The Dating Experiment Final Page 6

  “Well.” Dom stopped in the doorway of my office and leaned against the wall—the permanent one. “You were right.”

  With my lips still pursed around the straw of my sangria, I peered up at him through my lashes.

  Did he just—

  “Did you,” I said slowly, setting down my Styrofoam cup, “just tell me I’m right?”

  “No, I said you were right, not that are you right.”

  “Semantics.” I grinned and sat back in my chair, swinging it side to side gently. “What was I right about?”

  He grimaced, swallowing. “Ruby.”

  Imagine that.

  “This is my shocked face.” I drew a circle around my face with my fingertip.

  I was still grinning. Smugly. Oh boy, was I smug.

  “If you’re just gonna gloat at me—” Dom pushed off the wall and held up his hands.

  “I’m not, I’m not!” Which was easier said than done considering I was trying not to laugh at his expense.

  What? I liked being right. Especially when he was the one who was wrong.

  He glared at me for a moment.

  “What happened?” I asked, picking up my cup to sip again.

  Dom opened his mouth, then paused. “Are you drinking?”

  “I had a bad meeting. Don’t judge me.” I put the sangria down. “Don’t worry. It’s just a small one.”

  “No judging. I had three shots of vodka after Ruby left.”

  Wow. And he didn’t even drink vodka.

  “That bad, huh?”

  He ran his hand through his hair. “I wrote off her behavior in our first meeting as her just being a flirty person. I mean, look at her.”

  “She looked like she charged a hundred bucks for a blowjob, Dom.”

  “Aren’t you, as a woman, not supposed to judge other women?”

  “When did I say I was judging her? Hell, if I could get away with charging a hundred bucks for a blowie, I’d take that up in a heartbeat.”

  “There’s this thing called the internet where you can advertise those services, you know.”

  I gave him a flat stare. “What happened at your lunch “meeting?””

  “It was a meeting!” He rubbed his hand down his mouth. “It was supposed to be a meeting.” He leaned back against the wall again with a sigh. “So, we sat down at our table, got coffee, ordered food, and started talking. I took a folder with a few profile print-outs, so she could narrow down and put me on the right track because she said she was quite fussy.”

  “Not that fussy if she hit on you.” Says me.

  He flipped me the bird before carrying on. “She narrowed it down to two guys were who pretty similar by the time we were almost done eating, so I was ready to go. We paid, then when we were on the sidewalk, she turned to me and told me she thought I was better looking than those guys I’d given her and kissed me.”

  “You kissed her?” My eyebrows shot up, even as there was a slightly jealous twang in my chest.

  “No. I didn’t kiss her. She kissed me,” he corrected me. “There’s a difference.”

  “Sure, there is. But did you kiss her back?”

  “No!” He balked at my question. “Jesus, Chlo—no, I didn’t kiss her back. I pushed her off me and asked her what the hell she was doing.”

  “She was trying to get into your pants,” I pointed out a little too cheerfully. “Like I told you she was.”

  “I know that now, don’t I?”

  Laughing, I picked up my cup. “How did you not know that from your first meeting with her? She was all over you. If you were a boat, she’d be a plague-filled rat.”

  “It looked…different…from my perspective.”

  “Because you could see down her shirt,” I pointed out. “Of course, it was different.”

  Dom scratched the back of his neck, briefly dropping his eyes to the ground. “Well, yeah. Come on—I’m a guy. Do you think I don’t stare at you when you’re bending over with a low-cut shirt?”

  I blinked at him. “You—you stare at me?”

  “When you’re bending over with a low-cut shirt,” he repeated quickly. “And you happen to be in my line of view. I don’t make it a fucking hobby.”

  Ouch. A simple “yes” or “no” would have sufficed. Hell, even the first half of his answer would have done just fine.

  “Whatever,” I muttered. “Still, I told you so. She isn’t interested in any of the services our company can provide. She’s interested in Peyton’s.”

  “Which, thank God, I never signed up for,” Dom added.

  “What?”

  “She tried to get me to be a test subject, but I think I was seeing someone at the time.” He shrugged a shoulder. “No big deal.”

  Right. No big deal.

  “Anyway, if you see Ruby in here or she calls, and you answer, tell her I terminated our agreement.” Dom stuffed his hands in his pockets.

  I scoffed. “Tell her yourself. I’m not your secretary, no matter that she thought.”

  “You’re right.” He shrugged once again. “I couldn’t have a secretary who looked like you. Or I’d have to make her dress in sweats.”

  “Dom? Your vodka shots are showing. Shut up.”

  He grinned. “Anyway. I’m just here to say you’re right, and in future, I’ll listen to you.”

  “Now, I know your vodka shots are showing. Go take a nap upstairs or something.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. Can you call me in an hour to wake me up?”

  “Okay, if I’m not your secretary, I’m sure as hell not your keeper. You have an alarm clock on your phone for a reason.”

  “Phone’s dead.”

  “So? Charge it, numnuts.”

  “Numnuts?” He grinned. “That’s a new one.”

  “I spent too much time reading a hashtag about British insults on Twitter.” I shrugged one shoulder. “Here.” I opened my desk drawer and pulled out a spare charge lead. “Charge lead. Charge, set the alarm, sleep. Be an adult, Dominic.”

  His grin only widened as he took the lead from me. “Thanks, Chlo. You’re a doll.”

  I stared at him. “Really? Three vodka shots and you’re calling me a “doll?””

  He burst out laughing, one hand to his stomach. “No. I’m just fucking with you. But I really did need this lead, so thanks.” He raised the lead and winked at me.

  And I hated the butterflies that took flight in the pit of my belly.

  Fuck them and fuck him.

  “Fuck off,” I shouted after him.

  His laughter echoed in the office as he left, swinging the door shut behind him. A groan escaped me before I stood and pushed back the stupid wall that separated our offices. The windows on his side of the room were bigger and brighter than mine, and I definitely preferred the natural light over the fake light from the stupid LED bulbs I hated.

  Natural light flooded my side of the room. The moving wall looked messy, but since there were no more in-person appointments today, it didn’t really matter.

  I turned off the overhead light and dropped onto the armchair in the corner of my office. The sun glared at me through the glass, almost burning against my chest, but I didn’t care. Weirdly, it felt good.

  At least it wasn’t in my eyes.

  Not that it mattered. I propped my elbow on the arm of the chair and buried my face in my hand.

  I needed more fingers if I wanted to count how many times I’d seen Dom with another woman. From high school to today, it was endless. Not because he was a whore, but because he was handsome. And, when he wasn’t pissing me off, he was a pretty great guy.

  I mean, I wasn’t in love with him for his tendency to rub me the wrong way now, was I?

  So why did Ruby bother me? Why did Rachael bother me? Why did my stomach feel as though Cupid had taken it and twisted it into a thousand knots?

  I was excited to see Warren. But that didn’t mean I wanted Dom to see Rachael again.

  God, how selfish was I?

  No—n
ot selfish. How pathetic was I?

  Incredibly. That was the answer. I was hopelessly and completely pathetic. I was a grown-ass woman who needed her neighbor to catch the spiders from her bathtub and who couldn’t get over a guy who clearly wasn’t interested in her.

  Because accidentally looking down my shirt when the opportunity presented itself didn’t count.

  I let go of a heavy sigh and sat up straight. If only getting over someone was as easy as getting under somebody else.

  If that were the case, I’d cross the hall and have Peyton set me up with someone right now.

  ***

  Peyton barked out a laugh. “You don’t want me to do that.”

  “I do!” I smacked my fist against her kitchen table. “I want you to set me up with a hot guy with a big dick who can blow my mind.”

  Mellie looked between us. “How much has she had to drink?” she asked Peyton.

  “Nothing. Which is why I’m concerned,” she muttered as a response. The pitcher of margarita she held clinked against the slate mat in the middle of the table when she put it down. “Chloe, you don’t want me to set you up with someone. You’ve never had a one-night stand in your life.”

  “Twenty-seven seems like a good time to start those,” I retorted, grabbing the handle of the pitcher and sloshing the cocktail into my glass. A little splashed onto the table, and Peyton discreetly grabbed a cloth from the sink.

  Mellie and I both pretended to look away while the modern-day Monica Geller wiped it up.

  “The only thing twenty-seven is good for is binging a new Netflix series,” Mellie said, taking the pitcher and pouring her own drink much more precisely than I had. “And don’t get a boyfriend, because they will complain that all your suggestions are murder shows.”

  “Only because he knows you could kill him.”

  “Which is why one-night stands aren’t a good idea. You could also get killed,” Peyton pointed out.

  “It’s all good. I could solve it at this point.” Mellie shrugged a shoulder.

  I groaned and slumped forward on the table. “I can’t do this anymore, guys. I think I have to sell my part of the business.”

  Peyton spat her drink over the table. Literally all over it—the spray was quite impressive.

  Mellie wrinkled her nose and pushed her glass toward Peyton.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll make more,” she muttered then turned to me. “No, Chlo. You can’t. You can’t sell your part of Stupid Cupid just because you set him up with a great woman and he had a two-dollar hooker hit on him.”

  Obviously. I knew that.

  “How ironic. The drama queen of the group is telling one of us not to be dramatic,” Mellie mused, cradling her glass in her hand.

  Peyton rolled her eyes.

  “I just—” I sat back up. “Look, me and Dom are never going to happen. I know that. Accept that. But just because I know we’ll never happen, doesn’t mean my heart does.”

  The fickle little bitch.

  “I don’t know if I can get over him while I’m working with him, that’s all,” I added as an afterthought.

  “So?” Mellie said. “Take a vacation. Take a week off. Two weeks, even. Work from home. Who says you need the office for anything other than a home base to take meetings?”

  I hesitated.

  Peyton leaned forward, shrugging a shoulder. “You’re determined to get over him, so you have to do what you have to do.”

  Why did that sound so much more ominous than she’d meant it?

  Chapter Eight – Chloe

  Shit happens.

  And in my life, men are usually the root cause of said shit.

  Well. It’s either men or a questionable curry.

  Warren: Hey, Chloe. Sorry, I can’t make it this weekend. An emergency came up at work and I’m still out of town. Raincheck?

  Me: Of course. Don’t worry about it!

  I sighed and set my phone down on the sofa next to me. Working from home had many positives, but also many drawbacks. Like the fact I could pick up my texts instantly because I was almost constantly distracted.

  The TV? A distraction. The washing machine? A distraction. A cat walking across my fence outside?

  Distraction.

  And now I had no plans for the weekend except for to work. At least Dom would be out of the office on Saturday evening, so I could catch up on all the things I wasn’t doing while sitting at home, on my sofa, browsing social media and watching my Friends boxset from series one, episode one, to the final episode in series ten.

  It didn’t matter how many times I watched this series. It never got old, and I almost always found something I’d missed before.

  This time? It was my dating life.

  Another sigh escaped my lips. Nobody ever really said how much it sucked to be the only single one in your group of friends. I couldn’t be happier for Mellie and Peyton to have found people they loved and who loved them—and who balanced out their crazy personalities—but that didn’t mean I wasn’t jealous.

  They’d both found their person in the last four months. It was ridiculous to think I’d find mine, too.

  Because it sure as hell wasn’t the person my heart wanted it to be. And, let’s face it, even if it were Dom, it’d be a daily disaster. Between my temper and his skill at losing things, it would be nothing but a hot ass mess.

  I pushed my laptop off my legs onto the cushion next to me. The fan whirred to cool it, and the screen blanked off.

  How long had I not been working for?

  Ugh.

  You know what? I was done with this pity party. I didn’t even have a ticket to a pity party for one night—I had a freaking season ticket to every party every weekend.

  It wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t the only party-goer.

  Still, I was done. It was time to make a change. And that started with a new haircut because all good things did.

  ***

  So, as it turns out, I was a big fat chicken.

  The new haircut I’d intended to get had ended up with a one-inch trim, meaning the only new thing about my hair was the ends.

  I’d take it.

  I did get my nails done, though, so there was that. And I felt better. Even with the knowledge that in approximately one hour, Dom would be on his second date with Rachael, and I’d be in the office working like a little loser.

  I’d take it. I’d get a pizza on my way to the office and a giant sangria from the cocktail place on the corner of the street.

  I pushed my freshly-trimmed bangs out of my eyes and made good on that plan. I grabbed all the things I needed to work for the next few hours, including my laptop, and sent for an Uber. Sangria wasn’t exactly the best friend of driving, plus it was Saturday, so if I wanted to get anywhere on time, Uber was the way to go.

  Within ten minutes, a shiny, red car pulled up outside my house. Grabbing my things, I headed out, pausing only to lock my front door and tuck my key into my purse.

  The Uber guy agreed to stop and wait at my favorite pizza place. The pizza place was, as always, quick to get their stone-baked pizzas out of the oven and into a box, so he wasn’t waiting long.

  A plus since I’d had to agree to pay him while he waited.

  I slid into the back of the car, pizza box in hand, and nodded when he asked if I wanted to go to my final destination now. He seemed relieved at my response and almost pulled out on another car as he joined the traffic.

  If I was going to die because I stopped for pizza… well, there were worse reasons a girl could die. Carbs were up there with the good ones.

  By the time we made it through the Saturday traffic, I was ready to chew my own arm off in hunger. I just about managed to resist, but not without a momentary flash of murderous tendencies thanks to the rude goodbye from the Uber driver.

  It wasn’t even goodbye. It was a random grunt that said he wanted to be one of the people going to drink instead of ferrying them around.

  Not that I was going out to drink in
my yoga pants and sneakers. Nobody did that. Which, really, was a bit of a fucking shame.

  The world would be a happier place if a girl could go dancing in her yoga pants.

  Think about it; you’d never have to worry about accidentally flashing your panties at a club full of random strangers.

  Also, what else would you wear yoga pants for? Everyone knew you didn’t actually do yoga in them. You simply wore them like real pants, helping them to fulfill their dreams of one day becoming accepted as real pants.

  All right, so that was my dream, but did it matter? For all we knew, all yoga pants everywhere wanted was to be in the same clothing group as jeans.

  I snorted to myself as I unlocked the door.

  Right. Like yoga pants would ever be equal to jeans.

  We all knew they would be far superior.

  I put my pizza on a clear corner of my desk and dumped my purse on floor. I bent to pull my phone out of it and brought up my messages. Going to the thread I kept with the guy who owned the cocktail place on the corner, I hit “new message.”

  Me: I found you three more dates.

  His response came as quick as lightning.

  Luca: On my way.

  I laughed and kicked off my sneakers, shoving them underneath the desk. Wriggling my toes, the glitter that adorned my Harry Potter socks winked at me thanks to the light right above my desk.

  I crossed my legs on my spinny chair, tucking my feet beneath my thighs. The rich scent of the pizza slammed into me right as the office door opened. I looked up just in time to see Luca swan in. His blue hair was unmissable as it swept across his forehead into green tips.

  “I see you dyed your hair again,” I said by way of greeting.

  “I got bored of the red,” he said nonchalantly. “I brought you a little something.” He waved a large Styrofoam cup.

  “Sangria?” I grinned.

  “Of course. That’s your working potion. But first…” He held his hand out, palm up, and waved his fingers in a “gimme” motion.

  I held up one finger and opened the bottom drawer of my desk. A quick rifle through the files gave me the one I was after, and I grabbed the neon yellow paperclip to pull it out.