The Dating Experiment (The Experiment, #2)(38)

And I knew I was damn good, so that was saying something.

I rubbed my hand over my jaw, then grabbed my boxers. There was no use in me trying to wake her up—I’d done that once before, and I’d almost lost my left ball, so I wasn’t going to do that again anytime soon.

I finished getting dressed and headed downstairs. It was completely quiet, meaning the coffee machine seemed stupidly loud as it started up. As the hot liquid sputtered into my cup, I gripped the edge of the countertop and sighed heavily.

Of all the times for Chloe to fall asleep, it was when we needed to talk.

Then again—what the fuck did I plan to say to her anyway? There was no way that what I wanted to say to her would result in anything but an argument. That might have been our M.O., but I preferred to argue before sex rather than after it.

There was a serious lack of make-up options for post-sex arguing.

No. I wanted to tell her that she was fucking mine. That she had no business going on a date with Warren. That there were no two ways about it. I was in fucking love with her, and now that I knew there was a chance she didn’t completely and utterly hate me, I wasn’t going to let her go easily.

But, if I did, she’d laugh at me. She’d laugh and tell me to get the fuck out of here, because she belonged to nobody but herself, no matter what I thought.

No. If there was a chance for me and her, she had to be the one who raised the green flag. I could only push so far, but for the most part, I would wait.

God only knew I’d waited long enough for her. I could go a little longer.

I pulled my coffee mug from under the machine and finished making it. There was still no movement from upstairs, so I knew she was completely dead to the world.

Which left me with a big-ass problem.

I had a shit ton of work to do, and I didn’t have my laptop with me. If I left, there was every chance she would wake up and be pissed that I wasn’t there.

The last thing I wanted was for her to think I’d fucked her and then ran.

I might have done it in the past, but I’d never do it to her.

Damn it. I was fucked. And not in the way I had been thirty minutes ago.

I much preferred that one.

All right. I could leave her a note. “Gone to the office. Be right back.”

Fuck though, that was lame.

I could text her. But what if she didn’t see it? I didn’t know where her phone was, and knowing Chloe, she’d search the whole house and yell at thin air before she ever considered finding her phone.

I was sure her soul was made of fireworks just waiting to be ignited.

My phone was still in the pocket of my jeans, so I pulled it out and opened my text message chain with my sister.

Did I really want to get her involved in this?

I didn’t have a choice. I knew Chloe would tell her. There wasn’t a damn thing those two hadn’t told each other since the day they met—Mellie, too.

I closed that thread and opened the one with Elliott. He knew I was coming here this morning, and I also knew he wouldn’t tell Peyton unless she forcibly made him.

And considering she didn’t know I was here, that bought me a little time.



Me: I have a problem



As if he’d been waiting, his response came quickly.



Elliott: You fucked her, didn’t you?

Me: Yes.

Elliott: You know I’m going to have to delete this whole conversation, so I’m gonna need to know when we’re done talking.



And there was how he’d keep it from Peyton.



Me: She’s asleep. Fell asleep before we could talk. I need to work, but I can’t leave.

Elliott: Write a note?

Me: Would you leave Peyton a note?

Elliott: Not if I wanted to keep my balls. Point taken. Can you use her laptop?



Why the fuck didn’t I think of that?

I grabbed my coffee and walked into the living room. A quick glance around showed it open on the sofa cushion, and a look toward the TV made me groan.

Friends. How many fucking times could one person watch one show and not get sick of it?

I set my cup on the coffee table and woke up the laptop. A sign-in screen blinked at me, asking me for the password.

Fuck. Of course, it had a password. It was Chloe. She’d password her front door if she could.

God only knew she’d password mine. I couldn’t lose the keys then.



Elliott: Any luck?

Me: Needs a password. What would it be?

Elliott: Something obvious. Peyton’s are mostly either her middle name and date of birth or her favorite things.

Me: I’m hacking her email and marking all the spam as not spam.

Elliott: Definitely deleting this conversation.



He was smarter than I was.

I sighed and typed in her middle name followed by her date of birth.

Nope. Not that combination.

I tried a few more, including just her middle names, adding caps, adding symbols—nothing. I was on the verge of giving up when a little message asking me if I wanted a hint popped up.

Fucking yes. I did want a hint.

“Work Date.”

I frowned. What the hell did that mean? I’m sure it was a hint for her, but…

Work.

Stupid Cupid.

Was the business really her password?