The Dating Experiment (The Experiment, #2)(19)

“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—not 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.”