Dating Hollywood's Bad Boy

Chapter 22: "Let's do this."

Chapter 22

"How does something like this happen?" I questioned.

"Something like what?" Jack asked.

"This atrocity!" I cried as I threw my hands in the air in exasperation.

"It's not really that big of a deal," he replied casually, leaning against the island in his kitchen.

"Um, yes, it is," I insisted. "This is something that is life-changing. It practically initiates you into being an American."

"So now I'm not American?" he questioned, a smirk on his face.

"Duh," I stated, as if it were obvious.

"That's interesting, since I was born in England," he said, chuckling. My face fell; he had totally ruined it for me.

"Since when?" I quipped, crossing my arms over my chest and sticking my chin out.

"Since I was born," he said, laughing. I realized the question I had asked and mentally face-palmed.

"My bad," I muttered. "But you still need to try one."

"Will it make you happy?"

"Ecstatic."

Jack looked down at the ceramic plate, then picked up the Twinkie. He slowly brought it up and took his first-ever bite. Our whole argument had been over whether or not he should try it; he'd never had one before, of course he had to!

I watched as he chewed the bite, his face a slate of no emotion. He set the rest of the Twinkie down, then looked at me.

"It's okay," he said, still betraying no emotion.

"Okay? Just okay?!" I exclaimed. He smirked and nodded.

"Just okay," he answered. I huffed. "You can have the rest, if you want," he said, nodding his head at it. I picked up the yellow amazing-ness while looking at him with narrowed eyes, then shoved the whole thing in my mouth. He burst out laughing, and I just smiled while somehow keeping my full mouth closed.

I turned around to face his fridge, then grabbed the carton of orange juice. I poured myself a glass to wash down the Twinkie, then turned back around to Jack, whose laughter was still dying down.

"In your nineteen years of life, you've never once had a Twinkie? Well, besides now," I added. He wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes, then looked at me, still smiling.

"I'm not nineteen," he said, amused. I quirked an eyebrow.

"Then how old are you?" I questioned, taking another sip of my orange juice.

"Twenty one," he said casually. I spat my juice all over the marble countertop, then looked at him with wide eyes.

"Are you penguin searching serious?!" I cried. He nodded. He was truly twenty one?! I'd always thought he was the same age as me! Well, assumed he was. . . . "I can't believe this. I've been living a lie!"

"Technically, you haven't been," he replied, still amused by my reaction to his age.

"Whatever. It still means I'm dating an older man," I grumbled.

"You mean pretending to date?" Jack asked, his eyebrows raised.

"That's what I said," I countered, my eyebrows furrowed together. Melody found us in the kitchen and started running around my legs, but I was too focused on the conversation to pick her up.

"No, it's not," he insisted.

"Then what exactly did I say?" I questioned, crossing my arms over my chest.