina couldn't help but wonder: what if he wasn't? What if this was just the beginning of something neither of them could control?

honey's note

can I just say
DREW STARKEY
FINE ASH!!!
like ughhh