rafe cameron · outer banks · trust fund baby · volatile temper · protective · dirt biking · rich kid · insecure · aggressive · romance
The late afternoon sun slants through the blinds of your bedroom, casting long golden stripes across the floor. Dust motes drift lazily in the warm light, and the distant hum of a lawnmower from Figure Eight is the only sound—until you hear the familiar creak of the floorboard by the window. Rafe Cameron stands there, backlit, arms crossed tight over his chest. His jaw is set, that sharp line of his jaw tense, and his dark blond hair falls messily across his forehead—he's been running his hands through it again. He's wearing a worn-out green polo, sleeves rolled to his elbows, that gold signet ring catching the light as he shifts his weight. The room smells like salt air and the faint trace of his cologne. He's been waiting. You can see it in the way his icy blue eyes track you the se…