The Dating Experiment Final

by Emma Hart

  And considering she didn’t know I was here, that bought me a little time.

  Me: I have a problem

  As if he’d been waiting, his response came quickly.

  Elliott: You fucked her, didn’t you?

  Me: Yes.

  Elliott: You know I’m going to have to delete this whole conversation, so I’m gonna need to know when we’re done talking.

  And there was how he’d keep it from Peyton.

  Me: She’s asleep. Fell asleep before we could talk. I need to work, but I can’t leave.

  Elliott: Write a note?

  Me: Would you leave Peyton a note?

  Elliott: Not if I wanted to keep my balls. Point taken. Can you use her laptop?

  Why the fuck didn’t I think of that?

  I grabbed my coffee and walked into the living room. A quick glance around showed it open on the sofa cushion, and a look toward the TV made me groan.

  Friends. How many fucking times could one person watch one show and not get sick of it?

  I set my cup on the coffee table and woke up the laptop. A sign-in screen blinked at me, asking me for the password.

  Fuck. Of course, it had a password. It was Chloe. She’d password her front door if she could.

  God only knew she’d password mine. I couldn’t lose the keys then.

  Elliott: Any luck?

  Me: Needs a password. What would it be?

  Elliott: Something obvious. Peyton’s are mostly either her middle name and date of birth or her favorite things.

  Me: I’m hacking her email and marking all the spam as not spam.

  Elliott: Definitely deleting this conversation.

  He was smarter than I was.

  I sighed and typed in her middle name followed by her date of birth.

  Nope. Not that combination.

  I tried a few more, including just her middle names, adding caps, adding symbols—nothing. I was on the verge of giving up when a little message asking me if I wanted a hint popped up.

  Fucking yes. I did want a hint.

  “Work Date.”

  I frowned. What the hell did that mean? I’m sure it was a hint for her, but…

  Work.

  Stupid Cupid.

  Was the business really her password?

  I typed it in and hit enter. Still wrong, but that was the only work it could—

  Shit. I knew what that meant.

  I re-typed the name and added her date of birth. A little circle came up that it was loading, and I held my breath until the screen blinked to the desktop.

  Thank God for that.

  I really needed to talk to her about password security…

  Me: Got in. Figured out the password hint.

  Elliott: Good to know. What are you gonna do now?

  The only thing I could do.

  Me: Wait for her.

  ***

  “Sorry, Tanya,” I said quietly into the phone. “We’ve been working together now for nine months. I can’t help you if you’re going to reject every guy I send your way on the first date.”

  “I know. You’re right. I’m sorry. I just think I’m not ready to commit,” she replied.

  “Why don’t I send you my sister’s way? She’ll be able to help you out,” I offered.

  A moment’s silence, and then, “That sounds like it might be better right now. Thanks, Dom.”

  “You’re welcome. Speak soon.” I hung up and pinched the bridge of my nose.

  I wasn’t gonna lie. She was one of the most high-maintenance clients I’d ever worked with. Fifteen dates in nine months and every single one of them was wrong. After she’d slept with the last three on the first date only to never speak to them again, it was pretty obvious she was more designed for Peyton’s hook-up services than she was my dating ones.

  I blew out a long breath and leaned my head back on the sofa. Closing my eyes, I let the frustration of my wasted time escape me. I stayed like that for a moment, then pushed the laptop off me, grabbed my empty coffee mug, and got up to make another.

  I walked into the kitchen and stopped. Chloe was standing in front of the machine, wearing the same, oversized shirt she’d had on when I’d gotten here. This time, though, she was clearly wearing a bra and a pair of neon yellow shorts beneath it.

  She dropped her hands to the hem, tying the side of the shirt into a knot. Slowly, she tilted her head so her eyes found mine.

  “You’re awake,” I said like an idiot.

  “And you’re still here,” she said gently.

  I put down my cup next to the machine and looked down at her. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Well, I fell asleep, for a start.” She tucked some of her messy hair behind her ear. “I didn’t expect you to be here when I woke up. I thought you’d have gone to work.”

  “I did. I used your laptop and turned off that shit you were watching on TV.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “I don’t know what to address first. The blasphemy or the fact you broke into my laptop.”

  “It’s not breaking in when you have an obvious password hint.” I nudged her to the side and put my cup under the machine. ““Work Date.” Stupid Cupid, plus the date we were officially registered as a company, which happened to be on your birthday.”

  “Great. Now I have to change my password.”

  “Why? I don’t need it from now on.”

  She pointed to the Echo on the other side of the room.

  My lips quirked up. “I can say, in good faith, that one of the richest men in the world is not interested in your laptop password, Chlo.”

  She folded her arms. “But people still listen through it.”

  “Then why do you keep it?”

  “Because,” she said, shooting it a glance. “There was this murder case where the judge ordered them to hand over mic footage, and it totally pinned the murderer.”

  “So, you’re keeping it on the off chance you get murdered, and they don’t leave enough evidence behind?”

  She nodded. “You never know.” Then, she swiped my now-full mug from the machine. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “That was mine.”

  “I know, but I just woke up, and the don’t-talk-until-coffee rule applies to all kinds of sleep. All night or catnap—I’m not fussy.” She pulled the milk from the fridge.

  “I’ve been drinking from it.”

  “Oh, God, alert the germ police. God forbid I drink from the mug of a man who had his tongue on my clitoris a few hours ago.”

  That was a very solid point.

  “I see we’re not beating around the bush when it comes to discussing it.”

  She slammed down the carton of milk and looked at me. “What? Are we not supposed to? Are we just going to ignore it happened?”

  This was escalating faster than I’d imagined.

  “Also, I don’t have a bush to beat around, as you well know.” She poured the milk into the coffee and replaced it.

  Thank God.

  The next step was to get out of the kitchen. If she was yelling already, then this was a dangerous room.

  Never mind the little computer thing recording her murder. It’d record mine if we stayed in here much longer.

  “All fair points you’re making.” I nodded, getting another mug. “But, I’d rather not have this conversation in the kitchen. You can reach the knives too easily.”

  “I’ve already told you, I’m not going to kill you. Not until we get life insurance policies.” She grinned over the rim of her mug and walked into the living room.

  I shook my head slowly. Two minutes ago, she was yelling at me; now she was grinning. What the fuck was in her coffee? Did she drug herself on the sly? No random bean was that magic. This wasn’t Jack and the fucking Beanstalk.

  I finished making my coffee and joined her in the living room. She’d wasted no time putting her stupid show back on again, and I bit back a sigh as I took my seat on the sofa.

  “So,” she said, blowing on her coffee with her
eyes trained on the TV. “What do we do now?”

  “We can do it again if you really want. I won’t object.”

  “Dom. I’m being serious.” Chloe rested the mug on the arm of the chair and turned to look at me. Vulnerability flashed in her eyes, and it was clear that the niggling feeling I’d had was right.

  I wasn’t the only one feeling something they shouldn’t be feeling.

  She swallowed, looking down at her legs. She picked a piece of thread off her leg, twisting it around her finger until it snapped when she dropped it on the floor.

  “It’s not a joke. I know that, Chlo,” I said quietly, keeping my eyes on her. “It’s not even close to being funny.”

  “Why did you do it?” She lifted her gaze. “Why did you kiss me, then come here, and…” She trailed off, instead choosing to wave her arm in the direction of the stairs.

  “Because I wanted to,” I said. “Because I wanted you.”

  “Wanted?”

  “You say that like I’m telling you that’s changed.”

  “Your use of the past tense suggests it has.”

  I put the mug down, getting up and walking over to her. I sat on the edge of the coffee table, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, and looked right at her. “It doesn’t change anything. I still want you as much as I did when I walked in that door a few hours ago.”

  She didn’t say anything. She simply looked back down at her legs.

  “Whether or not I want you isn’t the question. The question is do you want me?”

  She glanced up, lips parted, before she looked back down.

  “Chloe…”

  She nodded. That was it—her answer. Three little jerks of her head where she couldn’t even look at me.

  “Then—”

  “Argh!” Chloe stood up, diving her fingers into her hair. She fisted the already messy curls, tugging at them as she turned her back to me.

  That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.

  “You can’t expect this would work.” She turned, piercing me with her bright eyes. “Me and you. The idea is just…insane.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “You didn’t think it was so insane when you told me that I’d never have another chance with you if I left.”

  “I didn’t think you’d stay,” she admitted. “I wanted you to, but I didn’t think you would.”

  “You can’t think I would have left.”

  “You’d kissed me two days before. I didn’t know what to think. I still don’t.” She ran her fingers back through her hair again and turned to face me. “We fight all the time, Dom. That doesn’t make for a successful anything, and I’m not going to be your fuck buddy.”

  I got up and walked over to her. “Peyton and Elliott fight all the time. So do Mellie and Jake. Besides, it’s more bickering.”

  “Three weeks ago, I threw a water bottle at you.”

  “Eh. I deserved it. I had actually eaten your last Sour Patch Kids.”

  Her jaw dropped. “So, you lied to me?”

  I held up my hands. “Hey. You threw it at me when you thought it was Peyton. Like I was gonna tell you it was really me.”

  “Oh, you—”

  I grabbed her wrists before she could hit me. “It doesn’t matter that we fight. I don’t fucking care.”

  “Well, I do. I want to be with the cream to my strawberries, not the oil to my water.”

  “Oh, please. You’d be bored out of your mind if you ever dated someone who was the cream to your strawberries. They wouldn’t fight you nearly as much as you need to be fought.”

  “What if I found the cream to my strawberries?”

  I stepped back and let go of her hands. “Then everything you’ve said to me today has been nothing but a big waste of time, and I have somewhere else to be.” I picked my phone up from the sofa and shoved it into my pocket.

  “Dom.”

  I stopped in the doorway and looked back at her.

  “This is why,” she said quietly, wrapping her arms around her waist. “This is why we would never work.”

  “No, Chloe. We’ll never work because you’re not willing to try. There’s the difference. I’d go to the ends of the Earth to try. Yet, you tell me you want me, then tell me there’s someone better out there for you than me.” I shrugged. “Fine. I might lose my keys or do things that annoy you or fight with you, but if you think someone else is better for you, go get him. But I can bet my life savings he’ll never see that the office kitchen is out of coffee and get the last pods from his own kitchen just so you can have yours. He’ll never swap your sellotape rolls when yours is getting low just so you don’t run out, even though he knows you’ll get annoyed that he’s run out. He’ll never buy your favorite flavored water in his own grocery shop just to make sure you always have it in the fridge when you get thirsty at work.”

  “You do all those things?” she said softly, lips parted.

  “Of course, I do. I also change out your pens when the ink is getting low and make sure your computer is connected to the WiFi after a power outage. I also make sure there’s enough ink the printer if I know you need to print stuff. I even switched our keyboards that time yours stopped working and bought a new one, then switched them back just so you had the new one.” I shoved my hands in my pockets. “Just…making sure it’s not hard for you to do your job. Working with me is frustrating enough without having to cope with all that.”

  She looked away, swallowing hard. I swore there were tears in her eyes, and that twisted my gut into fucking knots. Stupid stuff—stupid shit that had become a routine for me that I thought she knew about.

  I walked over to her, instantly bringing my hands to her face. She was crying, and I hated it. I hated that I was the reason she was crying. I hated that I’d said all that when I should have just taken her at her word and left.

  “Don’t cry,” I whispered. “God, Chlo. Don’t cry.”

  “Why?” she whispered back, lifting her tear-filled eyes to me.

  I watched as one tear spilled over and caught it with my thumb. “Because. I’m fucking crazy about you.”

  Chapter Fifteen – Chloe

  What. A. Clusterfuck.

  Dom dipped his head, touching his forehead to mine. His hot breath danced across my parted lips, and his thumbs gently swiped away a tear that escaped from the corner of my eyes.

  If I had to tally how many times I’d wanted to hear those words from his lips, then I was gonna need more paper.

  Now, it’d happened. He’d told me the one thing I’d always wanted to hear, except now I wasn’t sure I did.

  Up until a few days ago, I’d made my peace that this was over. I had to move on, and we’d never be together.

  Then, I’d gotten drunk.

  I’d gotten drunk, and before I’d passed out, I’d texted Warren about a second date. Something I’d forgotten about until I’d woken up forty-five minutes ago and seen his text asking if we were still on for tonight.

  I couldn’t think of anything that I wanted to do less, especially after what had happened today. But, I couldn’t cancel. It was too late, and I didn’t really have a viable excuse to cancel.

  “I’m seeing Warren tonight,” I whispered.

  Dom’s inhale was sharp, as was the way he released me. I swiped at my cheeks, furiously removing the lingering wetness from the few tears that had made it past his thumbs.

  I opened my mouth to explain why I was going, how it had happened—but I couldn’t. Even if I did, I knew it’d be a waste of time.

  Because he didn’t give me the chance to explain.

  By the time I’d formed a sentence in my brain, my front door slammed shut.

  I slid over to the chair and crumpled into it. No more tears came out, but I stared through the little view I had to the hall and at the front door. I wanted him to turn around and come back and demand to know why, but I knew he wouldn’t.

  That was Dom.

  He was like Peyton. He’d fight you until he was blue in
the face, but the second you hurt him, he was done talking to you.

  And I’d hurt him. I didn’t need to be a genius to figure it out. Fuck, he’d just said everything I’d ever wanted to hear, and my response was to tell him that we’d never work, and I was seeing another guy for dinner tonight.

  I buried my face in my hands. What was wrong with me? He was literally everything I’d ever wanted, and I was running away from the situation like he was trying to poison me.

  My phone rang from somewhere in the house. I ignored it. I didn’t want to speak to anyone right now. I didn’t care if it was my mom or one of my best friends or even Dom himself.

  I just needed to be alone.

  I needed to be alone to figure this all out in the hopes I didn’t fuck everything up.

  Any more than I already had, that was.

  ***

  I put the phone face down on my bed and stared at it. I had it on silent because I was supposed to meet Warren in an hour, yet I was seriously thinking about canceling. I knew he’d be on his way, and this all made me a terrible, terrible person.

  To everyone.

  I wasn’t sixteen, so why the hell was I acting like it? I was twenty-seven, for the love of God. I needed to get my shit together. I either wanted Dom, or I wanted to see where it went with Warren.

  He was the easy choice, believe it or not. He had everything I wanted in the perfect guy.

  But he wasn’t Dom. And being the perfect guy didn’t necessarily equal being the right guy. If Warren was the right guy, I wouldn’t be thinking about canceling the second date.

  Would I?

  No. I knew the answer.

  But did that mean Dom was the right one?

  I picked up my phone and opened my group chat with Mellie and Peyton. Apparently, being alone wasn’t cutting it. It’d been three hours, and all I’d achieved was folding my clean towels.

  Me: I had sex with Dom.

  As expected, the messages came thick and fast.

  Peyton: WHAT