The Dating Experiment Final Page 4

  “I still have the photos of you grinning while making your Barbies have sex.”

  She waved one hand, expertly typing with the other. “Puh-lease. Literally every woman who ever owned Barbies made them bone Ken. And you know what happened? The awkward toddler called Sally. Wait, no. Sophie? Shelly? Whatever it was. Unless you had the pregnant Barbie, then your newborn went from breastfed to tantrum quicker than a Ferrari can get from zero to sixty.”

  I coughed. “I can’t help but feel this conversation has taken a weird turn.”

  “It’s following after my life.” She peered over at me with a grin.

  She could claim that, but she was happier than ever. And I was happy for her. Despite how much we bickered, she was still my baby sister. Seeing her happy was all I’d ever wanted. I’d take a bullet for her if it came down to it.

  Shit, I’d take an army for her.

  “No shit,” I said. “Can we get to the point now?” I gestured to the computer screen and Chloe’s profile.

  “Right. Sorry.” Peyton turned back to the screen. “Well, don’t crowd me. I can’t make her attractive if you’re peering over my shoulder and judging me.”

  I made a non-committal grunting sound and headed for the kitchen.

  She was right.

  I was totally fucking judging her.

  ***

  “Here.” Chloe dropped a paper-clipped collection of sheets onto my desk. “Your date for your approval.”

  I looked from the Post-It note labeled sheets to her—to how her blonde hair curled over her shoulders and over her breasts. To the hard, downturned set of her lips and the cold her gaze hinted at. “Approval? We’re doing approval?”

  “Not officially, but I wanted to make sure she fit into your ideal.” She folded her arms over her chest, cocking a hip to one side. “So I thought I’d share her with you.”

  Was she blonde with blue eyes and red lips and so sassy my cock twitched at the mention of her name?

  I doubted it.

  I picked up the sheets of paper and held them out for her. “You’re good, Chlo. I don’t need to see it. Unless you require approval of who I chose for you,” I added.

  She snatched the sheets back. “Can I say I don’t trust you?”

  “If you want to state the obvious, sure.”

  Her lips formed a pout before she smacked them together. “I’ll take the risk. Make sure your Friday is free. She,” She waved the sheets, “Is free then. I’ll let you know further details.”

  “Perfect. From what I know, your date is free Friday, too.” I leaned back, clicking my pen against my desk as if I didn’t care.

  I did.

  I also knew that pens clicking—themselves or against desks or otherwise—ground on her. Clicking pens were to Chloe what people who ate with their mouth open were to regular people.

  “Fine.” She put her hands on her hips, jerking her head so her blonde curls flicked over her shoulders. “Then we can report back on Monday.”

  “That’s a lot of time to get laid.” The words escaped me before I could stop them.

  “Sure it is,” she drawled. “If you have the stamina of a water pistol.”

  “You need Nerf water pistols.”

  “No, I need a battery-operated Nerf.”

  “But that won’t cook you breakfast.”

  “I can cook my own breakfast.”

  “So can Gordon Ramsay, but I bet he still pays people.” I raised my eyebrows. “Point is, we both have a date on Saturday night. We can have breakfast on Monday to reconvene and see where we go next, just like we do with our clients. Deal?”

  Chloe’s lips twitched, but not upward. They just…twitched. “Deal.”

  Chapter Five – Chloe

  Dates are awesome.

  Your birthday. Christmas. Halloween. Fourth of July.

  With an actual person?

  Not my favorite.

  Warren Jones was perfect.

  Scarily so.

  We shared a table at Billie’s restaurant. It was a small table, in the corner, barely close to the window. We had the slightest view of Bourbon Street, but it didn’t matter, because I’d chosen the right seat.

  Three tables across from us were Dom and his date. Rachael Amoret. She was blonde and tanned and beautiful. She was a marketing consultant with the fullest lips and darkest brown eyes and the opinion that only a business owner could handle her obsessive lifestyle.

  My back was to them, though. All I saw was the sleek, dark hair of Warren Jones. His enviable dark eyes. His square jaw that was so clean shaven he could be used in shaving adverts.

  I was so fucking glad I couldn’t see Dom. It was bad enough I could hear her. She had the kind of laugh that could rub against a cheese grater and make a rock cry.

  And she laughed. A lot. God knows why. Dom wasn’t that funny.

  “So, you co-own the dating site?” Warren said, taking a sip of his beer after.

  I nodded. “Straight down the middle. Fifty-fifty.”

  “How did that come about?” He looked genuinely interested, pushing his finished plate aside and leaning forward. The light glinted off his eyes, making the greeny-gray hue of them shine a little brighter.

  “Well, I’ve known Dom my entire life. He’s my best friend’s brother—she actually runs our sister hook-up site.”

  He half-choked on his beer. “Pick-A-Dick?”

  I quirked a brow, barely able to hide my smile. “Familiar with it, are you?”

  His eyes widened. “Not me—I mean, yes, but I haven’t used it personally. A friend signed up. That’s actually how I found Stupid Cupid. Your sites are linked, aren’t they?”

  Nodding slowly, I cupped my wine glass. “Sometimes, we get people come to us who don’t want anything serious, and sometimes Peyton gets people who want something serious. It’s easy to refer since we share the same office building.”

  “That makes perfect sense. So, you started this with her brother?”

  “Yep. Well, actually we’re all in business together, but since it’s split, Peyton holds half because she runs Pick-A-Dick alone.” I paused. “But we technically see more people because there are two of us. As for how it started… I was kind of lost, and when Peyton got the idea for her site, Dom brought up the idea of a sister dating site, but he couldn’t do it alone. I happened to be there when the conversation happened, and that’s that.”

  “Fascinating. Do you work well together?”

  “We work together incredibly well, but we don’t exactly get along.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Yet, he set you up.”

  “We kind of made a pact,” I said slowly, twirling my glass. “We both set each other up.”

  “Were you worried he would screw you?”

  “A little,” I admitted. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  Warren raised an eyebrow. “Did he screw you?”

  I blushed lightly, briefly dropping my gaze.

  No, he hadn’t. Warren was handsome and polite. He was beyond attractive, and we had a lot in common from the conversations we’d had so far. Dom hadn’t screwed me; he’d actually done well.

  And I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about that.

  “No,” I said with a slow smile, still fiddling with my glass. “He didn’t.”

  A grin broke across his face. “That’s what I was hoping to hear.”

  Another blush tickled at my cheeks.

  What did I say to that?

  Why was I so

  awkward?

  “That’s, um, good?” I said, half asking him.

  His grin didn’t waver. “So, I guess the question is: are we having a second date?”

  “Do you want a second date?” I couldn’t help my own smile as it tugged my lips up.

  “I would love a second date.”

  “I think I can fit you in,” I teased, tucking my hair behind my ear.

  Warren’s eyes sparkled. “Perfect.” He checked his watch. “I actually have to put an e
nd to tonight—I have a red-eye flight tomorrow for work. Do you mind?”

  I checked my own watch for the time. It was nine-thirty—not exactly early for a dinner date. “Not at all. I have an early appointment tomorrow myself.”

  We shared a smile, and he signaled for the check. It was brought straight over, and he picked it up before I could even steal a glance at it.

  “How much?” I asked, reaching for my purse to get my wallet.

  “I’ve got it,” he said, opening his own wallet and pulling out some cash.

  “At least let me cover the tip.”

  He shook his head. “Absolutely not. I couldn’t sleep tonight if I knew I’d let you pay for anything.”

  “Okay, but the second date is on me. And no, that’s not up for discussion.”

  He put the money on the little silver tray with a half-smirk in my direction. “That’s fair. Do you mind if I use the bathroom before we leave?”

  “Not at all. I’ll wait.” I smiled.

  He slid his chair back and used the table as leverage to stand, revealing his tall, firmly-built frame. His broad shoulders blocked out the light of hanging bulb behind him for the brief second until he moved.

  My eyes flitted to his back as he left. His light-blue shirt hugged his upper body to perfection, and it was tucked into navy pants, ones that hugged a peachy ass and were perfectly pressed down to his ankles. Shiny, dark brown shoes looked as if they squeaked against the polished, hardwood floors.

  I stared until he disappeared. I caught Dom’s eyes as I looked away from the restroom door, and he raised one eyebrow.

  My cheeks burned.

  Why the hell was I blushing? I didn’t need a reason to be checking Warren out. The guy was incredibly good looking and had a body that looked as though it was worth every inch of my ogling.

  Plus, he’d known what he looked like when he set us up. He had to know he was ogle-worthy.

  My phone buzzed in my purse. I extracted it from the depths of my Coach purse and unlocked it. A text from Dom was flashing on the screen, and with a frown, I opened it.

  Dom: Are you on a date or casting for a porn movie?

  That was a bit freaking rich.

  Me: Why don’t you focus on your own date instead of what I’m doing on mine?

  He actually looked up from his table and glared at me. I shrugged a shoulder and, with a quirk of my eyebrow, shot him a, “So, what?” look, complete with a stony curl of my lips.

  Dom’s jaw twitched, but he was quickly blocked from view by Warren returning. My attention was instantly drawn up to his face, and he smiled down at me.

  “Are you ready to leave?”

  I tucked my phone back into my purse, picked it up from where it sat by my feet, and stood. “Yep. Are we going in the same direction?”

  He offered his address as he touched a hand to my lower back and led me out of the restaurant.

  “Not the same,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Separate Ubers it is,” he replied, unperturbed. “Why don’t we order, then you can give me your number, and we can plan to meet this week? How about Wednesday night?”

  I nodded. “That sounds good to me.” I pulled up the app on my phone, ordered my car, and opened my contacts. “Here. Type in your number.”

  Warren took my phone and typed it in. “What’s yours?”

  With a grin, I hit dial. His screen lit up with my incoming call, and I hit ‘End’ after a second, and his screen dimmed.

  “Smart,” he acknowledged. “So, Wednesday? Do you have any preferences?”

  “Well, this is my favorite place,” I said, gesturing to the restaurant behind us. “So, why don’t you pick?”

  “Sounds good to me.” His eyes sparkled as a black car pulled up against the side of the road. “Is that you or me?”

  I checked my phone. It looked like it was mine, but I leaned down just in case.

  “Chloe?” The driver with long, bright-blond dreadlocks asked.

  I nodded. “Would you give me a second?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks.” I straightened and turned back to Warren, feeling a little awkward. “Well, thank you. I had a great night tonight.”

  “Me, too, Chloe.” He stepped toward me and, pushing my hair from my eyes, bent his head and gently pressed his lips to mine.

  It was warm and comfortable and…nice.

  Just nice.

  Perfectly, sweetly, nice.

  “Yo, lady? Do you want me or not?” The Uber guy knocked on the dashboard, making me jump back from the perfectly nice kiss I’d just shared with Warren.

  “Yes,” I said, turning to look at my impatient driver. “I’m coming. Now. I’m sorry.” I turned to Warren. “I’m sorry. I’ve gotta go.”

  “It’s okay.” His lips pulled to one side. “I think this is mine coming now anyway. I’ll call you.”

  “Okay, sure.” I pulled open the back door of my Uber and, when Warren moved toward his, waving goodbye before he turned his back on me, my eyes once again collided with Dom’s.

  I held his gaze for a second too long before I slipped into the backseat and closed the door behind me.

  Surely it had to be the lights of the restaurant glinting off his irises awkwardly, because there was no way Dom was annoyed, was there?

  Definitely not at me kissing Warren. He had no reason to be annoyed about that.

  Ah, shit.

  Had I fucked up? Had I matched him wrong? Was his date bad? Had he had a bad night while I’d had a good time?

  And why had that kiss with Warren been nothing more than “nice?”

  Was it a learning curve? That happened with new people, didn’t it? Like, sex and stuff. It took a while to get used to each other.

  Would the kissing get better as we got to know each other more?

  Get better.

  That was the wrong phrase. He wasn’t a bad kisser. In fact, he was a very good kisser. He had lovely, soft lips and applied just the right amount of pressure for a first kiss—one with an audience, too.

  It was a lovely kiss, but I just didn’t… tingle.

  I didn’t tingle. There you go. There was no tingle, no fizz, no buzz. No zing of delight as his lips touched mine.

  What was wrong with me? Any other single woman would have loved to have had the date I did.

  And I had. Loved it. I’d had the best freaking time. He was sweet and funny and hot and someone I could see myself spending a lot of time with.

  But what if I never got that zing?

  I sighed and leaned back in the seat. There was nothing worse than a great date that had a sour undertone because of no specific reason.

  In fact, if anything, having Dom there had been the sour tone. I should have known he’d pick my favorite restaurant for my date. The biggest problem was that it was his, too, and since we operated so similarly when it came to matching people, we’d picked the same place without bothering to talk to each other.

  Jesus.

  The sooner I was over him, the better.

  Let’s face it.

  The only thing that could make this night worse was getting out of this car and stepping in a pile of dog shit.

  Which was, of course, exactly what I did as we pulled up outside my house, I thanked him and got out.

  Boom. The heel of my Jimmy Choo went smack in the middle of a pile of dog shit.

  Awesome.

  ***

  “He was nice,” I said, shrugging and brushing powder off my skirt. Fluffy donut filled my mouth.

  Mellie stared at me. “Oh, well, your night went well.”

  Peyton just tore a bite off her donut and put down her coffee.

  “It was good,” I said around my food. I quickly swallowed and put down my half-eaten donut. “Look, it was a great first date. It wasn’t really awkward or uncomfortable. He was really hot. He’s sweet and funny and kind. He has a great career. He lives within forty-five minutes of my place, and I can really see myself spending time with him.
”

  “Okay, aside from the career thing, you sound like you’re describing a dog,” Peyton said.

  She wasn’t wrong.

  “I know that, but ugh. It’s so hard. He’s a really, really great guy, and I had a lot of fun—”

  “But,” Mellie said.

  “But nothing.” I waved my donut through the air. “This is what I need. I need someone I’m interested in and I can get over that…that…moron next door.”

  “Oh boy, that was savage,” Peyton said flatly. “Chlo, you don’t sound enthusiastic about this guy at all.”

  “I know. But I am. I promise. He’s so lovely. He’s literally perfect—”

  “Which means he probably has a small dick. How big were his hands?”

  “I didn’t—I mean, I wasn’t looking—”

  “Isn’t it the feet?” Mellie asked, looking between us. “Or is it both?”

  Peyton paused. “Generally, it’s the ego. Did he have a big one?”

  I bit back a giggle.

  “Ego, Chloe. Did he have a big ego?”

  “Unless she slept with him,” Mellie added. “Did you have sex with him on the first date?”

  I almost dropped my donut. “No! Oh my God! He kissed me, but—”

  “Well? How was it?”

  “Nice,” I said lamely.

  Peyton got up and walked to her desk. She opened a drawer, pulled something out, and walked back over. “Here. Use this. You need it.” She threw a book in my lap.

  It was a thesaurus. She’d just given me a thesaurus.

  “What?” I held it up. “What’s this for?”

  “You’re having a second date, right?”

  I nodded.

  “When he asks you how you enjoyed your first date, you can’t tell him it was nice,” Mellie said, pausing to lick power from her thumb. “It’s just that simple, Chlo. Nice is the biggest insult you can give anyone.”

  “Not true,” I fired back. “The biggest insult is “Is it in yet?””

  “True story!” Peyton said a little too enthusiastically.

  “You have experience with that?” I asked, eyebrow raised.

  Mellie snorted. “Of course she does. More than we could imagine.”