The Dating Experiment (The Experiment, #2)(11)

“Nobody needs you as their uncle, Dom. Unless you count losing things as a life skill.”

“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.