Summary: She gets in a bad fight with Topper but Rafe is right there by her side.
Sunny’s Notes: Another one that has been marinating in my queue!
“You can’t even get your facts right!” Topper laughed, loud and careless, like he thought he was hilarious.
Her fingers clenched tighter around the red plastic cup in her hand, knuckles paling. “Topper, you’re not even listening to me!” she snapped, raising her voice over the music and the buzz of conversation.
Kelce snickered beside him, nudging Topper like they were middle school boys again. Topper grinned, raising his hand to slap Kelce’s in a dramatic high-five.
“Aww,” he cooed mockingly, tilting his head, “is the baby getting upset?”
Her chest burned. Embarrassment. Frustration. Regret.
The pit in her stomach twisted sharply. Her jaw tensed. Humiliation bloomed in her chest, warm and heavy. God, she should’ve stayed home. She knew this was a bad idea. The only reason she was even here was because Rafe had convinced her.
“Come on, please, baby? Just for a little while,” he’d said over the phone the night before, his voice softer than usual, smooth and warm in her ear. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”
Baby. He’d said it like it was nothing, like the word didn’t set her heart racing and her mind spinning. They weren’t dating. They weren’t even close to it—at least not officially. Just friends, she told herself. Friends who lingered too long after hugs, who shared quiet glances across crowded rooms, who texted until two a.m. about everything and nothing.
Just friends who flirted too much and stood a little too close when they talked. Friends who didn’t kiss or touch like she sometimes imagined late at night.
And now, here she was—standing alone in the middle of a house that didn’t feel like hers, surrounded by people who treated her like a joke.
“Fuck you, Topper. Really.” The words came out quieter this time, more bitter than bold. Her throat felt tight. She dropped her gaze to her drink and chewed at her bottom lip, trying to breathe through the embarrassment curling in her chest.
Topper didn’t even blink. He’d already turned away, laughing at something Kelce whispered in his ear. Like she was invisible.
Across the room, Rafe stood near the fridge, half-listening to one of his old college buddies go on about something. But his eyes flicked up—searching instinctively for her.
And when he spotted her, standing stiffly with her arms crossed and that tense look on her face, his jaw clenched.
His eyes narrowed slightly, flicking between her and his two idiot friends still laughing at her expense. His hand dropped from the countertop. His jaw ticked. And she didn’t know it yet, but Rafe was already pushing away from the counter, ready to end whatever conversation she was in, because something about the way she looked made his stomach twist.
The moment he saw her expression—that subtle drop in her shoulders, the way her arms wrapped a little tighter around herself—he pushed away from the counter and made his way across the kitchen. His strides were purposeful, weaving through the crowd with barely a glance at anyone else. His entire focus was locked on her.
She didn’t notice him at first. She was too busy staring down into her drink, eyes glassy with unshed tears that she tried desperately to blink away before anyone could see. It was stupid. She knew it was stupid—crying over Topper and Kelce like they mattered. Like they could really hurt her.
But still, her throat burned and her chest ached with the kind of weight only mockery can cause when it hits a little too close to home.
Rafe reached her and stepped in close, his presence immediately overwhelming in the best way—tall, warm, familiar. He towered over her, shielding her from the rest of the room without saying a word. Just being near him made her feel safer somehow. Calmer.
She glanced up at him, trying to play it off like nothing was wrong, but her eyes betrayed her—glassy and frustrated and shining in the low kitchen light.
Rafe’s brows drew together in concern, a subtle frown tugging at his lips. His hand came up instinctively, settling gently on her hip. His touch was grounding, not possessive—just a quiet reminder that he was there. That he noticed. That he cared.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice low and soft—just for her.
She let out a shaky breath, quickly turning her head away. “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, trying to sound casual, but her voice cracked slightly and her words fell flat. She hated how small she felt, how childish it sounded.
Rafe didn’t buy it. Not for a second.
He brought up his other hand, fingers gentle as they found her chin and tilted her face back toward him. His eyes searched hers, careful and patient, but firm.
“Hey,” he said, voice a little more serious now. “Tell me what’s wrong, sweet girl.”
His touch was light, but his gaze was steady—steady in that way that made her want to fall apart and let him catch her.
“She’s just being sensitive, man. I mean, nothin’ new—but y’know.” Topper chuckled, his voice dripping with smug amusement, like he expected Kelce to laugh along.
And he did. Of course he did.
Her jaw clenched, her hand gripping the bottom of Rafe’s shirt as a flush of heat crept up her neck. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he said it. Like she was fragile. Like she was pathetic. Like being sensitive was some kind of punchline.
Her throat tightened, the sting of frustration and shame swirling hot behind her eyes. She was so sick of it. Of pretending it didn’t bother her. Of brushing it off like it didn’t stick to her skin long after the laughter faded.
She turned sharply, her eyes locking on Topper with a glare sharp enough to cut. He looked back at her, grinning like he thought she’d shrink under it.
“You know what, Topper?” she said, her voice steady but edged with something dangerous—something she didn’t usually let people hear. “Maybe I am sensitive. But at least I’m not a complete asshole hiding behind cheap jokes and high fives like it makes you interesting.”
Topper blinked, caught off guard, the smirk faltering just a little. Kelce let out a low “Oof,” under his breath, amused but suddenly awkward.
Rafe smirked giving her hip a light squeeze.
“You think you’re funny, but you’re just loud,” she added, her chest rising with every word. “You and your little sidekick act like you own every room, but all you do is fill it up with bullshit.”
Her voice cracked slightly at the end—not from weakness, but from finally letting the anger out.
Topper opened his mouth, but before he could get a word in, Rafe’s voice cut through the noise, low and dangerous.
“Maybe watch what you say next.”
The words weren’t loud, but they didn’t need to be. The way he said them—measured, razor-sharp—carried more weight than if he’d shouted.
He was glaring straight at Topper and Kelce now, eyes hard and unblinking. There was no trace of the usual smooth charm in his face. Just cold anger simmering beneath the surface.
Topper’s grin faltered. Kelce shifted awkwardly beside him, suddenly finding his shoes very interesting.
The air in the room felt different now—heavier, still. A few people nearby glanced over, sensing something had shifted. The tension hung between them like a wire pulled taut.
Rafe didn’t break eye contact.
He took a slow step forward, positioning himself even more firmly between her and the two guys. His fingers was now laced with hers—protective, steady. A silent promise.
Rafe continued, his voice a notch lower. “If you ever talk down to her again, we’re gonna have a different kind of conversation.”
Topper scoffed, trying to save face, but there was a flicker of something uncertain in his eyes now. He knew Rafe. Knew when he was bluffing and when he wasn’t.
And right now? He wasn’t.
Rafe turned back to her, his expression shifting the moment his eyes met hers. The sharp edge he’d had seconds ago melted into something softer—gentler—reserved only for her.
“You wanna get out of here?” he asked quietly, voice low enough that no one else could hear.
She didn’t even hesitate. Just nodded, her throat too tight to speak. The weight of the night was finally starting to lift.
Rafe tugged her hand gently, and began guiding her through the crowd. People stepped aside without being asked. No one dared say a word.
But just as they reached the front door, Topper’s voice rang out behind them, loud and slurred with bitterness.
“Don’t get mad at me just ‘cause you’re pussy-whipped for a bitch!”
The room went still for a beat.
Her steps faltered, but instead of flinching, she let out a breathy laugh and rolled her eyes. Of course. Topper only found his courage when backs were turned.
She dropped Rafe’s hand without a word, flipped him off behind her back—cool and calm, arm raised like a victory flag.
Topper sneered and Kelce nearly choked on his drink from laughing.
Rafe chuckled—low and deep in his chest. Proud. Amused. A little bit turned on (Not that he would admit it).
Before she could even turn back around, he slipped an arm around her waist, his hand flattening against her stomach as he tugged her gently against him.
The warmth of his palm through her top, the quiet rumble of his laughter against her back—it all hit at once, sending a rush of butterflies through her stomach so sudden she nearly forgot how to walk.
“C’mon, baby,” he murmured against her ear, voice full of something that made her cheeks heat instantly. “Let’s get outta here.”
She didn’t even try to hide the way she smiled as he guided her through the door and out into the night, his arm still firmly around her, like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.
By the time they reached his truck, the night air had cooled, but her skin still buzzed with leftover adrenaline. Rafe walked beside her in silence, his hand never leaving her waist—subtle, grounding, like he knew she still needed the contact.
She reached for the door handle, but before her fingers could curl around it, Rafe moved.
His hand came down on the door beside hers with a solid thunk, his other arm lifting to rest against the top of the truck, caging her in between him and the cool metal. The soft slam of his body against the door reverberated quietly through her back, and she stilled.
He was so close—his chest only inches from hers, the heat of him stealing the breath from her lungs.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low, serious again. Protective. “ ‘cause I will go back in there and knock his teeth in if that’s what you want.”
She smiled despite herself, letting out a small laugh as she leaned back against the truck, tilting her head up to look at him. His face was half-lit by the porch light, shadow and sharp jawline.
“I’m okay,” she said softly. “I mean, he’s an idiot, but… I’m fine. Thanks for saying something back there, though.”
Her voice dropped slightly, like she didn’t want the moment to break. Her fingers absentmindedly drifted to the hem of his t-shirt, brushing along the fabric and tracing over the faint outline of his abs. She didn’t seem to notice she was doing it—like touching him was second nature.
Rafe’s eyes dropped to her hand, then flicked back up to her face, a slow, crooked smirk tugging at his mouth.
“You’re hot when you’re mad,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His head dipped slightly closer, just enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek.
“You should yell at people more often,” he added, eyes dark with amusement—and something else. Something that made her knees feel a little weak.
She laughed again, shaking her head, but didn’t pull her hand away from his shirt. If anything, she moved a little closer, just enough that their bodies barely touched.
“Well,” she murmured, lips curling, “then maybe you should stop giving me reasons to.”
Rafe’s grin widened, eyes lingering on her mouth. And for a second, everything stilled—like the air between them had shifted into something warmer, heavier, charged.
Rafe’s eyes stayed locked on hers, his smirk softening just slightly—but the intensity in his gaze didn’t fade. If anything, it deepened. There was something unreadable in it, like he was holding back—like he wanted to move even closer, but was waiting for her to want it too.
Her fingers kept lightly tracing the fabric of his shirt, slow and idle, as if she didn’t realize how much it was affecting him. But he felt every movement like a spark. His breath hitched—just barely—but it was enough to make her look up at him again, eyes wide and curious.
He didn’t speak. Just tilted his head slightly, his forehead nearly brushing hers.
There was no one around. No music. No voices. Just the hum of the nearby streetlamp and the thudding quiet between them.
“I mean it,” he said, finally, voice rougher now, edged with something more honest. “When you stood up to Topper like that… I don’t know. I wanted to grab you and—”
He cut himself off with a breathy chuckle, biting down on the rest of the sentence.
Her cheeks flushed, heat blooming at the base of her neck. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to finish that thought or not. Probably yes. Definitely yes.
“Wanted to grab me and…?” she teased quietly, her voice a little breathless, but her eyes holding his now—steady, challenging in that shy, soft way she always had.
Rafe let his tongue run along the inside of his cheek, head tilting as he watched her. He inched even closer—so close now that her back was fully against the truck, and there was barely enough space for air between them.
“I think you already know,” he murmured, and God, the way he said it—low, playful, but deadly serious underneath—it sent a shiver through her spine.
She swallowed hard, eyes dropping to his mouth for the briefest second before flicking back up— hoping he didn’t notice.
And that flicker of her gaze? It made something shift in him. His jaw tensed, like he was holding back something fierce, and yet… he still didn’t move. Didn’t close the distance.
It was driving her insane—in the best, most infuriating way.
A breath of a laugh escaped her lips, soft and slightly shaky, and then—like she couldn’t take the pull between them anymore—she reached up and wrapped her arms slowly around his neck.
The movement was gentle but deliberate, her fingertips brushing against the warm skin at the base of his neck, and she felt his breath hitch against her mouth.
She pulled him in, just barely.
Rafe’s grin broke across his face in that slow, dangerous way he always wore when he knew he had her flustered. His hands found her waist, tugging her closer until there wasn’t a sliver of space left between them. Her back pressed to the truck, his body flush against hers, and everything in her body buzzed like electricity.
One of his hands came up, fingers grazing the edge of her jaw. His thumb brushed lightly over her cheekbone, tracing it in slow, thoughtful strokes. His touch was maddeningly soft—like he was savoring every second of it.
She tilted her chin up, eyes locked on his, and gave him a crooked little smile.
“You wanna kiss me?” she teased, her voice light but edged with breathlessness. Like the question was a joke—but not really.
Rafe’s hand stilled against her face.
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he dipped his head slightly, close enough that their noses almost brushed. His eyes dropped to her lips for half a heartbeat, then back to her eyes, like he was considering it. Measuring the moment. Savoring it too.
And then he murmured, low and close enough to make her shiver, “Mhm, I wanna kiss you so bad.”
That smirk tugged at the corner of Rafe’s mouth—slow, confident, and laced with something darker now. He didn’t say a word. Just reached up, fingers grazing her jaw as he gently tilted her face up toward his.
His touch was light, reverent almost, but there was nothing soft about the way his eyes locked on her lips.
Not rushed. Not careless.
It was slow, intentional—like he was savoring it, like he was tasting something he’d been craving for far too long. His mouth molded perfectly to hers, and the moment their lips met, something in her chest gave way. She melted into him, sighing softly, her hands tightening around the back of his neck.
Her lips were warm and pillowy against his, yielding to him with every pass. Rafe deepened the kiss without hesitation, pressing her back firmly against the truck with his body. The tension that had been simmering between them all night snapped like a live wire.
His tongue teased her bottom lip, and she parted her lips for him, breath catching as he slid his tongue against hers in a slow, deliberate motion.
A soft, involuntary noise escaped her throat—surprised by the heat of it, the sheer intimacy. Rafe groaned quietly in response, his hand slipping down to her waist and tightening there, fingers digging gently into her side as he pulled her impossibly closer.
The world outside disappeared—gone. There was only the heady heat between them, only the delicious friction of his body pressing against hers, and the wet, rhythmic click of their kiss echoing in the quiet night.
He kissed her like he had time. Like there was nowhere else he’d rather be than right here, kissing her breathless against his truck, under a halo of streetlight.
And she let him—completely undone by the way his lips moved with hers, like he already knew exactly what she needed.
He kissed her until her knees felt weak—until the night around them blurred, and all she could feel was his mouth, his hands, the weight of him pressing her into the side of his truck like he never wanted to let her go.
Then, slowly, he pulled back just enough to breathe, his lips brushing against hers in the space between kisses. Their foreheads rested together, and both of them stood there for a second, chests rising and falling, breath mingling—stunned by what had just happened and how badly they both wanted more.
Rafe’s thumb swept along her cheekbone again, slower now, more tender than teasing. His eyes stayed on hers, dark and unreadable, but so full of something that made her stomach twist in the best way.
“You okay?” he murmured, voice low and husky, still catching his breath.
She nodded, lips parted, her voice barely a whisper. “Yeah… more than okay.”
A soft smile curved his lips—something real, something vulnerable beneath the heat.
He leaned in again, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that was softer now, but no less intense. This one lingered. Like he didn’t want to stop tasting her. Like he couldn’t.
His hand slid down from her waist to the small of her back, his fingers pressing into her there as he guided her closer. Her body fit into his like a missing piece—warm, pliant, wanting.
“Get in,” he whispered against her lips, opening the truck door without looking away from her. “Before I change my mind and keep you out here all night.”
She laughed breathlessly, stepping up into the passenger seat, her eyes still fixed on him. He shut the door with a quiet thud, then walked around to the driver’s side, every movement controlled—but she could feel it. The tension still clung to him. That slow burn hadn’t cooled. If anything, it had deepened into something hotter, heavier, hungrier.
He climbed into the driver’s seat, shut the door, and glanced over at her.
Her legs were pulled up slightly, one hand resting on her thigh, fingers still trembling faintly from how much she wanted him. Her lips were kiss-swollen, eyes dazed.
He leaned back in his seat, exhaling through his nose, running a hand through his hair to calm himself down—but his gaze slid right back to her, dark and heavy with unspoken things.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, more to himself than her.
She turned toward him, tilting her head, that small, teasing smile back on her face.
Rafe laughed, a low, rough sound, and reached over to lace their fingers together as he turned the key in the ignition. Forgetting all about Topper and the stupid argument. But the way his thumb stroked along her hand as they pulled out of the driveway… told her this night wasn’t over.
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