The Hook-Up Experiment

by Emma Hart

  All right, so Barbie definitely looked like she’d stuck her fingers in the outlet a few too many times, but it was a pretty round haircut, all in all.

  “Why did you cut her hair?” I asked Briony.

  My little girl blinked at me. “I didn’t. I found her dat way.”

  “You found her that way.”

  She emphatically nodded her head. “In duh toybots.”

  “Why is there hair on your pajamas?”

  “It falled out?”

  “Okay,” I said, crouching down so my eyes were level with hers. “You either found her this way, or you found her with her hair falling out. I’m going to put Barbie down and give you a chance to tell me the truth, or I’m taking Barbie and her friends, and they’re going into a box where you can’t play with them anymore.”

  Her eyes widened. “But, Daddy, I got a sore tummy.”

  Parenting was not for the weak of heart. Or the impatient.

  “Sure, you do. Are you going to tell me the truth about her hair?”

  Briony fidgeted with the hem of her My Little Pony pajama shirt. “I cutted it,” she said in a quiet voice, staring at the floor.

  “Where did you get the scissors?”

  “Out of duh drawer.”

  “And what aren’t you allowed to get out of the drawer?”

  She shifted. “Scissors and knides.”

  “That’s right. Why did you cut her hair?”

  “I fort she’d be pretty.” She finally looked back up at me. “Daddy, I really do had a tummy ache.”

  Clearly, we weren’t going to finish this without a fake tummy ache. I knew how to pick my battles, and this wasn’t one worth fighting about. Besides, she already knew she was wrong.

  “Okay. Go lie on the sofa, and I’ll vacuum up Barbie’s hair.” I sighed, chucking her under the chin.

  She nodded and climbed up onto it, silently curling onto her side. I gave her a second glance before I left the room and headed upstairs.

  No sooner had I stepped foot into her room than I heard the unmistakable sound of retching from downstairs.

  I ran down the stairs quicker than I ever had in my life. Briony looked up at me, suddenly deathly pale.

  “Daddy,” she said scratchily. “I beed sick.”

  She sure had.

  Right into my shoes.

  She vomited again. Into the shoes.

  This was the shit they didn’t warn you about in high school. Screw preaching abstinence—give them a sick toddler and see how they feel about not practicing safe sex after that.

  I retrieved a wet cloth and a big mixing bowl from the kitchen, then got to work cleaning up Briony.

  And my shoes.

  Chapter Nine – Peyton

  Nothing killed libido like the lingering smell of vomit. Or your brother accidentally sexting you.

  I wasn’t going to beat around the bush. I was here to have sex, and I wasn’t going to delay that by wearing pants.

  I wanted in, and I wanted out.

  In more than one way.

  I hadn’t been able to get the thought of Elliott kissing me out of my head all damn day. All I could think of was the way he’d grabbed me, how he’d softly tested the water before he’d really kissed me.

  Kissing was dangerous.

  It was intimate. It had the potential to make someone feel more than they wanted to.

  Then again, his smile maybe had that effect, too.

  It was hard to reconcile the Elliott of high school with the person he was now. The more I talked to him, the more I realized that he was a million miles away from that person I once knew.

  I wanted to let go of the hatred I’d harbored for years, but I didn’t have a choice. I had to hold onto it if I wanted to get through these hook-ups and win.

  And I did. I wanted to win. I didn’t want to fall in love. I liked my life. I liked my freedom and the ability to do whatever the fuck I wanted. I had no desire for anyone to step in and hamper that.

  I paid the cab driver and got out of the car. I hadn’t bothered to dress up. I’d changed out of the smarter outfit I’d worn when he’d come by my office, but all I’d done was replace it with an equally flattering dress that fitted my bust but flared at my hips.

  I felt pretty.

  Insert girly twirling here.

  I stopped that train of thought before I rolled my eyes at myself and walked up the few steps to the front door. The light was waning, and it was apparently dark enough for a dim security light to come on and illuminate me.

  I knocked three times. There was some passionate cussing from the other side of the door and a delay before it opened.

  Elliott stood there, shirtless and harried. His sweatpants were low on his hips, allowing me a glimpse at the branded waistband of his boxers.

  My favorite part of his outfit was his bright yellow gloves.

  I choked back a laugh. “Nice gloves.”

  He sighed heavily. “Shit. I meant to call you.”

  “Is this a bad time?”

  “No. Yes. It’s fine. You’re here. Come in.” He waved me inside with his gloved hand and stepped to the side.

  The mixed smell of vomit and cleaning products hit me with a thump.

  “Whoa.” I covered my mouse and nose with my hand. “What happened here?”

  “Briony cut Barbie’s hair and threw up,” he threw over his shoulder as he walked into the living room.

  I followed him. Reluctantly.

  “Ah, the haircut. A right of passage,” I said solemnly.

  “So, it’s normal?” he asked, looking almost relieved.

  I nodded. “At least twice more between now and being a tween. I once cut Barbie’s hair then used permanent markers to dye her hair black. She had tattoos, too.”

  He gulped, squeezing a sponge in a bucket of water. “Note to self: hide the Sharpies.”

  “Good plan. So, she’s sick, too?” I asked, hovering in the doorway.

  “Yep.” He scrubbed at the sofa cushion. “I thought she was using a tummy ache as a ploy to get out of the whole Barbie conversation, but the second I went upstairs to clean her makeshift hair salon, boom. She threw up.”

  Poor thing. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s sleeping off a light fever. My mom came over and said it’s probably just a fever, and she’s gone to get… something from the store to settle her stomach. I can’t remember what it was.”

  “Ginger,” I said absently.

  “No, she’s blonde.”

  “What?”

  “You said ginger, and I said no, she’s blonde.”

  I fought the urge to smile. “No, ginger. Actual ginger. The root?”

  He stared at me blankly.

  “The cooking ingredient? Looks like a mutant root? It’s a natural remedy to ease sickness. My mom used it whenever me and Dom got sick. Mimi, too.”

  “Oh!” Recognition crossed his face, but it quickly gave way to his stress. “Right. Makes sense. Sorry. I’m not great when she’s sick.”

  Something twanged inside me. Something that had no business twanging.

  “I’ll go,” I offered, taking a step back. He had enough to deal with without worrying about me.

  “No,” he said a little too quickly. “You don’t have to. I haven’t eaten yet. I’ve been busy cleaning up. Stay and eat with me?”

  I hesitated. I shouldn’t. That was a recipe for disaster.

  But, I couldn’t say no. He looked exhausted. The lines in his forehead where deep where he had a permanent frown on his face, and his usually shining dark eyes were dull and worried. His lips were downturned, and the decent human being inside me just wanted to give him a hug.

  “Sure. But, if I stay, you’ll let me help you clean up.”

  “Absolutely not.” He shook his head emphatically. “You don’t need to clean up vomit.”

  “Boy, I wish someone would have told Chloe that after senior homecoming,” I muttered, walking past him and putting my purse on the coffee table. />
  “Why? What happened?”

  I clicked my tongue. “Well, after you ruined my night, we went to a party, and she got so drunk she couldn’t speak without throwing up. And she did it in my bath.”

  “After I ruined your night?” He sat back and met my eyes. “Ohh. Shit.”

  I did nothing but stare at him. Yep. He remembered. How nice of him.

  “Thanks for that, by the way. I loved being stood up by my date because you told him rumors he refused to repeat back to me.”

  “Wait, what?” Elliott’s frown grew deeper. “That’s not what happened.”

  “You don’t need to lie to me about it. I’m over it.”

  “You sound it,” he drawled. “But that’s still not what happened. I never told him anything about you.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “So, you didn’t tell him not to go with me?”

  “No, I told him that, but—” He stopped when the front door opened.

  “Sorry, darlin’. I had to go to three stores to get the ginger. Three stores!” The familiar voice of his mom filled the room, and she closed the door. “Who the hell runs out of darn ginger?”

  Elliott took a deep breath. “Mom…”

  “Ridiculous. At least I got my FitBit steps in!” She brightened at that, lifting her left hand to show the blue band around her wrist. “Oh, hello!” she said, catching sight of me with eyes that were the perfect match to Elliott’s.

  He cleared his throat. “Mom. You remember Peyton.”

  She placed one perfectly-manicured hand to her chest. “Peyton Austin. Well, I never! Look at you!”

  Thank God I’d dressed casually.

  “Hi, Mrs. Sloane. It’s great to see you.”

  “Oh, goodness! Mrs. Sloane! Call me Tabby!” She dropped the ginger on the table and enveloped me in a huge hug. She squeezed me so tight I almost couldn’t breathe. “How are you, darlin’? Gosh, you’re all grown up. Wait, what are you doing here?” She looked at me and Elliott.

  “She’s here to fix the plumbing, Mom,” he said dryly.

  She slapped him around the back of his head. “I don’t appreciate your attitude, young man.”

  I hid my smile behind my hand and dipped my chin so neither of them could see the fact I was desperately trying to laugh.

  Not that it worked. As Elliott mumbled an apology, his mom caught my eye and winked.

  “I assume you were the date from a few days ago?” she asked me.

  “Blind date. Chloe and Mellie are jokers,” I said a little bitterly.

  “Ah. I see someone hasn’t apologized for his stunts in high school.” She rolled her eyes.

  “I’m still here,” Elliott said, dropping the sponge into the water. “And we were just talking about that when you barreled in here like a hurricane.”

  “With ginger to make your daughter feel better,” she added with a pointed look. “How is my baby?”

  “Sleeping,” he answered.

  “She vomit up that paracetamol?”

  “No. Not yet. Hopefully, she won’t.”

  “Right. I’m going to make this up for her, so when she wakes, you give her some with the other half of that paracetamol dose.” She shuffled off into the kitchen, clutching the bag of ginger to her chest.

  I couldn’t help but smile as she went. She was still the same, blonde-haired, curvy woman I remembered standing in the bleachers every football game.

  But this was awkward. Very, very awkward.

  “I’m gonna go,” I said to Elliott. “This is…weird.”

  “No. Don’t.” He stood up and reached for me.

  I looked at his hands.

  He froze, then pulled off the gloves. He dropped them on the table and touched my upper arms. “Don’t. Please. If you go, she’s gonna stay and ask me all sorts of stuff about you and why you’re here. I need to buy some time to make up a story that doesn’t involve us sleeping together to prove your brother wrong,” he finished on a whisper.

  “This is awkward, Elliott!” I whispered furiously. “I came here to get laid, not catch up with your mom over coffee!”

  He snort-laughed. I hit him with a death glare, and he sobered.

  “I know. It’s not funny. I’m sorry. But, please?” He pushed my bangs out of my eyes. “A favor?”

  I folded my arms. “You don’t deserve one, but since you’re doing me one, I suppose. But I’m not staying long.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “And you’re going to tell me what really happened at homecoming.”

  He hesitated. His jaw set tensely, but he nodded his agreement. “I was going to before she came in, so you got it.”

  I stared at him long and hard before his mom walked back in and broke the moment. He dropped his hands from my arms. Tabby looked at us for a moment, clearly unsure whether or not she should speak.

  An awkward moment passed before she plastered a bright smile on her face. “So, Peyton. What do you do now? Let’s catch up while that ginger boils.”

  “Oh. I, um, run a hook-up website,” I said hesitantly.

  “You do? How interesting.” She paused and looked at Elliott. “I thought you were signing up to a dating site.”

  He looked like a deer caught in headlights.

  “He did,” I said, coming to his rescue. “Chloe and my brother run a dating website. He signed up there, and Chloe forced me into going on a date. She has a sick sense of humor,” I added darkly.

  Tabby laughed. “Well, what are friends for? Tell me more about this hook-up website of yours.”

  She looked genuinely interested.

  I was going to kill Elliott.

  ***

  Elliott closed the front door and leaned against it.

  I slumped back in the armchair and blew out a long breath.

  One hour. That was how long his mom had been here catching up with me. Don’t get me wrong, she was a lovely woman, but it was still awkward. Not to mention she’d referenced high school several times.

  And I was, apparently, the only one who had no idea what genuinely happened at homecoming. Which probably meant I didn’t know why he stood me up or egged my car, either.

  Elliott walked in from the kitchen with a glass of wine and a beer. He handed me the wine and sat on the dry end of the sofa.

  I looked at his beer.

  He waved it. “Stressed. I ordered Dominos on the app. They said fifteen minutes. Pepperoni, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said slowly. “Was that a lucky guess, or…?”

  “It was your favorite in high school before you hated me. How often do people change their pizza preferences?”

  “I don’t know. Is that trivia?”

  “Rhetorical.” His lips tugged to the side. “But it was also kind of a lucky guess.”

  At least he was honest.

  “Should we talk about high school before or after food?” I asked.

  “Whenever you want to.”

  “How pissed off am I going to be?”

  He laughed. “Probably not as pissed as you are believing the bullshit story Todd fed you.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “We’ll see. Depends if I believe you or not.”

  “Hey, I have no reason to lie to you, Peyton. If you’d ever bothered to listen to me when we were in school, you’d know that.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “After junior prom, I tried to explain why I wasn’t there. You never spoke to me again.”

  “Because you humiliated me!” I took a deep breath. That had come out a little shriller than I’d planned. “You humiliated me,” I said again, this time softer. “Everyone knew we were supposed to go to prom together, then you never showed up. Did you expect me to just stop and forgive you?”

  “No. I never expected you to forgive me. I don’t even expect you to now. But I expected you to listen to me when I wanted to tell you why.”

  “Yeah, well, I was a pissy teenage girl,” I snapped.

  “And now you’re a pissy grown woman
who sounds like she still won’t listen.”

  I glared at him. He was right, but I was going to listen because I wanted to know. His reign of terror over my last year of high school had begun the night of junior prom, and I had a feeling everything was directly linked to that night.

  After ten years, I’d finally have the answer to why he stood me up and had me stood up only months later.

  At least, I was going to. Until the warbling cry of “Daddy!” coincided with the deafening echo of the doorbell ringing.

  Chapter Ten – Peyton

  The truth was a bitch. No, really. She was like that one ex who tells you they’re still in love with you on your wedding day. (Looking at you, Rachel Green.)

  “Can you answer the door?” Elliott asked me, putting down his beer and jumping up. He didn’t wait for me to answer before he ran upstairs to where Briony was yelling for him, now crying.

  “Sure,” I muttered to myself. I set my wine on the coffee table and went to answer the door. The doorbell rang again seconds before I opened it, and I stared flatly at the delivery guy.

  “Two large pizzas,” he said in a dull drawl.

  “Thanks.” I took them and shut the door with as much enthusiasm as he’d handed me the boxes. I put the boxes on the table as the sound of water running reached my ears.

  The scent of the pizzas was driving me crazy. My mouth watered at the rich tomatoey, cheesy scent.

  Would it be rude to eat it?

  Yes.

  No.

  Yes.

  Ugh. Now, I was hungry. In fact, I didn’t even know why I was here. Briony clearly needed Elliott, so me staying was futile. Even though I wasn’t necessarily a kid kind of person, I’d done my fair share of babysitting in both high school and college.

  Sick kids equaled clingy kids. As they should.

  I should have left earlier. I knew it was the right choice.

  Hell, I still think I should have walked out the moment I walked into the restaurant.

  I picked up my purse and wandered into the hall, where I hesitated. I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye, could I?