Rafe Cameron wasn’t the kind of guy to get played.

If anything, he did the playing.

So when some girl at a party gave him her number after a few drinks, he didn’t think much of it. Just another night, another girl, another temporary distraction.

Now, stretched out on his bed, one hand on his phone, the other lazily holding a cigarette between his fingers, he smirked as he typed out a text.

Unknown Number: What are you wearing?

Straight to the point. He didn’t do small talk.

You blinked at your screen.

What?

It was late and you were in bed, half-asleep, when your phone vibrated with that ridiculous text.

You: Bold question for a stranger.

He exhaled a slow cloud of smoke, smirking. He liked them playful.

Unknown Number: Don’t play shy, baby. You were all over me earlier.

You blinked at your screen.

The hell? You had no clue who this was.

But something about the confidence in his words — like he was so sure he had the right number, like he expected you to just flirt back — made you laugh.

You: Yeah, I think you got the wrong number.

Unknown Number: You’re kidding.

You: Nope.

There was a long pause. You could practically feel the guy on the other end trying to figure out if you were messing with him.

Unknown Number: Fuck. Sorry.

You smirked.

You: No worries.

Unknown Number: You’re not just gonna block me?

You: Should I?

A pause.

Unknown Number: No.

Your grin widened.

You: Then I won’t.

Unknown Number: Okay, deal. We keep this anonymous. No names. No details. Just whatever this is.

Your stomach did a weird little flip. You hesitated for half a second before typing.

You: Fine.

You had no idea you were texting your worst enemy.

And neither did he.

Not when you’ll stayed up way too late, phone lighting up in the dark. Not when the teasing would turn into real conversations. Not when you start looking forward to the messages more than you should have.

How long until you both found out?