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Sometimes, getting Rafe to behave was like trying to mop up the ocean. Impossible, pointless, and a complete waste of your time.
Why bother? Why try? What did you gain from it besides a headache? It always goes how it always does — you’re unfortunately very used to it. He has his moments where he’s a good boy but the moments when he isn’t are painstakingly hard.
That’s Rafe for you, though. He’s either your prince or your problem.
Leaving is so out of the question though. Call it your moral obligation to the female race to keep him off the streets as long as you can.
And besides, you’re not done training him yet.
Old tricks are proving futile. It’s time to whip out something new.
You almost feel bad about doing this when you let yourself into Tannyhill that afternoon and see him pacing the vast family room, phone to his ear and gesturing wildly to the air as he speaks to the person on the other line. However, your guilt doesn’t outweigh your incessant need to be petty for that slick ass comment that landed him on your shit list for a few days.
Had you not thought of this little scheme, you would’ve told him to go kill himself and never speak to you again instead of accepting his invitation to stay the weekend.
The disgruntled grimace he’s sporting softens into a grin the millisecond his eyes land on you removing your shoes in the foyer.
“No, I don’t care what their offer is,” he barks into the phone, never losing sight of you as you stride past him to the kitchen, grab a bottle of water from the fridge and hop on top of the counter. “I’m not going any lower than fifty. That property sits on a literal swamp. It’s a disgrace I’m even negotiating this and you know that.”
You sip your drink, maintaining eye contact and blinking slowly to communicate it’s time for him to hang up. He nods at you, barely listening to what the other person is saying and twirling his hand in a “hurry up” motion.
“Alright, alright, alright,” he says dismissively, definitely cutting whoever off. “I’m not going in circles about this. I’ve got other shit to tend to so when you and your client can figure out an offer fitting for Cameron Developments, let me know on Monday.”
And with that, Rafe hangs up and tucks his phone in his pocket. He approaches with purpose, never letting his gaze shift anywhere other than you.
“Hey, baby,” he utters, pecking your cheek and grabbing a glass from the cupboard above your head. “How’s my pretty girl today?”
Annoyance aside, you flush hot at the greeting.
“I’m good,” you say, watching him rummage the mini bar cabinet for a drink. “Must’ve been a hard day if you’re starting the party this early.”
Rafe chuckles, pulling out a half empty bottle of whiskey and pouring it into his glass. “Well, now that you’re here, my weekend officially starts and it’s bullshit free for the next couple days.”
That’s what he thinks.
“Hmm,” you hum in agreement, taking another sip of water and twisting the cap back on.
“So, you wanna do something special tonight? Dinner? Stay in? Anything you want,” he says, downing the drink in one swift swallow. “It’s up to you, belle.”
You nod, pretending to think about it. “Yeah, actually. Going out sounds fun. I got my nails done and I’m feeling cute so might as well.”
“Going out does sound fun, huh.” Rafe pauses, the rest of your statement settling in. “Wait. You got your nails done?”
“Yeah, see?” You put the bottle down and flex your hands out before him so he can inspect your detailed ocean themed manicure for himself. “Pretty, right?”
“Gorgeous,” he mumbles, taking your hands in his for a closer look.
“You like the colors? I wasn’t sure about it at first but I think they came out cute.”
“Yeah.” He looks back at your face. “When’d you go? I would’ve went with you.”
“Yesterday,” you tell him, taking your hands back to admire them.
“I wasn’t busy.”
“Don’t worry about it, babe. You know I’ll be back in, like, three weeks,” you insist. “And the best part about it though is that they were free, so I didn’t need to use your card.”
Confusion twists Rafe’s nonchalant expression. “What?”
“They were free.”
He squints down at you. “The hell do you mean free?”
“As in I didn’t have to pay for them,” you reply, slowing the sentence down so he’ll understand.
“You didn’t use my card?”
“No, I didn’t need to,” you say, biting back the evil smirk threatening to creep up on your face. “Topper paid for them.”
He stalls, just blinking at you for a full half minute, digesting your words. You stare back in feigned ignorance as everything computes in that wild head of his.
“T-T-Topper,” he stutters, rubbing a furious hand over his buzzcut. “Topper.”
“Yeah?”
“Topper paid for your nails.” It’s not a question, yet you nod anyway.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Okay, just one more time for me so I understand. Topper paid for your nails?” he asks, pointing to your hands.
“And picked out the color.”
“Right.” Rafe nods stiffly, lips pursed in determination as he spins on his heels and stomps towards the front door.
You hop off the counter to follow him. “Rafe?” you call after him. “Where you going?”
“First, we’re going to the salon so they can redo your ugly ass nails because I’m fighting not to break them off myself,” he huffs, grabbing his keys and slipping on his boat shoes. “And then we’re gonna visit Top's.”
“For what?”
“For what?” he snaps, eyes wide and wild when he glares at you. “Because I’m gonna shoot him.”
“Rafe.”
“What the fuck is he doing paying for my girl’s nails?”
“It’s not that deep. He was just at the salon the same time I was and he offered to pay for them. What’s the big deal?”
“You—” he growls, accentuating his words with a strong finger pointed at your chest and then his own. “— are my girl. I don’t need some other guy picking out shit for you or paying for a goddamn thing. You have my card on your phone for a reason. I take care of you, not him.”
“Some guy?” you repeat incredulously. “Top’s your friend. It’s not like he’s a random.”
“Might as fucking well be,” he grumbles. “That’s incredibly disrespectful and for you to not see why actually pisses me off a little bit, but I gotta focus on one thing at a time.”
You cross your arms over your chest. “And you think shooting him is going to solve anything?”
“I should’ve known something was weird about him,” he continues, tapping his temple. “I see the way he looks at you, how he talks about you versus the rest of your little weird friends. It was only a matter of time before he swooped in and tried to make a move on you and if this is how he wants to play it, I’ll show him I’m not to be fucked with.”
“Oh, are you?” you ask.
“You think this is funny?”
“I’m not laughing, am I?”
Rafe cocks his head sideways, uttering your name dangerously under his breath.
“You need to relax.”
“Nah, fuck relaxing. Is there something you wanna tell me?” he asks, closing the space between the two of you with eerily slow steps that waver on predatory. “Is there a reason as to why Topper felt comfortable paying for your shit?”
“Like what?”
“Like, oh, I don’t know,” he says, rattling his head around in mock wonder. “Are you fucking him?”
The spark in Rafe’s chest blazes to a full blown fire at the non-committal noise and shrug combo you hit him with. Call him dramatic but he’s about ready to fall to his knees, rip his shirt open and howl to the moon in pure agony just as you break and giggle to yourself.
“This is funny to you?” he demands again, patience running unbearably thin at your nonchalant attitude about what you just insinuated. “I’m about to kill myself in front of you and you’re laughing?”
“You’re such a drama queen.”
“If I were to pay for some other girl’s nails, you’d literally chop my balls off.”
“You wouldn’t piss on a bitch if she were on fire, so I find it very hard to believe you’d pay for her nails.” You shake your head in amused disbelief. "I’m not fucking Topper. Don’t ever ask that again.”
“Then what the hell’s he doing paying–”
“He didn’t,” you assure him, staring up at his dubious expression with pure delight swirling in your irises. “Had you actually been paying attention, you would’ve seen the charge on your card yesterday, but you rich bitches don’t ever check your accounts for anything. Could be getting robbed blind and never know it.”
“So, what, you’re giving me a lesson in finances or some shit? Why’d you tell me he did that if he didn’t?”
“Had to make sure the leash wasn’t getting loose,” you explain simply, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his frown. “You were getting a little too comfortable.”
The fire toasting Rafe’s insides dwindles back to its usual simmer once it registers you’re only smiling that big because he’s just involuntarily relayed that he is now and forever will be your bitch. He could play it cool as though everyone’s life within a fifty mile radius wasn't in imminent danger had you been serious, but you see through that demeanor and know the truth.
That’s unbelievably irritating but he’s choosing not to dwell on that right now.
“Don’t do that shit again.” Rafe rolls his eyes upwards, sliding off his shoes and tossing his keys back into the bowl. “I almost took all three of us out. That stupid shit’s gonna get you fucked up, belle.”
As if he’d have the balls.
Instead of testing him further, you nod in put-on sincerity. “Whatever you say, Rafe,” you coo, running said ugly ass nails down his tense arms.