All Things Considered [🗸]

14. fake-date shit

"WHAT THE FUCK?" 

My eyes fly open as I try to process exactly what the fuck Dion Reyes just asked me. Nothing is computing. Out of all the unprecedented questions that could be asked, I never saw that one coming.

Dion holds my stare, eyes expectant as though he didn't just ask me a question that insane. 

I continue to move in the water, eyebrows knitted together as I formulate a response. "Are you— are you asking me to date you?" A pause. "What the fuck?"

Dion rolls his eyes ever-so-subtly. "I'm asking objectively. You hate me so I know that I'll get an honest, blunt opinion from you." His voice slows down as he reiterates his question, "would you go out with me if we didn't hate each other?"

Leaning back in my seat, I take in Dion's appearance as he towers over me from the edge of the pool. Dark skin, sprinkles of darker freckles over his face, slender form, curly hair. Somewhat large, ninety-percent-innocent eyes. Objectively, you could say that he's attractive.  

But to go as far as to date him—

Blinking rapidly, I refocus my attention on his eyes. "Why the hell are you asking this?" However, before Dion can respond, I hoist myself over the edge of the pool, my arms and legs screaming at me as I pull myself onto the surface. 

Not waiting for a response, I make my way past him and toward the bleachers, slinging a towel over my shoulders and slipping my phone off the bleachers. 

"Look," Dion exhales, now standing in front of me. "I'm pretty sure that everyone's aware Cayden and I broke up, like, two weeks ago." He makes his way toward the edge of the bleachers, standing as his feet tap against the ground.

"He's capable of moving on, from what I can see," Dion plows on, telling me far more than I asked for. "Anyway, I wanted an honest opinion, and wanted to see if I could move on if I chose to."

My eyebrows stay scrunched together. "With me?"

Dion blinks, mirroring my expression. "No, dumbass." He gives me a look, eyebrows raised and head tilted slightly to the side. "Generally."

"So, you're trying to gauge your marketability in the dating market from me or what?" I ask, placing my towel around my neck once my torso dries off. 

Dion lets out a surprised gust of air. "There's no way you just used the term marketability to describe this."

"Is that not what this is?" I respond, eyebrows still knitted. I don't wait for Dion to respond. "No because that's basically what it is, right?" 

"You make it sound weird as hell," Dion finally says, stretching out his fingers almost subconsciously. "But, sure."

"Alright," I say, leaning back in the row I sit at on the bleachers, "you're alright. Solid nine in general. Would never date you, though. My blood pressure would skyrocket." After my appraisal, I meet Dion's eyes once more. "Content?"