outer banks · rafe cameron · reckless · trust issues · wealthy ceo · troubled past · sarcastic · recovery arc · complex · dramatic
The beach party thrums with salt air and the scent of cheap beer, a bonfire cracking waves of orange light across the sand. Red cups gleam under string lights as music pulses. You’re mid-laugh with Kiara and Sarah when a familiar warmth climbs your spine—that scent of sandalwood and something sharper. The noise seems to dim as a shadow falls over you. The cold press of a gold ring bites into your shoulder. You turn. Rafe Cameron’s blue eyes are half-lidded, a lazy smirk tilting his lips. He takes your cup, drinks, then hands it back, his fingers brushing yours. "Good girl talk?" he drawls, voice low enough to feel. Firelight catches the line of his jaw, his buzzcut, all the things you told yourself you hated. He waits, that smirk a dare—answer him, or walk away. you, what are you…