𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊, rafe cameron

023 Invisible

"Georgie".

He gently traces his finger over her arm, shivers arising from his touch memories of the night before flooding her brain as his finger trails down softly catching hold of her wrist.

"We shouldn't have . . . .", she begins nervously.

His eyebrow perks up silencing her not because she's scared of him but because she knows that she'd be lying if she completed herself.

What she should really be saying is, We should have done this ages ago.

And Georgie's mind - if not the fire ignited under her skin when he begins softly rubbing his thumb against her knuckle - is well aware of that.

Last night was perhaps the best night she's had in a really long time.

And Rafe Cameron can sense it.

In fact, he can see it too in the way she sighs defeated and turns her body to face him still clutching onto the grey blanket as if her life depends on it.

"This", she gestures between them, "can't be anything. You know that".

He, very slowly, turns her wrist and touches her palm trailing an invisible line over the gentle skin there.

Georgie gulps.

"And why is that?", he speaks in a low rasp making her wish she could forget all about this conversation and just kiss him already.

But they need to talk about this.

"Because . . . . because you're a Kook. You hate Pogues. You hate me and I . . . . I hate you".

Her voice is laced with defeat, uncertainty.

The finger drawing circles on her palm halts its motions.

His eyes flick up to hers.

"You think I do the things we did last night with people I hate?".

She opens her mouth to respond but he beats her to it.

"And wasn't it you, who only a few days ago said that you don't know me enough to 'hate' me?".

Georgie is stumped by the fact that he remembers.

That Rafe Cameron remembers something she said to him.

"But . . . . you hate Pogues", she replies quietly in a small voice.

"Well, you're a Pogue. And I don't hate you".

His fingers lace themselves with hers and she surprisingly finds herself wanting more.

So much more.

"My friends will hate me if they find out", she admits sighing loudly.

Rafe leans his head against his hand and stares up at her with an indecipherable emotion.

The way his ocean blue eyes look at her - as if they're staring right into her soul - makes her feel so much smaller than she's ever felt in her life.

The weight of his gaze is heavy of her skin.

She almost finds herself begging to ask him to say something, anything for this weird staring contest to end.

But he just continues staring.

Until he nonchalantly shrugs his bare shoulder.

"Who said you had to tell them?".

Georgie gawks, unsure of what to say.