The Dating Experiment (The Experiment, #2)(31)

“I got up an hour ago to throw up, so I didn’t really have a choice,” she said warily, sitting on the edge of the bed. “What the hell did Jake put in that sangria?”

I shook my head, then winced. Nope. I couldn’t do that. “How much of it did we drink?”

“Too much. That’s what happens when your drinking game is watching Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares and taking a drink every time someone swears.”

“We shouldn’t do that again.”

“I completely agree.” She yawned and crawled across the bed, tucking herself under the covers on the other side.

“I’m not wearing pants,” I told her.

She shrugged. “My shorts barely count. I’m too hungover to grope you, don’t worry.”

I laughed a little, then stopped quickly. Nope. Couldn’t laugh, either. “Where’s Mellie?” I asked.

“According to the text I woke up to from Jake, he put us both to bed, then took her home where she passed out on the sofa.”

I touched my fingers to my lips. “Did he take off my pants?”

She shook her head. “I asked the same. Apparently, I yelled at him for watching me take off my pants when all he was trying to do was make sure I didn’t crack my head open on the nightstand.” She paused. “Then, apparently, you thought it was a good idea to take yours off, too, but you were already in bed when he checked on you.”

“Oh, God,” I moaned. “How embarrassing.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “In your defense, you had a rough day. We were just along for the ride.”

“Being kissed by the guy you’ve loved forever is a rough day?”

“It wasn’t exactly under the moonlight though, was it? It was after a fight. That’s not the romantic declaration of a fairytale forever you doodled all over your books in high school.”

I sniffed. “I didn’t doodle. You were the doodler.”

“You were so a doodler. All I drew were cocks with faces.”

“Which is why you didn’t date anyone longer than two weeks in high school.”

Peyt grinned. “That’s because I drew cocks bigger than what they had.”

She was probably right.

“What are you going to do about Dom?”

I groaned and lay on my back, staring up at the ceiling. “Nothing. I’m going to do nothing. I’m too hungover to think about anything right now.”

“You have to do something. He kissed you. That means something.”

I rolled my head to the side and looked at her. “From the woman who had meaningless sex for ten years.”

“Hey, I had sex with them. Rarely kissed them. Kissing is intimate. It’s like…” She sighed, pushing her dark hair from her face. “Kissing is baring your soul to someone else. After everything you said last night, it sounds like he kissed you because it was easier than telling you that you’re his bar.”

“His bar?”

“Yeah. His bar. You know, we all have a bar that something has to compare to. You’re apparently his, and he’s too chicken shit to say the words.”

I would have rolled my eyes if my head wasn’t banging harder than a frat house on a Saturday night. “I think he just wanted to get me to shut up.”

“Always a possibility,” she acquiesced. “But not in this context. So, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to take a nap and pretend I didn’t get blind-ass drunk last night,” I answered, having another sip of water before lying back down. “And you’re going to be a good friend, shut up, and nap with me.”

“If I wasn’t also blind-ass drunk last night, I’d argue.” Peyton shuffled right down beneath the sheets and yawned. “But I was, so I won’t.”

I patted her on the head and turned off the light on the nightstand.

I honestly didn’t think I’d be able to go back to sleep, but if I had to lie here for two hours to make her shut her mouth…

Well.

She’d never know.





Chapter Twelve – Chloe


I wish I could forget about kissing Dom as easily as I forget what I walked into a room for.



In hindsight, getting drunk to forget about Dom kissing me wasn’t the greatest idea I’d ever had. It’d been almost forty-eight hours since I’d seen him last, since he’d kissed me, and I was still hungover.

From what? I didn’t know. I’d drank enough water that I was no longer severely dehydrated, but my head still pounded. I hadn’t been this messed up over anyone, well, ever.

I’d never cared enough about anyone to feel this way.

My stomach had tied itself into knots the second Dom’s lips touched mine, and it was still that way. A tight ball of confusion and frustration that fed nausea.

I downed the rest of my coffee and leaned back against the counter, staring out of the window on the other side of the kitchen. A blur flashed as a bird flew past, and I sighed.

I was supposed to go to work today, but I didn’t know how I was supposed to. I wanted to crawl back into bed and go all moody teenage girl while I tried to make sense of what was happening in my life.

Was my period coming? Was this why I was so miserable?