Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. What the hell had I gotten myself into? What the fuck was this? When did she plant it on me? 

How did she know the marks were fake; aside from the fact I made them with my fist in the middle of the night? Ok, maybe don't try to manipulate a master manipulator, dumbass.

Why would she rope me into a game of sext chicken... and expect to win?

Nope, I'd make her cop out of it long before she could make me, of all people, uncomfortable. It would be easy as that.

And what was she doing in the bathroom for so long anyways? Shitting? Scheming? Touching herself to my first two messages to assert some sick form of dominance?

Ok ok ok, the messages are read. I've taken her bait. Let the games begin.

Staring down at my screen while I squeezed another slice of Talyn's French toast in my mouth, I waited in anticipation for her response. And then, it came, and I was, for lack of a better word, befuddled. 

"Hey baby wassgood you win state fairs with those melons?" was the first message she shot through. What, was she a Texan? From the 1950s? Who spoke in hood vernacular? 

I couldn't help but briefly lose my breath to a laughing fit, as I hastily formulated a response. "Not yet, you wanna be the judge?" I typed out, leaving zero time between my own impulse and the Send button. 

On the other hand, I think I heard Talyn's head hit the bathroom door as she responded only with pulsating dots. She was so utterly fucked.

It was then that her reply was sent through, reading "oh fuck yes," in a lowercase typing style I didn't exactly think typical for her. I was kinda expecting each letter to be capitalized, rather than this cutesy shit. 

Well, more horny than cutesy, but I respected her commitment to the bit.

Nonetheless, I was just a girl, and casual, unexpected profanity from the girl I knew to categorize her books by physical condition, was, in fact, a turn on.

Now that I thought about it, this was a game of chicken... and she was not chickening out. She was opting in, and it seemed she had certainly done her homework on embodying the unabashed lust of a girl post-hook up; well, a fictional one.

Hell, head out of the starting gates and she was already practically using the persona to ask for a pic? Maybe she thought that would cross the line enough for me to run for the hills? Not likely. 

I decided to ask for confirmation with my next message, as you know, better safe than sorry. "So, is this naughty girl really asking for pics so soon?" I shot to her. Man, I'd been listening to way too much mommy ASMR. This was not my bag.

I heard Talyn's head hit the door again, but this time I was certain I heard wheezing. "Mhm, you chicken?" she replied shortly. Did she not know how these dynamics work? 

Sure, my ears were blistering and my cheeks were scorching, but I was the one who called her naughty in the first place. You can't just switch to bad cop right after the former one punches the criminal out cold.

Ahhh, I don't think I could handle if Talyn started calling me a bad girl for real, even if it was just over sext. 

Maybe I'd try to get the upper hand before it came to that, but did that really mean doing what I was probably about to do?

Ok, maybe I'd just dip my toe in the water. I promptly pulled my dress down and snapped a picture of myself in my bra, and sent it without a second thought; well, time to conjure one, at least.

'Eeeeeeeeeeeeee-' I heard Talyn's squeal penetrate the bathroom door. Was that shock or excitement? Either way it was a weird sound coming from her. Ok, almost got her.

"Woah, you may be a chicken, but at least you're clearly bred for meat," Talyn countered my bra pic. Huh?! The fucking state fair girl's back, and she's complimenting my tits?! And I was still a chicken?!

Fine! Fine! Fine! I'll give you what you want, and no, I'm not talking about winning, I'm talking about fulfilling your fucking sexual fantasy, Talyn! Fine!

'Ok, I'm done with the bathroom, if you wanted it,' Talyn announced as she swung the door open and strolled into the kitchen. Oh. Oh, no.

'Um, Al...' Talyn gasped as she stepped into the kitchen, mouth agape as she affixed each eye onto the two spectacles before her. I just sat there for a moment, staring at Talyn as she stared at my chest for a solid few seconds. 

● ● ●

'Uhhh... I don't know if I should...' I stammered, slouching before her as I let my puppies hang loose. She clearly didn't know what to say either because she was still frozen, and while the color had pooled from my face, her face seemed to suck it all in like a sponge.

'They're even bigger in person... and pink...' she drawled, withdrawing into her analytical mind. Ahhhhhhrrrg this was so awkward. 

'Uh- that is to say, you um, look really good... is that what you're meant to say in this situation? Am I being a pervert, I-' she floundered, her face somehow turning redder as she theoretically would've fumbled the bag, but, honestly, I just appreciated the compliment as it came. My mortified expression even began to reconstruct itself into a stupid grin.

'I love how awkward you are,' I giggled abashedly, softly staring at her as I straightened my posture and slipped each cup back on.

'You- what? I- I think I love how... um, "love"... let's see,' she fumbled, and I watched her as I waited for a return from her I clearly had not asked for. 'Ugh, I'd feel even more awkward asking you what love is...' she sighed in defeat, as she slumped down onto the stool besides me..

'Don't worry about it, Foreigner,' I assured her, licking the syrup off my plate before getting up to take it to the sink. 'I myself only learned recently from a bespeckled weirdo,' I admitted casually as I rinsed my plate.

'Ugh, "I wanna know what love is," too, no fair,' she grumbled with an addition to my reference. 'I wish my bespeckled weirdo had enlightened me about that as well,' she complained, swirling her finger on the kitchen counter. Huh, so she talked to people other than me?

'Eh, what did your bespeckled weirdo tell you?' I asked, trying not to act like I was prying or anything; but I totally was.

'You know, the usual. "Ain't no hurt without love," stoner shi-' she started casually, before ultimately cutting herself off. She definitely had said something I shouldn't have been privy to, but yet here we were.

'So, you were really hurting, huh? Guess Kelsie was right...' I mused, a warmth slowly filling my chest and creeping into the rest of my body. 

'What? Right about what?' she asked, a look of genuine perplexity painting her face.

'Nothin, I guess... you're just not one to feel feelings so much, and whatever I put you through...' I started, swallowing. Why did I feel so bad about what I put her through for an evening, when she'd put me through worse from seven years of absence? 

'Why the hell are you apologizing? I was awful. I've been awful. I am a dick. The lowest of the low. There's no amount of morning French toasts that can make up for what I put you, our parents... me... through. And even after that I still treated you like you were inferior,' Talyn debated, as if presenting a thesis to her professor. I knew she was right, but for some reason, letting her hurt for me just sat wrong for me.

'In your own words, "Ugh." I know it doesn't make a fuck of sense, but, like... I feel "uncomfortable" seeing you hurt for something you deserve?' I explained with a questioning grumble, as I flumped onto the stool next to her and rested my chin on the counter.

'Then... why did you try to orchestrate that whole hook up thing?' she questioned, not accusingly, but just as if she was genuinely curious to peer into the inner workings of my mind.

'I wanted to know whether you cared enough about me to give a shit,' I mumbled, my jaw rising and falling against the cold slab of the counter. 

'Mhm, and you conducted this scheme after Kelsie defined love to you,' Talyn deduced with a nod. Uh oh. 'So, what'd she tell you love is?' she asked again, this time as if merely collecting data, so I ceded to her. Maybe she'd be able to come up with some equation or formula for why I felt this way.

'Love is a fragile dance... and there's like a push-pull thing, so if someone loves you they'll show it through their actions rather than meaningless words,' I drawled out an explanation, which was basically just a condensed definition from my late-night epiphany. 

'Ok, so I "love"... how petty you are?' she concluded, and I swear I could feel steam pooling out of my ears. She loved- what? 

'I mean, you put so much work into your failed scheme, I couldn't just leave it at that,' she continued, and the steam pooling from my ears gradually underwent osmosis back into my cheeks. 

'We're both driven by pettiness, so I guess... what I hate in myself, I love in you,' she decided finally, glancing at me softly, with a look of endearment I don't think I'd once seen from her before.

Fuck, stop being such a cute fucking little scientist for just one second and let me hate being called petty. But to her I was someone who "put so much work in" and was... driven? Not a "slob," not a "natural," not a "talented schmuck," but someone who was driven?