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

She rolled her eyes. “He’d lose it anyway.”

“True.”

“So, did you ask him yet?”

I fiddled with the hem of my shirt. “No. How am I supposed to ask him to set me up with someone when I don’t want to be set up?”

“Chloe.” She leaned forward, hands on the desk, palms up. “You’re done, Chlo. You’ve literally been in love with him for most of your life, and aside from that fight a couple of weeks ago, never even been close to telling him. Even then, you said you “had” a crush on him.”

I squirmed in my seat. “I’m not in love with him.”

“Chloe! For the love of God!”

“Fine.” I threw out my arms. “I’ll admit it, but I need to get over him, Peyt. I just don’t think having him set me up with someone is the right way to do it.”

“Of course, it is,” she replied. “Y’all are experts are matching people. Have him match you with the best possible person, and boom. You’ll get over the shithead in no time.”

I stared at her flatly. “If it were that easy, don’t you think I’d be over him by now?”

“No. I think you’re attached to the idea that he’ll eventually come around. Get real, Chlo. It’s not going to happen. If it would, it would have happened by now.”

“Like you and Elliott?”

“Totally different situation and you know it. Dom is not good enough for you.” She sat back, arms folded across her chest. “He’s never shown you any sign that he’s interested in you. The best thing you can do is grow a pair to ask him to find you a date.”

“Whatever,” I muttered. “I have work to do. Behave yourself.”

Peyton burst out laughing as I turned and walked out of her office. All I wanted to know was who was sending me dildo brochures and how I could stop it.

I didn’t want her dating advice. The woman had never dated until she reconnected with Elliott. Her idea of “dating” had been having sex with one person more than three times until Dom challenged her to do it without falling in love.

Not gonna lie, I was glad he refused to take her money or Mellie and I would have owed her a tidy two-hundred-and-fifty dollars each, and I was saving for shoes.

Shoes trumped friendship responsibility. Besides, I never made her fall in love.

I slid back in behind my desk, throwing the brochure in the trash. It rattled against the sides of the wire metal can before settling, half fallen over, against the wall.

I made a “psh” sound, waved my hand at it, and turned back to my desk.

How was I supposed to match people when my own life was a hot mess? I mean, holy shit. I’d spent five years matching other people, while I’d been in love with my co-worker and brother’s best friend the entire time.

I could count on one hand the number of people I’d dated. I didn’t even need one hand to count who I’d slept with.

Who the hell was I to match people to date?

What was I doing?

God, Peyton was right. I needed to move on. I needed to put an end to my feelings, once and for all. Me and Dom were never going to happen. That was evident when he hadn’t mentioned my slip of the tongue when I told him that having a crush on him was the biggest mistake I’d ever made.

Seriously. He’d never mentioned it. Not even eluded to it.

I had to accept it. I was twenty-seven. It was time for me to stop holding onto a girlish dream and look to the future.

Not only was it pathetic, but I could literally hear my ovaries counting down. They tick-tocked at me every damn month, reminding me with the inevitably painful waterfall of a period that made me want to slice out my uterus with several forks.

Waiting for something that would never happen was no longer an option.

But how did you get over someone you’d been in love with for years? Was dating really the answer? It wasn’t as if I could just cut Dom out of my life.

Hell, I didn’t even know why I was in love with the fool. He was useless and prone to losing just about everything. He was a total pain in my ass who made me ridiculously mad at least three times a week.

The heart wanted what the heart wanted.

My heart wanted a goddamn idiot.

I blew out a long breath and logged into the server for the website. We each had our specialties, and similar to Peyton, my speciality was matching strong women with guys who could handle them.

It was kind of like finding the person in your life who’d remove the spider from your bathtub.

It was serious business, and you needed to choose wisely. Pussies weren’t allowed.

Except, in my business, they were. As long as they were attached to a woman.

I opened the newest email in my inbox. Sometimes, the tailor-made dating style Stupid Cupid offered was intense and exhausting, and I knew I was looking at one of those situations.

She was forty-two. Single. An attorney. She was only available at specific times, and because she was a high-flier, any prospective boyfriend had to accept that cancellations were a part of her life.

I wanted to nap just thinking about it.

Seriously. The work that would go into her was exhausting, but it’d be worth it when I nailed it.

Not if.

When.

I didn’t screw up my matches. Sure, they didn’t always work out, but that was after a few months when clients either grew apart or realized they weren’t compatible.