rafe cameron [smut collection]

[x fem oc] you just fuck better when you're mad

2679 words
[ fem kook oc | 1st person | ... ]

My eyes rested on the pretty boy sitting across the bar as I mindlessly stabbed my caesar salad with a fork.

"Sure", I replied to whatever my dad had just said. He'd been rambling about business for the entire lunch and I didn't have an inch in my body to care for it. He was a busy man and persisted on our weekly lunch at the country club so about every wednesday my mom would pick me up from school during lunch break and we'd met up with my dad to spend some quality time of him talking about stock for an hour.

"Did they teach about that in your AP business class yet?", my father asked and I didn't have the slightest idea what he meant as I had been busy glancing at Rafe Cameron again.

He hadn't noticed me, seemed too busy himself, sipping on a blue tinted drink and heavily gesturing as he went on about something to the bartender. Why did men have to talk so damn much?

I checked my watch, a birthday present of the worth of a small car, it was 12:26 and Rafe was already getting drunk.

"No, I don't think so", I replied as my dad looked at me in horror. It had been the wrong thing to say.

"They don't? What are we even paying the study fees for when this school can't manage to teach about Adam Smiths theory of the invisible hand?"

I remembered, now. Obviously the school taught about Smith, but I had been distracted thinking about another mans hands, remembering how they brushed over the soft skin of my hips, how they wrapped so tightly around my neck.

Rafe Cameron and I had been friends with benefits- minus the friends- ever since we first fucked at a "business dinner" at Tannyhill my dad dragged me to and it was easily the best thing to have happened in my life. He was hot, but could've never been my boyfriend, not because my parents didn't approve -they probably would've been thrilled to see me with Ward Cameron's first heir- but because of what they didn't know, because Rafe was far from inheriting his fathers wealth but one fuck up away from being disowned. Because Rafe was a mess; anger riddled, coke headed, arrogant but outrageously attractive bastard. He was quite simply, too dangerous to be around for longer than a fuck and that was enough for me, anyways.
Business before boyfriends, was what my father had always told me in a joking manner but at some point, he wasn't even joking anymore and what he actually meant to say was business before family.

"Rafe Cameron", my father growled and my head shot up in horror but I hadn't thought aloud, and he hadn't turned into a mind reader. Instead, my parents where looking at where Rafe had just thrown his glass at a wall right next to a server and was now causing a huge scene, once again.
"I can't believe they haven't kicked him out of the club yet. Ward C really should do us all a favor and sent him to rehab already", my mother said with the backhanded tone only white rich women possessed. Thinking again, maybe, my parents wouldn't be so happy if they knew I was fucking Rafe Cameron.

I hid my face in some orange juice until my father finally turned around again. "Adam Smith is like the father of capitalism, really", he started and I zoned out again. It seemed to me, that he talked only to talk, not to actually spent time with me whatsoever.

When I looked back up, Rafe had calmed down and was staring at me from where he sat at the bar with a new drink in his hand.
I cocked an eyebrow and his mouth twitched into a smile that he hid behind the rim of his glass. As I returned to my salad I could still feel his eyes rest on me and I glanced over again. His fingers where restlessly trembling over the counter and there was a sense of desperation in the way he looked at me. I moved my eyes ever so slightly from his towards the open hallway but he noticed and jumped from the stool, a satisfied grin on his face.