The Dating Experiment (The Experiment, #2)(32)

I needed to go to the store and stock up on donuts and candy and ice cream if that was the case.

If it wasn’t…it was going to be a damn miserable week.

I pulled down the hem of my oversized t-shirt as I moved from my kitchen through to the living room. My laptop was open but asleep on the sofa, so as I sat down, I tapped the keyboard to wake it up.

It whirred to life as I looked up at the silent re-run of Friends that was playing on the TV. Ross kissed Rachel in the doorway of Central Perk, and I groaned, rolling my head to the side.

Was there any escape from the kissing? Would I ever be able to escape this hell?

God, what was wrong with me? Why didn’t I just confront Dom about this? God only knew I confronted him about just about everything else. This was no different to him losing his keys or putting the empty milk carton back in the fridge. It was an issue he’d caused that needed to be fixed.

But it wasn’t. It was only an issue because I was in love with him and, apparently, contrary to my years-long belief, he felt something for me, too.

It was like watching a baby pick up food for the first time and wondering what the hell you were supposed to do with it.

That was what it was.

I was baby, and Dom was a carrot, and I didn’t know what the hell to do.

I knew we had to talk about it. I wasn’t that stupid—I was shaken up. I was confused. I was spaced out, and more than anything I really needed to get my shit together.

At least I’d showered today. That was one step toward the adulting I clearly needed to do.

Which was why I swung my feet up onto the coffee table, put the laptop on my legs, and ignored all of that. I checked and responded to emails. I sent emails to clients who’d already been on dates and agreed with one of them that the original guy wasn’t quite right for her.

Adding her to my to-do list, I made a note to double-check her applications, because I was pretty sure that the guy I’d matched her with had been just about perfect.

Of course, that wasn’t the be all and end all of it. Someone could be perfect on paper but so, so wrong in real life.

Like me and Dom. On paper, the grand total of reasons for us to be together was a big fat zero. In reality?

Reality didn’t make sense. I’d never really understood why I felt the way I did about him—I just felt it. It was the same as liking tacos or pizza.

It just was.

Love. It made no sense.

I pulled my attention from the laptop to the TV once again. I didn’t know what it said about me that I had the ability to tell exactly what episode I was watching of Friends with only a few seconds of it being on, but I watched as—still on mute—Rachel cried by the window.

I felt her.

I so felt her.

I dropped my head onto the back cushions of the sofa and sighed. For a matchmaker, I had a freaking miserable love life.

The ding of my doorbell echoed through the silence of my house, and I pushed my laptop onto the cushion next to me to get up.

And stopped right before I opened the door.

I was only wearing a t-shirt. An oversized bed shirt that had a cartoon unicorn on the front…and no bra beneath it.

Thank God I had panties on.

The doorbell went again, and I winced. “Who is it?” I shouted.

“Dom.”

“Oh, shit,” I whispered.

Well, there was no way he was coming in. Not when I was dressed like this. I couldn’t care less about the unicorn shirt thing, but I wasn’t going to open the door to him when I wasn’t wearing a bra.

“I’m not here!”

“Chloe.” His voice was muffled. “I can see you through the glass. And hear you.”

“You can’t come in!”

“Why not?”

I looked around frantically, flapping my hands. “Because I—I’m naked!”

There was a short silence and then, “I’ve probably seen worse.”

“Ugh! I’m not really naked, but I’m not dressed for company.”

Another pause. “Are you wearing those unicorn pajamas? That stupid long shirt thing?”

“Oh my God, how see-through is my glass?” I snapped, turning the key and yanking open the door.

Dom stood there, hands gripping either side of my door frame. His gaze roved over my body, lingering for a hot second on my chest. “Not nearly as see-through as the unicorn is,” he said, almost appreciatively.

I covered my chest with my arms. “What are you doing here? And how did you know I was wearing this?”

“Chlo, that thing is about fifteen years old. I’m surprised it's still held together by its stitches.”

I wasn’t going to tell him I’d had my mom redo the hem twice in the last five years.

“Whatever. Why are you here?”

He quirked one dark eyebrow. Disbelief shone in his eyes. “You don’t know?”

“Look, if you’re here to be a dick, don’t bother. I’m not in the mood for it.”

“I’m not.” His tone was a lot more serious than a second ago. “I’m not here to be a dick, Chlo. I’m here to talk to you.”

I didn’t have to be Albert Einstein to know what this was about. Although, if I were, I wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place, would I?

I’d be too fucking smart for this shit.