#outer banks fancition

[cakesunflower]

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 4

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Isla is pushing a grocery cart down the snack aisle of the grocery store when she spots someone she is in no mood to interact with.

Her ex-boyfriend, Carlo, stands at the end of the aisle, peering at the shelf before him as he makes his snack selection. Thankfully, he’s oblivious to Isla’s presence as she slowly backs down to exit the aisle at the other end, hoping to disappear around the corner before he can spot her, her grip on the handlebar of the shopping cart tight as the wheels rattle with every spin.

Luckily, Isla is able to reach the end without bumping into anyone or anything, and pulls and pushes the cart down the side aisles instead, putting distance between herself and Carlo. She can just get the snacks at the end—anything to avoid risking running into him again.

The two of them had broken up a year ago, but Isla had to spend the entire school year seeing him, since they shared a few classes together. The breakup had been messy, to say the least; they’d dated all throughout sophomore year, the summer after, and a few months into their junior year. Except, Carlo had gone to New Jersey for that summer, visiting family, and it wasn’t until the school year had started that Isla found out he had been cheating on her with some girl he met during his vacation. The only way she found out was because the girl had discovered that he had been in a relationship with Isla, and reached out to her through Instagram to tell her of what Carlo did.

It had been devastating for Isla because, truly, she did love him—or, well, as much as a sixteen year old was capable of love. But the second his infidelity came to light, she had ended things—and he had the audacity to tell her that she was the one making a mistake by breaking up with him. As if the mistake hadn’t been made by him when he decided to spend his summer hooking up with a girl down at the Jersey Shore. And then for a long while after, he kept trying to win her back, as if she was some prize that slipped away from his fingers, despite Isla never giving him the time of day.

And although the idea of violence doesn’t exactly thrill Isla, she was relieved that when John B took it upon himself to threaten Carlo with physical harm if he didn’t leave Isla alone, her ex finally backed off. For the most part. Escaping his line of sight at the grocery store is her not wanting to really test those waters again.

She occupies herself by going to the other side of the store, getting her toiletry essentials that she’s running low on and hoping that by the time she goes back to the snack aisle, Carlo is gone. The party Sarah is throwing at her place is tonight, and Isla is in charge of buying snacks for the guests. Sarah’s going to end up ordering pizza at some point for everyone, but enough snacks should hold the rowdy, drunk teenagers for a good bit. 

As if on cue, Isla’s music playing through her headphones gets interrupted by an incoming call, and she pulls her phone out of her pocket to see Sarah’s name and a selfie of them two lighting up the screen. “Hey, are you on your way yet?” Sarah asks by way of greeting.

Isla huffs out a breath, placing her preferred coconut scented body wash into the cart. “In a bit. Hit a snag at the store and I gotta drop off my stuff at home before heading over.”

“A snag?” Sarah repeats. “What does that mean?”

Pursing her lips briefly, she confesses with a sardonic chuckle, “I saw Carlo in the snack aisle and bolted to the other side of the store.”

“Oh, crap,” her friend mutters. “Yeah, okay, take your time. Hope you don’t have to deal with him.”

“Me and you both, sister,” Isla mutters, pushing her way out of the aisle. “Are the others there yet?”

“Yeah, Kie and Cleo have been helping me move my parents’ valuables into the locked rooms,” Sarah snickers. It’s not their first time throwing a party in the Cameron household, so they’ve become experts in taking anything expensive that Ward and Rose Cameron hold dear and putting them away into a locked room so they don’t get destroyed during a party. “The guys just got here with the drinks.”

“Let me guess—JJ got his hands on a keg.”

“Two of them,” Sarah laughs. 

Isla whistles, smile burgeoning as she makes her way through the store, her gaze half sharp to look out for her ex. “Sounds like we’re in for a rager.” 

They hang up soon after that, and Isla braces herself to go back to the snack aisle and breathes out a sigh of relief when she doesn’t spot Carlo anywhere. She makes quick work of grabbing several party sized bags of chips before heading back to the front of the store. She feels a little paranoid, stupidly so, that she’s going to see Carlo, so she works quickly. Having any kind of conversation with him is not on her agenda for today—or ever—because why should she give the guy who cheated on the time of day? 

As much of a stretch as it may be, Isla is kind of hoping she never has to see him again now that school is over. It might not be realistic, since she’s going to college over on the mainland and the Cut isn’t that big, so running into him is totally a possibility. But a girl can dream, right?

Isla makes her escape quickly enough and is pulling up to Sarah’s house thirty minutes later. As she gets out of her car—finally back from the shop—Isla can’t help the way her gaze scans the Cameron’s gravel driveway in search of a certain guy’s motorcycle, heart thudding when she doesn’t spot it amongst Sarah’s own parked car and John B’s van. As she opens the trunk of her car, she’s not quite sure if she feels relief or disappointment when she doesn’t spot Rafe’s motorcycle, that in of itself is complicated as all hell. 

If only her friends heard that thought—they might think she’s gone insane. Maybe she has.

“I’m here!” Isla calls out, a tote bag filled with her outfit and makeup for tonight hanging off her shoulders while her hands grip the grocery bags. “A little help?!”

She hears footsteps as she makes her way to the kitchen in the bag, smiling in relief as Pope turns the corner and comes into view. “Here, I got you,” he says, helpfully taking some of the bags from her. “Jeez, how much did you get?”

“Hopefully enough to feed a houseful of people,” Isla answers with a snort, putting the remaining bags on the marble countertop. She and Pope begin taking out the several bags of chips, along with the packs of red solo cups Isla had also picked up upon Sarah’s request. “Where are JJ and John B?”

“Setting up the Christmas lights in the backyard,” Pope replies and off her arched eyebrow, he chuckles and explains, “Sarah wanted it to look pretty and colorful.” He puts air quotes around the words with a fond roll of his eyes. “Last I checked, they were still trying to untangle the whole thing.”

Isla hums in acknowledgement before asking, “When are people supposed to start coming?”

Pope glances at the digital watch on his wrist. “Like, two hours. Less than, I think.”

Isla grabs her tote. “I need to get ready.”

Her friend shakes his head, scoffing. “It should not take you two hours to get ready for a party.”

She flips her hair over her shoulder, already walking out of the kitchen as she tells him, “Perfection takes time, Pope.”

She takes the steps two at a time as she heads upstairs, hearing the girls’ chatter the closer she gets to Sarah’s room. Upon entering, Isla spots her sister in front of the mirror in the ensuite, leaning close to her reflection and lips parted as she applies mascara; Sarah’s in front of her vanity, blotting blush onto her cheeks, while Cleo sits cross legged in front of the floor length mirror as she slicks her dark hair back into a high ponytail.

“Damn, are there any mirrors left for me?” Isla teases, catching her friends’ attention.

She’s met with laughter while Kie calls from the bathroom, “I’m almost done!”

From her place on the floor on the other side of the room, Cleo asks her, “Whatcha wearin’ tonight?”

“I was thinking these,” Isla answers, gesturing to the distressed denim cut-offs she’s already got on while digging through her tote bag. “With this.”

She holds up the crocheted purple and black bralette top, a cute find she had discovered when she and Kie had gone to the mainland for some thrifting. “Very cute,” Sarah nods approvingly, cheeks a pretty pink glow. “Are you gonna swim?”

Isla shrugs, undecided. “Not sure.”

“Unless the guys throw you in the pool,” Kie says as she walks out of the bathroom, dressed in her own black denim shorts and a red tank top, the strings of her yellow bikini top tied around her neck.

“Only if they have a death wish,” Isla scoffs, grabbing her small makeup bag and heading to the bathroom. She doesn’t mind taking a swim, truthfully, but she’d hope the guys would give her enough time to empty her pockets; one of the last times they so lovingly tossed her in the pool, Isla’s phone was still in her pocket and she ended up needing to buy a new one. A bowl of rice definitely did not help.

Isla takes her time in getting ready, accompanied by conversations with her friends as she does her makeup under the bright lights of Sarah’s bathroom mirror. Truthfully, Isla is only half listening to Cleo’s story of how she chased out a would-be robber from Heywards’—an unsurprising pastime for Cleo—because her thoughts keep drifting to a certain guy with blue eyes and dark blonde hair whose face keeps flashing through her head.

Isla’s jaw clenches, movements slowing in buffing out her foundation as she gazes at her reflection, throat working. It unnerves her how frequently Rafe has been creeping through her thoughts since that night he helped her out when her car broke down. And then again when he let her borrow his shirt, before giving her a ride home to escape from the cops. She has interacted with him more just this last week than she has in an entire month in the past. Whatever their interactions, they shouldn’t have a lasting effect on Isla like they do. She keeps trying to remind herself that none of it is a big deal, and yet…

Shaking her head at herself, Isla continues on with her makeup and then brushes out her hair, her ears already decked out in jewelry. Her neck also adorns matching gold jewelry, necklaces layered together against her smooth brown skin. When she walks out of the bathroom to put her makeup bag back in the tote, Kie lets out a whistle and teasingly says, “You’re gonna drive your favorite touron crazy.”

The others giggle at Kiara’s statement, Isla forcing out a laugh of her own, skin warming at the fact that her stupidly foolish brain has only been focused on one guy—most likely the wrong guy.

When the girls are ready, it’s almost the time for when people will start coming, so they head downstairs and to the back, music already blaring through the speakers that have been set up. Isla is impressed by the set up, the Christmas lights wrapped around the trees and across the gable roof of the porch, also wrapping around the porch pillars. 

Letting out a whistle, Cleo says to Sarah, “Jeez, how many Christmas lights do you have?”

Sarah snickers. “Pretty sure we have some for every room in the house, plus for outside of the house.”

With the sun setting, the Camerons’ backyard is alight with different colors thanks to the lights the boys put up, along with the blue glow of the pool and some of the sconces lit up along the wall that separates the yard from the street they live on. The guys are already helping themselves to drinks, unsurprisingly, while playing beer pong on the opposite side of the yard across the pool. 

As they walk over to the guys, Sarah gasps and grabs Isla’s arm. “Oh, shit, wait, I forgot to ask! Did you manage to leave the store without Carlo seeing you?”

“Whoa, wait, what?” Kiara asks, stopping as she widens her eyes at her sister. “You saw Carlo?”

“Yeah. I guess he’s spending his summer in OBX,” Isla says, face scrunching up in distaste. He seemed to enjoy his summer out of North Carolina, so Isla has no qualms about him leaving again if it meant she could go a summer without running into him.

“Gross,” Kie mutters before throwing an arm around Isla’s shoulders, pulling her close. “Well, he’s irrelevant, so fuck him.”

Cleo snaps her fingers. “Amen.”

Fortunately, it isn’t long until people start arriving, the volume of the music turning up as more and more people come. It’s not long until Isla has a drink in her hand, taking a few shots with her friends before enjoying a High Noon since she’s not quite in the mood for beer tonight. Those shots, though, get the job going right away, and it’s not long until she’s in the backyard, dancing to the music pounding through the speakers with her friends.

She lets loose easily, giggling in between sips as they dance to songs by Sabrina Carpenter to Pitbull. There were loads of people splashing around in the pool, using the diving board to jump in, while others either danced or played games spread around the yard or inside the house. At one point, Isla takes part in an intense game of flip cup, laughing as JJ, standing next to her, yells in her ear to hurry up and flip the cup upright. She ends up laughing so hard, she needs to ditch and go to the bathroom, only to find both bathrooms downstairs occupied, so she ventures up the stairs.

Dodging and weaving past other partygoers, Isla finds the bathroom in the upstairs hallway and breathes a sigh of relief when she finds it empty. Locking the door behind her, she uses the toilet, the party muffled beyond the door as she takes a look at herself in the mirror, washing her hands. Her brown hair falls in messy waves around her shoulders, makeup still intact and a subtle glazed, glassiness to her eyes. She’s not drunk, at that point of tipsiness where she’s still aware of her faculties and surroundings, but it all does make the smile come onto her face easily.

When she exits the bathroom, someone else is waiting to go, practically shoving her out of the way to go inside. Isla stumbles, eyebrows furrowing as she glares at the door and shouts, “Rude!” before turning to head back down the hall.

And maybe she’s drunker than she thought, because surely she can’t have spotted Carlo at the end of the hall, chatting with some people. Isla freezes, blinking a couple of times as the distant sound of a Taylor Swift song plays outside, and praying that she’s only imagining things, because seeing Carlo at the store earlier had been enough.

But, nope, he’s right there, and he’s looking like he’s about to walk away from the people he’s talking to and head in her direction—even though he hasn’t spotted her yet. And Isla panics, knowing that if he sees her, he’s going to want to chat, and so her gaze darts around as she reaches the first door she finds, other than the now occupied bathroom, and shoves it open.

Slamming the door shut, Isla presses her back against it, blowing out a breath as she wills for the slight dizziness, as a result of moving so quickly, to stop. She squints, the room bathed in darkness, and feels along the wall until her fingers come across the lightswitch, flicking it on and pressing her lips together in realization when she sees not only that she’s in a bedroom—but it’s Rafe’s bedroom.

What are the Goddamn odds?

Rolling her lips into her mouth, Isla pushes away from the door and wanders further into the room. She’s never been in here before, never had a reason to, and her eyebrows raise in curiosity as she looks around. There’s a four poster bed to her right, and a set of glass doors that lead to a small balcony that looks over the backyard. A shelf is filled to the brim with all sorts of books, the mantle under the TV opposite of the bed holding some frames with pictures of Rafe with his family. There’s also a desk where his laptop sits, along with notebooks and folders and books, a cup filled with pens and pencils. The dark oak dresser by the closet has plenty of colognes, some watches, deodorant, lotion, and other belongings of Rafe placed neatly on top of it.

Everything is tidy and in its place, and Isla isn’t surprised that Rafe is kind of a neat freak—but she is surprised that she finds that attractive. Isla knows that she should leave instead of venturing further into Rafe’s room, that she shouldn’t be invading his privacy like this. She tries to tell herself she isn’t snooping per se—definitely just observing, maybe, as she takes in a breath and feels her mouth curve up when she inhales his familiar earthy, woody scent.

Isla wanders over towards the dresser, eyebrow ticking up curiously when she spots the bracelets sitting among his watches. She tilts her head, fingers brushing along the beaded bracelets, all in dark colors, that sit with his Rolex, Cartier, and Omega watches. It’s a stark difference, because the bracelets definitely look hand-made, and there’s quite a few of them. Matter of fact, Isla is pretty certain she has seen Rafe wearing them, along with the colorful ones Sarah occasionally wears.

Isla hums in curiosity, practically twirling on her heel to gaze out the window and mumbling a quiet, “oh,” when she gets a little too dizzy. “No spinning,” she mutters to herself, feeling more of the effects of alcohol sink into her blood. With a newfound urge to sit, she squeezes her eyes shut to keep the dizziness at bay while blindly grabbing the back of the desk chair, wheeling it towards her before sitting down. 

She tells herself she’s only going to sit for a few minutes, just enough to be steady on her feet again. She’s not sure, however, when she ends up drifting off to sleep.

*****

“Isla? Hey. Wake up, Isla.”

She’s being shaken gently, slowly being pulled out of her impromptu slumber. Her eyebrows furrow together, inhaling sharply as her body comes to the realization of the mildly uncomfortable position she’s in. Her arms are folded under her head, her cheek resting against them before slowly lifting her head as she blinks her eyes open. “What..?”

There’s a hand gently gripping her shoulder, warm, as Isla straightens in the chair and winces slightly at the subtle heaviness in her muscles. How long had she been asleep for? She remembers not to rub at her eyes, since she’s got on makeup, and resolves to cover her mouth with a hand as she yawns before asking, “What time is it?”

“Nine-forty-two,” comes the reply, a voice way too familiar and it’s possible Isla has sobered up now as she freezes where she’s sitting.

Slowly, Isla lifts her gaze, pulse quickening when her eyes meet a pair of blue ones. Bright and beautiful and tinged with both surprise and concern as Rafe stares down at her, most likely wondering what the hell she’s doing in his bedroom. 

Heat crawls up Isla’s neck and floods her cheeks, wishing she was drunk so she could be numb to any sort of embarrassment, but that, unfortunately, isn’t the case as she becomes keenly aware of his hand still on her shoulder, his skin touching hers thanks to the straps of her top. Looking up at him, Rafe arches an eyebrow and maybe she should consider herself lucky that he doesn’t look pissed that she’s found herself in his room, but it’s embarrassing all the same. The ten minute nap wasn’t worth it, even if it did sober her up a little.

“Um,” she sounds, trying not to cringe as she tries to think of something to say.

“You sure know how to party, huh?” comes Rafe’s response, and when she glances up at him, she sees a smirk dancing on the corners of his lips as he looks down at her, eyebrow arched. There’s no doubt there’s mirth dancing in those eyes, too.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she defends, embarrassed, as she runs her hand through her hair. “Just needed to make an escape.”

“An escape?” Rafe repeats, stepping back as she gets to her feet. She tries not to miss the warmth of his hand. “From what?” Before she can answer, he scrunches his face in bewilderment and asks, “Why are you always running from something?”

Isla clamps her lips together, suppressing the sudden urge to laugh because, really, he’s not wrong. He’s been playing her rescuer the last few times they interacted, and it’s ironic that it’s his bedroom she found refuge in to keep out of Carlo’s sight. Her lips tremble until the laugh bursts free, hand clamping over her mouth as her shoulders shake. It’s really not that funny, but maybe Isla is still a little tipsy as she watches Rafe’s expression shift from incredulity and melt into amusement of his own, eyes lightening with mirth as he watches her laugh, his own lips tipping upwards.

“What the hell is so funny?” Rafe asks, though the words escape in between his own chuckles.

Isla shakes her head and shrugs. “I don’t know,” she answers, still giggling, cheeks flushed. Either from the alcohol or him, she doesn’t know. And, God, who would’ve thought that Rafe Cameron would be making her blush? Her laughter slowly subsides and, noting that Rafe is watching her, Isla bites the inside of her cheek before saying, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, like, invade your privacy.”

She gestures lamely to the room, lips pressing together. Rafe, in response, smirks as he lifts his chin and gives a one shouldered shrug. “You’re not invading anything,” he says coolly, surprising her. She definitely thought he’d be upset that she was finding refuge in his room. “It’s fine—so long as you tell me why you were hiding out in here,” he adds, arching his eyebrow.

She huffs out a breath, not surprised he isn’t dropping it. She gazes out the window to her right, taking note of the party going on out in the backyard. From where Isla stands, she can see JJ tossing Kie into the pool, just barely hearing her sister’s screech over the music, and Isla is glad she wasn’t down there to be the next victim.

Feeling Rafe’s expectant gaze on her, Isla answers, “My ex is here—don’t know why, since I know none of us invited him—and any sort of conversation with him is going to piss me off.” Not to mention, hurt with the reminder of what he did. “I saw him out in the hall and just ran into the first room I could find.”

Rafe arches a brow as he moves towards his bed, walking to the bedside table and grabbing the box of Marlboros Isla hadn’t noticed before, along with a lighter. “Ex, huh?” he muses, pulling out a cigarette and placing it between his lips as he walks back over to her, his gait casual. He tips the small pack towards her and Isla pulls a cigarette out for herself; not her preferred blunt, but it’d do, as Rafe opens the balcony door but doesn’t step outside. “What’d he do?” he asks, flicking the lighter on in one try and bringing the flame to the end of his cigarette.

Isla places her own between her lips, pulse quickening when Rafe holds the still flaming lighter towards her. Their eyes meet as she leans forward, cigarette between her middle and index fingers, bringing it closer to the flame until it catches. Straightening, Isla takes a drag, letting the nicotine fill her lungs with that familiar subtle burn as Rafe does the same, the end of his cigarette glowing ember.

She exhales, letting the smoke drift out the window, and answers, “Cheated on me.”

Blunt and to the point, and she tries not to flinch at the truth. It’s one she has accepted, but sometimes the sting still accompanies it whenever she thinks or talks about it. And, frankly, it’s a little humiliating to acknowledge that she wasn’t enough for someone, to the point where her boyfriend found someone else. That she was so lacking as a girlfriend, as someone to be wanted, that a guy that she loved gave his attention to another girl. It brought up insecurities Isla didn’t know she had, ones that she’s been fighting off ever since silently. 

But then Rafe stands in front of, watching her with a look in his eyes she can’t quite decipher, exhaling the smoke through his nose as he states, “You’re better off without a dumbass like that.”

His words bring forth a warmth that she should consider dangerous. Even still, Isla keeps her gaze locked with Rafe’s as she responds, “I know.”

He looses a rough chuckle before asking, “Your friends know you’re up here?”

Isla tilts her head slightly, peering up at him. God, he’s tall. A whole head, probably more, than her. “Do they know I’m up here in general, or that I’m up here with you?” she asks, bringing the cigarette back to her mouth.

Rafe smirks and her stomach tumbles. “If you’re asking, then you already know.”

Her skin is warm, but Isla knows it has nothing to do with the smoke in her lungs and everything to do with the man in front of her. “They don’t know where I am,” she admits, reaching her hand out to the side table where an ashtray sits, hovering her cigarette above it as she taps the ashes away. “But they’ll probably start looking for me.”

Rafe hums with an upwards tilt of his chin, and Isla has to force herself not to openly admire the sharp line of his jaw. “Guess you should probably go find them before they find you,” he drawls, and the look in his blue eyes is challenging, almost.

Isla blows a cloud of smoke out of her mouth, and it isn’t lost on her how at ease she feels in this moment with Rafe. If her friends found her here, they for sure would be confused as all hell. Maybe even mad. Betrayed? Seems dramatic, but not impossible. “Tired of having a Pogue in your room?” Isla finds herself taunting with a subtle tilt of her head, eyebrow raised.

To her surprise, Rafe’s expression shifts, a scoff escaping him as he rolls his eyes. “You and our sisters,” he starts with a shake of his head, tapping his cigarette over the ashtray, head ever so slightly ducked as his bangs frame his temples and forehead. “What’s so bad about where you’re from and what you have that the three of you would rather be from that side of the island?”

Instead of hearing any scorn in his tone, Isla mostly picks up bewilderment and incredulity, like he can’t possibly understand why she, Kie, and Sarah would rather be Pogues than Kooks. That’s always been a source of dissent between Sarah and Rafe, too. While her older brother is comfortable with the life they have, Sarah has always felt restless, which is why she found friendship and solace with Isla and her friends. It’s why they welcomed her with open arms, because Isla and Kiara were the same way, too.

They know they’re privileged, lucky enough to have what they have, which is more than what their friends do. It’s not that they’re ungrateful—far from it. But growing up on Figure Eight, within a wealthy society, comes with a set of expectations and pressure that neither Isla nor Kiara were good with handling. Their parents worked hard to give them a good life, which they’re thankful for, but that doesn’t mean giving up their freedom to put on masks and pretend to be someone they’re not. Isla’s parents raised her and Kiara to be themselves, to be independent, and they found a lot of that independence and freedom with their friends, who just so happen to be on the other side of the tax bracket.

Wealth has nothing to do with it. It’s all about living their lives the way they want to, without any sort of judgment and ridicule. For Isla, there is a lot of self-imposed academic pressure that she struggles, sometimes, under the weight of. When it comes to everything else, she would like as much freedom as she can—the kind of freedom and carefree lifestyle that isn’t possible living under the lens of Kooks.

“I don’t think you get it,” Isla says to Rafe, not being pity or scornful, but just wanting him to understand. When he looks at her expectantly, Isla shrugs, her smile small but soft. “It’s not about materialistic things or hating where we’re from. We know we’re lucky to have what we do. It’s honestly really just about our friends and how, at the end of the day, there’s no real divide between us.” She shrugs, cheeks heating under Rafe’s quiet gaze. “There’s no ego, no one’s trying to one-up the other. It’s just a real friendship between all of us and, personally, I never found that here. But with them, it’s easy. It’s right.”

Truthfully, Isla half expects Rafe to scoff in her face, to tell her she’s being a child and that it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. It would track, simply by the way he and her friends have interacted in the past, even if it would be a contrast to how he’s been acting around her recently. Her skin is on fire, feeling like an exposed livewire as she distracts herself by finishing off the rest of her cigarette, the walls of Rafe’s room vibrating slightly with the bass of the music playing outside. The party is louder now, thanks to the open balcony doors, though from where Isla stands, she can’t really see down to the backyard from over the balcony. 

“Well, when you put it like that,” Rafe begins, muttering slightly as he shrugs his broad shoulders, reluctantly meeting her gaze. “Doesn’t sound that unreasonable.” 

Isla blinks at him, surprise no doubt evident on her face upon hearing his words. Her lips part, but no words come out for a brief moment before she blurts, “Seriously?”

Rafe looks at her, raising an eyebrow. “It’s so hard to believe that I’d believe you?”

Is she being punked? Maybe this actually was a blunt. Or maybe she’s still drunk. “Um, a little,” she admits, blinking at him in bewilderment. “Because I’m sure Sarah’s probably told you the same thing, so why’re you taking my word for it and not your sister’s?”

He shoots her a flat look, though there may be a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “She’s my younger sister. I’ve become an expert in tuning her out most of the time.” When Isla scowls at Sarah’s expense, Rafe chuckles. “Don’t worry. It goes both ways,” he tells her, moving around her and towards the dresser behind her.

Isla turns, following him with her gaze as he unclips the watch he’s wearing and places it on the dresser. Her head tilts in curiosity, gaze dropping to the surface of the table, and finds her gaze drinking in the sight of his tall, lean figure as she asks, “What’re those bracelets?”

Rafe glances at her over his shoulder before looking back down at his collection of bracelets. Her heart does something funny in her chest when Rafe’s fingers brush along the bracelets and a ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Wheezie went through a phase of making a bunch of these things,” he tells her. “These are the ones she made me.”

Isla presses her tongue to the floor of her mouth, his explanation one that makes her heart trip once again—a sensation that is slowly becoming exclusively just Rafe’s, which might be dangerous. But she can’t help it—not when she knows that those beaded bracelets she has seen him wearing in the past, ones she never really given much thought to, are ones his youngest sister made for him. She doesn’t want to admit it, but it begins to paint Rafe in a new light; not just the guy who gets into fights with her friends. Hell, Isla thinks her opinion of him was already slowly changing since that night he helped her when her car broke down, and now is the night she’s willing to admit it.

“That’s. . . Very cute,” Isla says, almost in wonder.

Rafe turns to look at her, mirth dancing in his eyes. “You calling me cute, Isla?”

Her cheeks heat, scoffing so she doesn’t look as flushed as she feels. “No,” she says vehemently, maybe a little too much so as Rafe cocks an eyebrow, that smirk appearing once more. “I meant the bracelets.” His smirk only widens and her pulse is racing to face as she stubs out the cigarette and says hastily, “I’m gonna go,” as she turns and heads towards the bedroom door, face on fire.

Her hand grasps the doorknob when she hears, “Isla.” She freezes at the sound of her name on his tongue again, turning to glance at him over her shoulder. He gives her a tiny smile. “I don’t mind having you in my room.”

Her eyes widen slightly, pulse skipping a beat or two as she makes sense of his words. “Is that—” She resists the urge to clear her throat. “An invite?”

That smile becomes his signature smirk, blue eyes light and so teasing. “Just a statement of fact.”Oh, God. She’s not sure what to say to that, if there is anything to even say. Words certainly don’t come to the tip of her tongue. Especially not when he’s watching her, like he’s expecting some sort of reaction. She doesn’t give it to him. Instead, Isla opens the door and leaves the room, willing her thundering heart to calm down as she goes to find her friends with the weight of Rafe’s gaze still heavy on her back.