Depraved Valentine (St. Valentines)

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

CHARLI

Standing in front of Rafe’s door, my fingers hovering over the doorbell, heart thudding so loudly I swear he can hear it through the walls. This wasn’t how I pictured my evening going—certainly not like this, with my nerves almost getting the better of me.

I never thought I’d be in this position again. At least, not with him. I mean, sure, Rafe’s always been around. He’s my brother’s best friend, the guy who showed up at family barbecues with that cocky grin, the one who could beat everyone at basketball without even breaking a sweat. And back then? I never thought twice about him. He was just… well, Rafe. Always in his own world. Until one day, I truly knew what I was feeling and stopped ignoring my true feelings about him, even if I didn't act on them for a while.

But something’s different tonight. Maybe it’s the way his smile made my stomach flip when he asked if I wanted to come over for a movie. Or how casually he said, "you’re still up for it, right?" or how he used the nickname he gave me years ago, Little Poison, like it was just a normal thing, like the fact that we’re here now, in this weird, gray zone between awkward acquaintances and something… more, isn’t an issue.

But that’s the problem. It is an issue.

I suck in a breath and press the doorbell. It chimes its melody, then a beat of hesitation, before the door opens.

And there he is.

Rafe .

He’s standing in the doorway, wearing a loose shirt and sweatpants, his hair still wet from what I assume was a shower. He looks completely… normal. But not normal at the same time. There’s something different in the way he looks at me—like he’s extra aware of me now and not just as my brother’s best friend.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice is rough in that way I’ve heard before but never really paid attention to. Like he’s just woken up, or he’s been working out all day and is now trying to catch his breath.

I clear my throat, suddenly self-conscious. “Hey, Rafe. You, uh, got any beer?”

His eyes flicker down to the bag of snacks I brought—because, of course, I did that. I wasn’t going to show up empty-handed.

“You brought snacks?” he grins, a little teasing. “Guess I’d better get the good movies ready, then...and grab you a beer.”

There’s that smile again. That crooked, playful thing that makes my heart trip over itself.

I bite my lip, trying not to show how ridiculous I’m being. Focus, Charli. Focus . “Yeah, thought you might need some fuel for the movie marathon.”

He steps back, motioning for me to come inside. “You’re a lifesaver.”

The moment I step in, I feel like I’ve crossed some invisible line. I've been around this man a hundred times before, but this time it feels different. More intimate. More personal. Maybe because it’s just the two of us with no fear of my brother seeing. It’s like I’m seeing everything with new eyes. The way the living room is set up, the slight mess on the coffee table, the movie posters on the walls—none of it seems like the Rafe I know anymore. It just feels like a space that belongs to a new person.

I shake the feeling off and follow him to the couch. He pats the spot next to him without missing a beat. “Make yourself comfortable.”

I sit down cautiously, way too aware of the few inches between us. It’s a stupid thing to worry about, but I’m not sure where the lines are anymore. Are we still just casual? Still the way we were before? I mean, that’s what I’m supposed to think, right? Because I’ve known him forever. But the way he’s looking at me now, it’s different. Too much weight in his gaze. My body is on fire, I feel alive

“So,” he says as he grabs the remote, flicking through the list of movies. “What are we watching?”

I’m tempted to say something light, something easy, like we always did when we were younger. *Maybe a rom-com?* Or, *How about that action movie you love?* But the words don’t come. Instead, I just shrug. “I don’t know. You pick.”

His brow furrows for a second, as if he’s trying to read me, before he nods and settles on a random movie—something I’m sure we’ve both seen a thousand times. But I barely register it, too caught up in the fact that we’re sitting here, in *his* space, and I feel like there’s this tension between us that wasn’t there before.

He presses play, but neither of us seems to be paying attention to the screen. I can feel the space between us closing in, and not in the comfortable way it used to be when we were younger, sitting together with no care in the world. No, this is different. Every time I glance at him, his eyes are already on me. When I look away, I feel the weight of his gaze on the side of my face.

The silence stretches, and I have to fill it with something. “So, uh, how’s everything been? How’s the school year and the team?” I manage to ask, but it comes out too stiff, too forced.

“Good. Busy. You know how it is.” He laughs softly. “Same as always, just with more college stuff piled on top.”

I nod, trying to ignore the way my heart seems to beat in time with the background music of the movie. He shifts, his knee brushing mine in that accidental way that feels like it was anything but. It’s like a spark, just a small jolt that lights up my whole body. I can’t help but freeze, unsure if I’m overreacting or if something actually is happening between us.

“Charli,” he says, his voice a little quieter than before, a little more serious.

I turn my head, meeting his gaze full-on for the first time all evening. His eyes are soft, but there’s an intensity there that makes my pulse quicken. For a moment, we just look at each other, and I feel like the room shrinks around us.

“What is it?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates, then looks away, shaking his head like he’s trying to brush it off. But I see it. I see the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers tap nervously on the armrest.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “It’s just been weird, you know? Being around you like this. We used to be so… normal. But now—” He cuts himself off, clearly frustrated with whatever’s running through his mind.

I don’t know what to say, so I lean forward slightly, breaking the space between us. “I know what you mean. It’s different. But...”

He looks back at me, and I swear I see the hesitation in his eyes shift into something else. Something wilder. He doesn’t answer, but his gaze lingers, and for a heartbeat, neither of us moves.

Then, he finally speaks, voice barely audible. “Maybe we should stop thinking, then.”

Before I can respond, his hand brushes mine, and my breath catches in my throat. I don’t pull away. Neither of us does. For a moment, all the noise in my head quiets, and it’s just the two of us in this small space, like we’re finally seeing each other for who we really are.

And maybe—just maybe—we’re finally going to figure it out.