22

As they made their way inside, the music softened into a hum behind them, and the air cooled slightly under the kitchen's overhead lights. Stella spotted the bar set up near the counter and instinctively pulled her hand from Rafe's to head toward it.

"I'm just grabbing another drink," she mumbled.

"No, you're not," Rafe said, catching her wrist before she could reach the vodka bottle.

She turned around slowly, already annoyed. "Excuse me?"

He chuckled, leaning against the edge of the counter with that cocky grin that made her want to slap and kiss him at the same time. "Stel, you're a lightweight. You should know better by now."

Stella groaned, dramatically rolling her eyes. "God, you're annoying."

"What you need is food. Not another drink. I'll make you a plate."

"I can get my own—" she started, but he was already halfway across the kitchen.

Muttering under her breath, she stayed put, arms crossed as she leaned against the bar. A few seconds passed before a guy in a black button-up and chain necklace sidled up beside her, holding his beer loosely in one hand.

"Damn," he said with a lazy smirk, eyes flickering down and back up. "Didn't think the birthday girl would look even better up close."

She gave a small, polite smile but said nothing.

"You got a name, or should I just keep calling you 'gorgeous'?"

Stella arched a brow at the guy, shifting slightly away from the bar as he leaned in closer. His breath reeked of tequila, and his grin was the kind of cocky that screamed frat boy trying too hard.

"You're at my birthday and don't even know my name," she said flatly, crossing her arms, unimpressed.

He laughed like he hadn't even heard her properly, eyes raking over her outfit. "Does it matter? I know you look good in that dress. That's enough for me."

She rolled her eyes and turned away slightly, but he stepped closer, fingers grazing her bare arm. "C'mon, birthday girl. Let me show you a real good time."

Before Stella could even open her mouth to shut him down, a familiar voice cut through the buzz of the crowd like a blade.

"Back off."

The guy looked up, confused, just as Rafe stepped in, holding a plate of food in one hand, jaw tight and eyes sharp.

"She's good," Rafe said, his tone calm but cold — a warning simmering beneath the surface. "Go find someone else."

The guy raised his hands in fake surrender, muttering something under his breath before disappearing into the crowd.

Rafe turned to her, giving her a once-over like he was making sure she was okay. "You good?"

Stella narrowed her eyes at him, arms folding again as she looked up at him under the low golden lights. "Why do you even care all of a sudden?" she asked, voice sharp. "You've been a complete ass to me."

Rafe didn't say anything at first. He just looked at her, unreadable for a beat, before muttering, "Sorry."

It was quiet. Quick. But it was there.

He held the plate out to her again like nothing happened. "Just eat something."

She glanced at the food, then back at him, shaking her head. "I'm not hungry."

And with that, she turned on her heel and made her way back to the bar, flagging the bartender down with a pointed flick of her hand. "Something strong," she told him, shooting a look back over her shoulder as she felt Rafe watching her.

The bartender passed her a fresh glass, and she took a long sip, jaw clenched. If Rafe wanted to play nice now, he was a little too late.

Rafe followed close behind, jaw tight, watching her storm off with her drink in hand. His eyes tracked the sway of her golden dress, and the bare skin of her back glowing under the party lights as she stepped outside.

Stella didn't even notice him trailing her — too focused on slipping off her heels and tossing them carelessly to the side as she hurried toward the pool, where Sarah was already half-climbing the railing, giggling uncontrollably.

"Sarah, wait!" Stella laughed, chasing after her.

Now — with a wild cheer, the girls flung themselves into the pool, a huge splash soaking everyone nearby.

The crowd hollered, a couple of guys whistling as Sarah popped up laughing, her hair slicked back and makeup smudged. Stella turned, laughing too, when she noticed more eyes on her now than before. Her soaked skin and the way the dress clung to her definitely weren't helping.

Rafe's jaw clenched tighter, his gaze darkening as he watched a few guys get too comfortable with their stares — one even moving closer. Without thinking, he stepped in, slipping an arm around her waist.

"That's enough," he muttered low near her ear. "Come with me."

Stella blinked up at him, confused. "What?"

"You need to change," he said flatly, already steering her away from the noise, through the crowd, and back inside toward the stairs. His grip wasn't rough, but firm — protective, like he wasn't giving her a choice.

"Rafe, seriously—"

"You wanna keep everyone looking at you like that?" he asked, glancing down at her wet dress, voice sharp and possessive.

She didn't answer — just sighed and let him guide her upstairs, her pulse hammering for reasons she couldn't explain.

Rafe guided her up the stairs, one hand on her lower back as Stella stumbled with each step, drunk and giggling softly to herself.

"God, you're a mess," he muttered under his breath — not angry, just exhausted, but still patient in the way he held her steady when she swayed.

She collapsed backward onto her bed, bouncing slightly on the mattress as she looked up at him with glassy eyes. "Happy birthday to me," she mumbled with a lopsided smile.

He exhaled through his nose, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Where do you keep your nicer clothes?"

She blinked up at him, lifting her arm and vaguely pointing toward a row of drawers. "Somewhere in there," she said, completely unhelpful.

He walked over, pulling open drawer after drawer. One was filled with swimwear, another with mismatched socks. But when he opened the third, he froze.

It wasn't clothes.

It was a collection.

Photos. Polaroids. Old folded notes and birthday cards. A little pile of nostalgia — one that didn't seem like it had been touched in a while.

He reached down, pulling one photo from the top — a shot of the four of them on the beach, younger. Stella had her arms around Christopher and Sarah, and Rafe was standing behind them all, sunglasses on and smiling in a way he didn't anymore.

He turned slightly toward her. "Why are these stashed away?"

She glanced at the drawer through heavy lashes and let out a breath. "You pissed me off," she said simply, no real bite in her voice. "So they just... ended up there."

He didn't say anything, just quietly slid the drawer closed and walked to the closet.

Moments later, he returned with a sleek black dress in hand. He held it out. "Try this on."

She took it with a nod, her fingers brushing his briefly. Then she stood up slowly, stumbling slightly before steadying herself on the bedpost.

Rafe turned around to give her privacy.

She stood there for a beat, her fingers fumbling with the zipper at her back. And then, softly — almost playfully — she said, "Rafe?"

He looked over his shoulder.

Her voice was quieter now, but dipped with something silkier. "Can you help me? The zipper."

His eyes caught hers, and for a second, neither of them moved.

Then he turned back toward her, closing the space between them slowly. She had her back turned, her bare shoulders glowing under the warm light. His fingers reached for the zipper, brushing along her spine as he tugged it down carefully.

Her breath hitched, just slightly, and his did too. The moment stretched, warm and thick between them.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "Thanks."

His gaze lingered, lips parted slightly like he wanted to say something. But he didn't.

Not yet.

Rafe turned back around when he heard the whisper of fabric hit the floor.

She stood in nothing but a bra and panties, her skin soft in the low light of her bedroom. She wasn't shy—if anything, there was something daring in the way her chin tilted slightly up, in the way her voice stayed low and confident when she said, "You don't need to look away."

His jaw tensed, and for a second, he didn't move. Didn't even breathe.

"Stella..." he said her name like it burned.

Her lips curled at the edges as she stepped forward, slow and unhurried. "What?" she asked softly. "You've seen me before."

"Not like this," he muttered, finally letting his eyes drift over her. It wasn't just lust—though it was definitely that too. It was history. It was how her body was familiar and yet not, like a place he'd visited as a kid but hadn't seen in years.

She reached for the dress he'd picked out, letting the straps dangle in her fingers as she looked up at him through thick lashes. "Are you gonna help me or not?"

That pulled a crooked smirk from him, something sharp but fond, and he stepped behind her again, slowly taking the dress from her hand.

He held it up, letting the silky fabric slide over her skin as he helped guide it down over her shoulders. His fingers brushed lightly across her back as he reached for the zipper, pulling it up with agonizing slowness.

There was a silence that settled between them, thick and heavy, but it didn't feel uncomfortable. It felt like a line they were both inching closer to.

"You look good," he murmured near her ear.

She turned slightly toward him, breath warm against his cheek. "So do you."

Rafe's fingers lingered a second too long near her zipper. He wasn't touching her anymore, not really—but she could still feel him. The warmth of his breath, the weight of his gaze on the side of her neck. The way the air shifted around them like it was charged.

She turned slightly to face him, the hem of the dress brushing her upper-thigh. "You did all this just to keep me from getting a cold or what?" she asked with a teasing lilt, trying to break the tension. It came out softer than she intended—barely a whisper.

Rafe's mouth twitched like he wanted to smirk but didn't have it in him.

"You were wasted," he said instead. "And surrounded by guys who didn't give a shit about you—just the fact that it was your birthday."

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing a little. "And you do?"

His expression didn't change, but there was something flickering just behind his eyes. "You know I do."

That quiet admission settled over her chest like warmth. Like something heavy but safe.

Rafe didn't move right away. He stayed close, too close, the kind of closeness that made her skin tingle even without his touch. Stella could feel her heartbeat in her throat, in her fingertips, in the space between them.

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, avoiding his eyes for a second too long before glancing back up. "You're staring," she whispered.

He didn't deny it.

"You're hard not to look at," he said, almost like it annoyed him to admit it.

That made her chest tighten, the way his voice dropped low—like it was meant just for her. The butterflies in her stomach weren't subtle anymore.

Stella let herself lean against her vanity, crossing her arms over her chest, more for grounding than modesty. "You always do this," she murmured, voice quieter now.

"Do what?"

"Say something that sounds like it means more than it should."

Rafe took a step forward.

"What if it does?"

Her breath caught. The silence that followed felt heavier than it should've, filled with unsaid things, with all the years and all the mistakes and all the nights they'd avoided moments like this. But this time—she didn't want to avoid it.

"You know it doesn't," she said, because it felt safer than saying anything else.

He stayed quiet, gently pushed a strap of her dress back into place on her shoulder. His fingers brushed against her skin, barely there, but she felt it like a jolt of electricity.

"You cold?" he asked, glancing at the goosebumps on her arms.

"I'm fine," she said, too quickly.

He moved even closer. "You're not."

"I'm not cold," she clarified, voice soft. "Just... you're close."

He didn't back off. If anything, he tilted his head, eyes flicking between hers like he was trying to read what she wouldn't say out loud.

"You want me to back up?" he asked, genuinely.

She didn't answer, instead just looked him in the eyes.

And that was the answer.

Rafe's fingers grazed her jaw, tilting her face slightly as if waiting for her to stop him. She didn't.

When he leaned in, it was slow, almost cautious, and when their lips finally met—it wasn't rushed. It was gentle, deliberate, like he'd been holding back for years.

Stella's hands lifted to his chest, and she pulled back. "No," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly.

His brows furrowed. "What?"

"I can't," she said, stepping back, blinking fast. "This is just gonna end up like last time. You're gonna disappear again. Or say it didn't mean anything. Or act like I made it all up."

Rafe didn't move. His expression was unreadable, but his shoulders rose and fell slowly like he was trying to keep it together.

"I didn't know what I was doing."

"Bullshit," she muttered, hugging herself. "You knew exactly what you were doing. You made me feel crazy."

He looked at her, eyes darker than before, guilt sitting heavy behind them. "My head wasn't in the right space," he admitted quietly.

She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

Stella stood there, arms crossed tightly over her chest, unsure if it was to protect herself or stop her hands from shaking.

"It was you," he said finally. "I mean— it started because of you."

Her breath hitched.

"You confuse the hell out of me, Stella. You show up, and everything I thought I figured out isn't. You make me feel things I don't know what to do with."

She blinked, stunned, trying to process it. "So, you ghosted me? Acted like I was insane—because I made you feel something?"

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a step back. "I didn't know how else to deal with it. I don't do... this. The feelings. The real shit. I mess everything up I touch, and you—" His voice dropped. "You scare the shit out of me."

She scoffed, voice soft but sharp. "Then why are you here now?"

Rafe looked at her, eyes burning. "Because I couldn't stay away. Because even when I try to pretend you don't matter, you do. And I hate it."

Her heart thudded in her chest. The tension, the heat in the room—it wasn't just romantic. It was volatile, thick with years of confusion and unsaid things.

He was still staring at her, like the air between them held every word he hadn't said.

And then, without warning, Stella stepped forward—fast, decisive—and pressed her lips to his.

It wasn't soft.

It wasn't unsure.

It was everything she'd been holding in. Frustration, longing, confusion, anger—all of it poured into the kiss, her fingers gripping the front of his shirt like she needed something to anchor herself to.

Rafe's breath caught, body tensing for a split second before melting into her, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss with a hunger that said he'd been holding back too.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, foreheads nearly touching, Stella was the first to speak.

"I really hope I don't regret that tomorrow," she whispered, eyes fluttering open to meet his..

"Shut up," he whispered, almost amused... but there was something darker laced in his tone. Something deeper.

And then he kissed her again.

Slower this time, more deliberate. His lips moved with a kind of control that made her knees weak, like he was savoring the taste of her, like this kiss meant something he didn't want to admit out loud. One of his hands slid up her spine, fingertips grazing the bare skin beneath her hair, the other still firm on her hip.

She felt her breath hitch as he pulled her closer, their bodies flush now. It was a dangerous kind of closeness—the kind that made her forget they'd been avoiding each other, that he'd broken her heart once, that this was supposed to be her night, not theirs.

But right now, with his lips brushing against hers and his voice whispering softly in between kisses, "You drive me insane," none of it seemed to matter.

Not yet, anyway.

Rafe didn't stop.

Not at first.

His lips trailed down her jaw, slow and heated, as if he had no intention of stopping anytime soon. Stella's hands were tangled in his hair now, her breath shallow and her chest rising and falling fast. Everything about him was warm and electric, the way his hands moved, the way he kissed like he'd been starving and she was the only thing that could satisfy him.

Her back arched slightly when he whispered, "Tell me to stop," but she didn't say a word. She didn't want to.

Then— frantic knocks were made on the door.

Stella froze.

Rafe paused, lips grazing her collarbone, both of them breathing hard.

"Stella!" Olivia called from the other side of the door, her voice high and teasing. "Golden boy's here, and he's asking for you."

Stella's eyes flew open.

Rafe pulled back just enough to look at her, jaw clenched and eyes dark with frustration. "You've gotta be kidding me."

Stella swallowed, her fingers slipping away from his shirt. She barely got out a whispered, "Shit."

The tension between them was still heavy, like a rubber band stretched too far. And now it was about to snap.

"Who the hell is golden boy?" Rafe muttered, already getting off the bed.

Stella sat up slowly, cheeks flushed and dress rumpled. She froze at the door, brain foggy. "Oliver."

Rafe turned toward her sharply. "Oliver? That's who you—?"

Another knock, more impatient this time.

"Girl, I swear if you're not dressed, I'm opening this door myself!"

Stella grabbed the nearest jacket from her chair and tossed it over her shoulders, not meeting Rafe's gaze as she stood. "Don't," she said quietly.

He didn't ask what she meant.

But she heard him scoff under his breath as she opened the door, her heart still racing—and for all the wrong reasons

Olivia burst in the moment the door cracked open."Finally! I've been knocking for—"

She stopped cold.

Her eyes darted past Stella, landing on Rafe still sitting on the edge of the bed, lips parted, hair mussed, shirt rumpled like he'd just been yanked out of a moment he hadn't wanted to leave.

Then she looked back at Stella. The flushed cheeks, the breathless look, the jacket barely thrown over her shoulders.

"Oh my god," Olivia gasped, her mouth falling open.

Stella didn't say anything. She didn't have to.

Olivia's hand flew to her chest like she'd just walked in on a scandal, eyes wide as the realization hit her. "You— oh shit."

"Liv—" Stella started, voice a mix of warning and embarrassment.

But Olivia was already shaking her head, still stunned, and suddenly whisper-yelling. "Okay, no judgment, but you gotta hurry. Golden boy's about to call your mom thinking you've gone missing."

Stella's face dropped. "What?"

"He's been asking for you for like ten minutes. Says you said you'd meet him outside."

Behind her, Rafe scoffed under his breath again.

Olivia glanced between the two of them, clearly dying to ask a million questions, but holding back—just barely. "So unless you want your mom showing up mid-party, you might wanna fix your hair, wipe the sex off your face, and go."

Stella groaned, dragging her hands through her hair. "God."

Rafe stood, silent but tense, eyes fixed on the floor now.

Stella didn't look at him as she brushed past Olivia, muttering, "Thanks," before disappearing into the bathroom.

Olivia stayed behind just long enough to glance at Rafe and mouth, "Seriously?" with raised brows before trailing after Stella.