HEARTLESS─── RAFE CAMERON [1]

chapter eight

I call Rafe, telling him to pick me up at seven p.m on the dot. The knock on my door is, in fact, at seven p.m sharp— not a second too early, and not a second too late. Of course.

I open the door in a rushed manner. I didn't think it would take this long to get ready, but I suppose I was putting in a little more effort because tonight would be the first night Rafe and I would be seen together— as a couple.

When I open the door, I am met with Rafe's smirk and one lone flower in between his fingertips.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my lovely girlfriend," Rafe says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Don't even start with me, Rafe," I say, moving aside to allow him in. "What are you doing with a dead flower in your hands?"

He smiles, handing it over to me. I gingerly take it from him. "It's for you," he says. "The one dead flower represents my love for you. Minimal, and non-existent. Deceased. Dead."

At first, a small smile plays on my lips, but I quickly replace it with a scowl. "Just come in, Rafe."

"Fine," he says, making his way through the doorframe and into my home. "Don't think I missed the smile, though. You're too slow."

I give him a look, but Rafe is too busy admiring my home. Through the window, I watch him follow me into my room, where I am still stressed about finishing getting ready.

"Wow," he says. "I haven't been here in years, but this place hasn't changed one bit."

"I'm glad you're enjoying a sense of nostalgia. Just shut your mouth for a few more minutes, and then we can be on our way, okay?" I sit in front of my vanity, combing through my hair as quickly but carefully as possible. Through the mirror, I watch Rafe look around my room in disgust.

"You should really clean your room," he says, tiptoeing through my messy floors. "You've made it look like a Floor Is Lava course. You could even play a game of Find The Treasure. For starters..." He drops down to the floor, then stands back up and dangles a bra on his index finger, smirking.

When I see this through the mirror, my face goes red. "Oh my God. Rafe! Put that down! Jesus."

He innocently throws his hands up in the air as he makes himself comfortable on my bed, crinkling the newly-made sheets as much as possible. "Hey, I was the one who told you to clean your room."

I roll my eyes, biting the inside of my cheek as I glared at Rafe through my mirror. However, he seemed to be purposefully avoiding eye-contact, but the smirk on his face told me it was yet another reason to try to fire me up.

As I applied my last coat of mascara, I couldn't help but feel my eyes drift to the boy time after time again. I hated myself for it. But there was just something about his face— something I liked, no matter how hard I tried not to.

He is very good-looking. No matter how much I hated him, I couldn't lie. He had the face girls would kill to kiss, and boys would kill to have. Maybe it is even better than Aaron's. All of him, his entire body, is proportional and symmetrical. He's absurdly, mathematically perfect. It doesn't really make sense that a person can even look like him.

Rafe is tall and strong and silhouetted in a button-down shirt and shorts that fit him so perfectly it's almost unfair. His hair is thick, smooth, just like a hazelnut spread, and his jawline is sharp— the lines of his face perfectly symmetrical. Through the mirror, I can even see his cheekbone— hardened by life and age. But it's his eyes that make all the difference, at least to the common eye.