chapter dedicated to anonymouscupidhater for leaving so many comments on my last chapter and supporting my book. ilysm

**

| Chapter Three - Eggy The Eggplant |

The sound of the door to the apartment creaking open woke Dawson. She was having trouble sleeping due to the throbbing pain in her ankle, which Lyssa, whose mother was a paramedic, had said was mildly sprained.

Scared, she grabbed her rolled up Exo poster and tip toed into the hall that lead to the main area of the apartment. The kitchen light was on. That was weird. It couldn't be Lyssa, because Raj and her drove up to Montreal. She tightened her grip on her poster and turned the corner. The figure had it's back to her. She crept towards it, praying that the floor wouldn't creak.

And then she began frantically hitting whoever it was with her poster.

"What the hell?"

The figure turned, revealing Dylan's face.

She dropped her attack weapon. "What re you doing in MY apartment?!" She asked, beyond pissed.

"I was knocking on your door but then I realized it was open. So, I let myself in. Also, did you hit me with a poster?"

"Ever heard of these great things called 'Personal Space' and 'Privacy'? And yes, I hit you with my Exo poster." She said, placing her poster on the counter. She glanced at the microwave's clock. 7:40 AM.

Okay, so he wasn't breaking into her apartment at inhuman hours. She'd have to give him some credit.

"I can picture the headlines now. Death by Exo." He said, laughing.

"Shut the fuck up."

"PROFANITY!" He yelled, laughing still.

"Who gives a shit about profanity! You broke into my apartment!"

"Again, I didn't break-in, I let myself in without your knowledge."

"Right. 'Cause that's so much better."

"It is, isn't it?"

She resisted the strong urge to smack him. Again.

"So, why are you in my apartment?"

"The dinner is on Friday. And I know nothing about you."

"Okay, what do you want me to?"

"Are you always so hostile?"

"Yes, especially to people who break into my apartment."

"I didn't break in."

"That's besides the point. What do you want?"

"Jesus, okay. We need to build up the knowledge that you'd gather over a two-month-long relationship in one day."

"You could've just said 'get to know you' rather than treating this like a science experiment." She grumbled. He got on her nerves.

He sighed. Loudly, too. "I'll sit on the couch; you should get dressed." He said addressing the fact that she was still in her Hello Kitty PJs (a gift from her aunt Gertrude. Yes, she has an aunt Gertrude.)

"Don't steal my food." She said, walking away. Although, she didn't really have any food. There was a singular eggplant in the fridge but, let's be honest, no one likes eggplants. Sorry, Eggy the Eggplant. The reason behind her lack of food was that she was too scared to leave the apartment. Lyssa had left and she didn't want to face the city by herself.

She came back into the main area of the apartment, twenty minutes later. Clad in her ripped jeans (an article of clothing that her mother hated with a burning passion) and an old T-shirt. There was no need to impress the guy she was pretending to date. I mean, she already beat him with an Exo poster.

She found Dylan's derriere first, as he had his head buried in her fridge. She cleared her throat, trying to get his attention. He turned around, smirking.

"Have you not left the apartment?" He asked smugly.

"What gives you that impression?" She asked, opening a cabinet and praying that the Nutri-Grain bars weren't finished.

Damnit. She thought, realizing that the Nutri-Grains were finished.

"You have no food."

"Maybe I'm dieting."

"You're a twig. If you diet, you might dissolve."

"Okay, maybe I-" she stopped. She was a horrid liar. She was just an all-American sweetheart; she couldn't do it. "Yeah, I haven't left."

He smiled like a Tumblr girl whose ship just went canon. "You little bean," he said, pinching her arm. "You're too scared to face the big city, huh?"

"Shut up, I'm probably not that much younger than you." She mumbled, embarrassed.

"I'm nineteen." He said proudly, grinning like the cat that caught the mouse.

"I'm eighteen, in December."

"You're a little seventeen-year-old," he said, using the stupid squeaky voice that people used on dogs and babies.

"Yeah, and this little seventeen-year old will make sure there aren't any Dylan Juniors if you keep referring to her like that."

"Okay, damn."

"So, what do you want to know?"

"Would it be creepy if I said everything?"

"We're not in a rom-com, so yes. Very." She said, a smile creeping in.

**

By 12 PM, Dawson knew that Dylan wasn't exactly from Toronto, he was from a smaller part of the city called 'Etobicoke' (the 'k' is silent, as Dylan pressed). He was the youngest of four children, all boys. His parents, Lydia and Morris Montenegro, were curators for the Art Gallery of Ontario. He hated ducks (a Herondale, perhaps, as Dawson pressed) for some unknown reason. Though he liked Jaguars and Lambos, he never wanted one for himself. Potatoes were disgusting for him, as were mangoes. He couldn't live without Jack Astor's burgers and he wanted to be a Veterinarian. His parents never let him have any pets (not even a goldfish), claiming to be allergic. When he was six, he fell off the family's yacht (a yacht, I know) and nearly died so, he had a fear of swimming in the ocean. He played Lacrosse (which is the actual national sport of Canada, apparently) for fourteen years. He hated the Toronto Maple Leafs, but loved the Blue Jays and the Raptors (who could totally give the Cavs a run for their money, as he had insisted). He wanted to attend university at UCLA, and he got in, but his parents' legacy was U of T, so he settled.

And honestly, Dawson was so confused. She wanted nothing more than to hate the guy who sort of bribed her to fake date him, but she couldn't help the curiosity that was building.

"Let's go to Loblaw's." Dylan said, tossing Dawson her keys and cellular device.

"What is a Loblaw's?" she asked, following behind him.

"A place," he said, stepping out of the apartment.

She stopped. "That sounds shady."

"Trust me, when you find out what it is, you'll be laughing at yourself for saying that."

Sighing (which seemed to be a common occurrence for the pair), she stepped out and locked the door.

No going back now.

Loblaw's turned out to be a grocery store and Dawson was laughing at herself for calling it shady. It was awesome, to be completely honest. Back at home, for Dawson, the only chain grocery store was Wal-Mart, and her family never shopped there.

It was huge, having everything from bell peppers to suede booties.

Dawson hopped into the large compartment of the cart that Dylan was pushing. "Why are we at the grocery store?" she asked.

"Because you have no food. And my parents don't like girls who don't have a little meat on their bones."

She almost said something smart but she stopped. 'My parents don't like girls who don't have a little meat on their bones.' He seemed to be doing a lot of things for his parents.

"I want a watermelon." Dawson said, trying to distract herself with a subject change.

Dylan seemed to have picked up on it and began arguing with her over the best melon.

"Watermelons are alright, but Honeydews are the best." He said, placing a honeydew on her head (it fell off immediately). She tossed the honeydew into his hands. "Watermelons are the best. Honeydews are second best."

"No."

"Yes."

He crossed his arms and stomped his feet like a fussy toddler. "Honeydews are the best." He whined, getting some strange looks. They didn't appear to bother him at all but Dawson began blushing profusely. She never really got embarrassed by herself, but whenever someone embarrassed themselves or her, it always got to her.

"Okay, jeez, you can get the honeydew." She said, keeping her voice down.

"I'm sorry, what?" he said, exaggeratedly cupping his ear.

"You can get the honeydew." She muttered.

"Louder?"

"You can get the honeydew!" She yelled. Upon realizing that she did, in fact, yell, she buried her hands, annoyed.

But, when he smiled at her and she laughed.

It was a strange line they were walking.

**

"Okay, so you've never been to Prom? How the hell did that happen?" Dylan asked, handing her the gelato she ordered.

They had come to High Park after they dropped off the groceries at her place.

"I was hospitalized for a few days, three weeks before prom. Once I got out, I didn't see the point. My best friend wasn't going because he was protesting LGBTQ+ rights at a restaurant and I didn't have a date." She shoveled some of the gelato in to her mouth. "It's not like I wanted to go in the first place," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

And it was true. Dawson was never a girl who enjoyed the big events like Prom and Homecoming. And don't get her started on weddings. Sure, it was sweet and all but, aren't they supposed to be intimate, as opposed to the social gathering of the year?

"What were you in the hospital for?"

"Pneumonia."

"Oh. That sucks."

"Yep." She said. And no, I didn't pop the 'p'. "Did you go? To Prom, I mean."

"Yeah," he said, pulling grass stands, one by one. "But, my date ditched me for her ex-boyfriend. So, it was pretty bad."

"Oh. That sucks."

He grinned. "Yep."

He stood up, stretching out his arms, causing his shirt to ride up a little. His stomach peeked out and after staring for a second or so she forced herself to look away. He reached his hand forward to help her up and suddenly she felt how tall he was. He was probably around six feet tall and she was only 5'3. Isaac, her best friend, had always towered over her at his six feet of height. And he never ceased to tease her about being... Fun sized. As much as she wanted to, Dawson couldn't wear heels to boost her height. She couldn't walk in them and they looked like a struggle so, she never tried.

Well, that isn't entirely true. When she was six or seven, she broke her wrist by falling in her mother's heels.

"You're a midget, little Miss. Seventeen." Dylan said, chucking his gelato cup in the trash.

"Fuck off, you're just tall."

"You know the Shaq is 7'1. You'd look like an dwarf next to him."

"Shut up or you lose your willy."

"Someone's testy. Is it your-"

"You don't want to finish that sentence."

"Period?" He smiled innocently.

And then she began chasing him.

**

A/N

Yayyyyy! Early update (I'm never doing that again).

I'm sorry if that chapter was really shitty, it was a filler. I rewrote it about five times because I didn't like it. I went through my playlist at least twenty times.

Shoot me please.

Anyways, hope y'all liked it.

Make sure to vote and comment (I love reading your comments).

Thanks for reading! See you on the flip side.

xx climboutthebackdoor

PS. typos

☆ u p d a t e : 02.04.16 ☆