🥊 Hate or Fate 💕 {Enemies to Lovers}

.3.

I tried to hide it, but Elijah knew Gray's awful declaration had cut me pretty deep. In a twisted way, I was angrier at myself for letting Elijah see how much Gray's words affected me.

At home, Elijah fixed me a cup of tea (like a doting boyfriend) while I got into cozy pajamas to join him on the couch.

On rainy days, I loved to curl up on our overstuffed leather sofa with a fuzzy blanket and a book. The pleasant drizzly patter on our slanted windows was the perfect background noise while I enjoyed the heat from our gas fireplace and lost myself in a good story.

It was also a comforting place to sit and think, which was all I wanted to do. My sexy sofa fantasy was permanently on hold so I could process what had happened with Gray at the bar.

I hated that I was allowing that jerk to have any power over me or my thoughts. And now, Gray's petulant behavior was impacting our intimacy, which was just wrong.

I couldn't get his cold stare or his callous ultimatum out of my head.

What kind of person makes a man choose between his best friend and his girlfriend?

"I'm sorry, baby," Elijah rested a hand on my flannel llama pajama pants. "You know Gray, he was just drunk. He didn't mean it."

"If you say so," I turned to watch the rain spatter against the blackened windows and inhaled the notes of jasmine wafting up from the steaming mug cradled in my hands.

Five years of obnoxious comments and condescending sneers Gray had shot in my direction were pinging around my already jumbled thoughts.

"I know so," Elijah leaned in to kiss my cheek.

"Did I do something?" I wondered out loud.

Gray's erratic mood swings were getting progressively worse. One moment he would be cracking jokes, happy to let his charm ooze over his bevy of female admirers. The next, he would be sulking in the corner on a self-imposed time-out.

"No, you know him, he just," Elijah had to think of the right words to use. "He just makes snap judgments about some things."

"You mean, some people," I cringed.

Elijah was as protective of Gray as he was of me and I could see the internal struggle etched into his frown. I reached up to cup his strong jaw, using my thumb to stroke the fine stubble on his cheek.

"Yeah, sometimes people too," Elijah sighed as his face relaxed into a supportive smile. "But who cares? It's Gray. He'll go blow off some steam and, in a few weeks, he'll have forgotten about the whole thing."

But I wouldn't forget it so easily, that was the problem. Gray's behavior was like a barely healed paper cut that kept opening up to sting worse than it did the first time.

"But he looked so, angry," I could still see his furrowed brow, glowering at us (at me, really) like I'd done something to offend him personally. "Then, he just stormed off."

"You know Gray, he's just an asshole," Elijah assured me, patting my inner thigh tenderly before getting up. "Don't worry, I'll talk to him."

I hated having Elijah stuck in the middle of such a needless, ongoing issue. Silently, I sat there and stewed while he got ready for bed and my tea got cold.

When Elijah strode up the hall in a tight-fitting shirt from his days playing college baseball, my sour memories faded. His strong frame made him look like one of those beefy models in underwear ads, with his cotton sweats that hugged the top of his muscled butt.

He flashed his circuitous smile, the one that made me think of cute inside jokes and frisky kisses.

The cheeky glint in his eyes drew me out of my stupor and off the couch to walk into Elijah's open arms. His protective embrace felt so familiar and so, so good. 

I pushed up to my tiptoes to kiss the indent on his chin that made him look like Clark Kent (without the glasses), letting my hands roam over his firm chest.

"You ready for bed?" Elijah yawned and stretched, flexing his arms to pull his t-shirt up above his sweats and expose the tantalizing skin above his boxer briefs.

The man could wear a pair of Calvin's, that's for sure.

"Among other things," I stuck one finger under the elastic waistband of his expensive briefs to tease his Adonis belt with gentle swirls.

Elijah couldn't help the wicked smile that spread across his face at my arousing suggestion. He threw his arms around my waist to lift me off the ground, bringing our mouths together in a well-timed kiss.

"Let's go," Elijah mumbled against my lips, carrying me like a ragdoll to our bedroom.

I'm still shocked that someone as gorgeous and as talented as Elijah wanted to be with a painfully introverted girl like me in college.

I was so structured and disciplined, that my Intro to Psych professor thought I had an undiagnosed obsessive-compulsive disorder. 

Elijah's carefree attitude, magnetic personality, and general sporty handsomeness, on the other hand, made him very popular while we were in school.

It didn't hurt that he looked like a classic movie star. His curly golden brown hair and compassionate eyes drew you in to gawk at his handsome features and squared jawline, but it was his gregarious personality and easy laugh that really won people over.

Even weirder, he pursued me. 

He could have had any woman. They were practically throwing themselves at his feet. Every. Single. Day.

We met at one of his fraternity's raging end-of-summer parties, which I never would have attended had it not been for my roommate's undying crush on Gray.

When our eyes locked over the keg-tap he was pumping, Elijah handed the task off to a pledge and offered to give me a personal tour of the house. We were together almost every day after that, attached at the hip and deliriously happy.

It was fate. Like a fairytale, but without all the antiquated stereotypes, romanticized captivity, and chauvinistic innuendo.

Somehow, we found each other and fell head over heels (in spite of me wearing giant glasses and raspberry-colored jorts to that party).

It was a skosh faster than the careful life plan that I'd mapped out for myself, but who was I to argue with love?