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Hi, I'm writing my first book. What do you think about this scene?
Mark gave me that signature soft smile—the one that usually meant he was about to do something sweet or something incredibly annoying. “I won’t tell anyone else if you don’t want me to. I’ll keep it a secret. It’s our thing.” Then he added, “But I’m pretty sure my mom knows it’s you. I’ve been at your house a lot lately, Danny-boy.”
“But we aren’t even dating!” I protested, my voice cracking in a way that was definitely not cool.
Mark looked genuinely confused. “No?”
“No! You’ve never asked me out. You’ve never actually asked me to be your boyfriend. You just… showed up and started kissing me!”
The realization hit him like a slow wave. “Oh… so… do you want to be—”
“Not like that!” I cut him off. I didn’t want some pity proposal born out of a technicality.
"I just didn't know you were going to be this dramatic," Mark said, leaning back with that look on his face—the one that made me want to either punch him or kiss him until my lungs gave out. "I thought we were dating. So sad. Truly a tragedy for the ages."
"You need to make it official," I snapped, trying to ignore the fact that my heart was doing parkour against my ribs. "You can’t just assume we’re 'together' because we... you know. Things happened."
Mark blinked at me, looking far too comfortable for someone who was currently ruining my life. "Why don’t you make it official?"
"What?"
"Yeah, why just me? What if I was sitting here, wasting away, waiting for you to ask me?"
I stared at him. He can’t be serious. He wasn’t actually being serious. "No. You’re a guy. You ask me."
He didn't even skip a beat. "You are also a guy."
"Yeah, but I said you are supposed to!"
It was a flawless argument. Absolute peak logic.
Mark sighed, a long, suffering sound like I was the most difficult person he’d ever met—which, fair. "Fine. Do you want flowers or something?"
"No! That’s—no."
"Then how? What are the protocols here?"
"I—I don't know!" It was glitching.
"Ugh, you are so annoying," Mark groaned, rolling his eyes. "I’ll get you a plushie or something."
"No."
"Fine," he said, leaning in closer, his voice dropping into that dangerous territory again. "I’ll get you some ice cream."
I paused. My dignity was put on hold. "Okay."
Mark barked out a laugh, looking genuinely surprised. "Oh. I didn’t think that would actually work."
"It won't," I corrected immediately, trying to regain some shred of my soul. "I just really love ice cream."
"Right. Obviously." He smirked, that devastating, life-ruining smirk. "So, do you want like a full, poetic confession or just me asking if you'd be my boyfriend?"
"Yes."
Mark waited. I waited. "So. Which one?"
"Both."
"Here?" he asked, looking around like he was actually going to drop to one knee in the middle of the street. "Or...?"
"No! Not here!" I practically shrieked. "At my house... I think."
The smirk turned into something slower, more predatory, and way more smug. He had me, and he knew it. "You just really want me to go to your house again, don't you?"
I couldn't even answer. I just stood there, my face probably the color of a ripe tomato, wondering why the universe had decided to pair my last two remaining brain cells with a guy who was 90% audacity and 10% perfect hair.