🥊 Hate or Fate 💕 {Enemies to Lovers}

.38.

Words cannot express how surreal it was to text my friend (who I'm crazy attracted to) so I could find out about his friend's penis size, for my other friend. All I could do was hope that Gray didn't supply a picture as evidence. I wasn't sure I'd be able to scrub that image from my mind.

'From what I saw in college, above average and it hangs to the left,' Gray's response took a full sixty seconds. I know because I counted.

'Thanks! #AskingForAFriend,' I replied, making sure to include a blush-face emoji.

'I also have it on good authority, that Bart's very good to his mother and sisters,' Gray texted back.

"Aw," I couldn't help sighing at Gray's thoughtful addition to my crude question for intimate details about our mutual friend.

"What? Oh no, is it bad?" Rebecca was already shaking her curls. "Why is it always the pretty ones?"

"No!" I giggle-snorted in the most unattractive way. "Gray said Bart's a little above average below the waist, size-wise, but then he said to tell you that Bart's very good to his mother and sisters."

"Aww," Rebecca sighed, cocking her head and looking back at my computer screen.

She dove back into his pictures while I turned my attention to my phone as it buzzed in my hand.

'So, now that you know about Bart's...' Gray included an eggplant emoji to illustrate, 'what's your favorite food?'

'Waffles with fresh whipped cream and maple syrup,' I replied.

Within seconds my entire body flushed with heat as embarrassment tried to boil me from the inside out. It had been so long since I'd tried to flirt with a man other than my boyfriend over text, that I'd answered Gray honestly. I was pretty sure 'waffles with fresh whipped cream' was code for something to be eaten the morning after sex.

Who does that?! How could I let my favorite food be my undoing? 

He responded with a smiley-face emoji that had closed eyes and a tiny tongue sticking out. I had no clue what that meant. 

'Rebecca likes pizza or ramen,' I kept naming foods, furiously tapping the keyboard to erase the evidence of my idiocy.

'So, waffles and pizza?' He texted.

'Ramen waffles with pizza sauce and fresh whipped cream?' I replied.

He shot back a string of three vomit-face emojis, which made me laugh out loud. 

Rebecca looked up at me with a knowing smirk.

"What are you going to wear to Gray's party?" She asked as her eyes roamed the length of my figure.

"Probably some form of this," I looked down.

I was wearing a vintage Pearl Jam shirt tucked into a pair of high-waist pleated khaki pants (an ensemble I'd scored popping tags at a thrift store on Capitol Hill).

Rebecca rolled her eyes to the ceiling until they came back around to my computer, where she buried herself in Bart's' photos once again.

'Favorite band?' I texted Gray.

His reply was instantaneous as if he knew I would ask, 'Ever?'

'Top five,' I tapped back, 'Ever.'

'Queen, R.E.M., Tom Petty, Radiohead, and The Smiths,' was his reply. 

"Is that all you're going to eat for dinner?" Rebecca asked me. "A sandwich?"