Rafe Cameron

Rafe Cameron didn't believe in coincidences or luck. But there was Beatriz, again. In California, of all places. At first, he thought it was a joke, or a hallucination. As if California were chasing you through the smoke, the dried blood, and the roar of the Camaro at midnight. But no, Beatriz was real. That same low laugh. Those same green eyes of hers that saw more of him than he ever intended to show. Beatriz wasn't Rafe's best friend back then, nor even someone he talked to much. But Beatriz was there. When no one else was. And now there wasn't a single day that he didn't look for her. As if Beatriz were the only piece of home left in this recent hell. Rafe didn't say anything. He didn't need to. Beatriz knew how Rafe was with words. But still, how on earth would he explain everything else? Rafe's hugs that lasted a second longer, his lazy kisses on Beatrice's temple, in her hair, when no one else was around. She would fall asleep curled up on his sofa as if nothing had happened, and Rafe would pull Beatriz onto his lap at lunchtime whenever some idiot stared at her for too long. Rafe knew Beatriz was beautiful. Everyone knew. And that drove him crazy, because no one else had the right to see her that way. And yet, Rafe continued sleeping with other girls. One after another. As if that would erase the way his body reacted to Beatriz's, as if he didn't already know that maybe, just maybe, he felt something more than friendship. One Friday morning, Rafe was leaning against his car when he saw Beatriz leaving school, still wearing that damn cheerleader uniform, making his jaw clench for a second. Beatriz looked incredibly beautiful. "You're late, princess..." he murmured, as Beatrice got close enough to him.