𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐈 ─────⋆⋅★𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯

𝟏𝟏. 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝

The beach was buzzing, typical for a sunny afternoon, with laughter and music blending seamlessly with the steady sound of ocean waves. Isla sat among the Kooks on a cluster of towels, oversized sunglasses shielding her eyes from the sharp sunlight—and hiding the way her gaze kept drifting to Rafe.

Since their late-night lookout conversation, something between them had shifted. Rafe's glances lingered a second too long, his backhanded compliments held an undertone that made her feel like he was testing her. And every time their eyes met, she felt that strange pull, that quiet intensity, unsettling yet addictive, making her heart beat just a little faster.

Today, he seemed even more at ease than usual, stretched out in the sand with that casual slouch that gave him the air of someone who knew he didn't have to try—who knew the world would turn to him whether he asked for it or not. He caught her eye and tilted his head, a half-smirk tugging at his lips.

"Didn't peg you for the laid-back type, Blackwell," he remarked, his voice carrying over the low hum of conversation, a subtle challenge in his tone.

Isla tried to keep her cool, brushing it off with a nonchalant shrug. "Guess you don't know me that well, Cameron."

His smirk deepened, his gaze darkening as he let his eyes linger on her a moment too long, intrigued and amused. "Yeah? Maybe there's more to you than meets the eye."

"Maybe you're finally paying attention," she shot back, feigning indifference, though she felt the air crackling between them. He chuckled, a low, genuine sound, rare enough from him that it unsettled her.

Just then, Sarah dropped down beside her on the towel, leaning close. "Alright," she whispered, her eyes darting between Isla and Rafe, clearly suspicious. "Spill. What's going on with you and my brother?"

Isla forced a casual laugh, her voice light as she waved Sarah off. "Nothing. It's Rafe; he's just... like that."

Sarah raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "He's been hovering around you all day. Rafe doesn't just act protective. I know him, and you deserve better than whatever game he's trying to pull."

The words stung, though Isla did her best to brush them off. She shrugged, avoiding Sarah's gaze. "I know he's not looking for anything serious, if that's what you're worried about," she replied, her tone a little too defensive, betraying the sting beneath her attempt at indifference.

"Good." Sarah's voice softened, her expression turning sympathetic. "Just... don't get sucked in, Isla. You don't have to settle for someone who can't commit."

But before Isla could respond, Kelce's loud, teasing voice cut through the air. "Yo, Rafe, what's up with you and Isla?"

Rafe scoffed, his tone dismissive, as though brushing her off was second nature. "Nothing, man. Just messing around. You know how it is."

The words hit Isla like a slap. She felt Sarah's hand on her arm, a comforting squeeze, but it only intensified the ache in her chest. The ease with which Rafe had tossed her aside, brushing her off as though she were nothing—it was like a cold wave of reality. She'd let herself believe in something more, something worth holding onto, but clearly, she'd been fooling herself.

And just as she was processing the sting of his dismissal, the Pogues appeared, their carefree energy cutting through the tension on the beach. John B, Pope, JJ, and Kiara walked up, laughter and easy smiles on their faces, a fresh breeze blowing through an otherwise claustrophobic day. For a second, Isla's heart lifted. The sight of them was a reminder of simpler things, of a world without pretense.

Pope caught her gaze, his familiar grin a balm to the hurt simmering beneath her surface. He waved her over, calling out, "Hey, Isla! We're about to start a game of beach volleyball. You in?"