The Hook-Up Experiment

by Emma Hart

  “No. I want to go into your confidential database and pick a guy you’ll sleep with three times, then fall in love with, so I get five hundred bucks off you.”

  “And this is why the Lord needs to give me strength,” Mimi said from the doorway. We both jerked around to look at her, only to see her light another cigarette and turn, slamming the glass-screened door behind her.

  Hell, she wasn’t the only one he needed to give strength to.

  Chapter Two – Peyton

  Whoever replies ‘K’ to a text message should be chased into the ocean by pigs.

  Me: I need a double-shot hurricane with that pasta.

  Mellie: Peyton. It’s midday.

  Me: I am in CRISIS OVER HERE

  Mellie: Chloe. Help.

  Mellie: Chloe.

  Mellie: Chloe.

  Mellie: Chloe.

  Mellie: Chloe!!! DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE WITH HER

  Me: I AM HAVING A BREAKDOWN AND YOU’RE WORRIED ABOUT YOU?

  Chloe: K

  K?

  K?

  Fucking K?

  Ugh. I wanted to stab something.

  I hated that response with a passion.

  I finished my coffee and set the mug on my desk. Running my fingers through my hair, I sniffed a few of the strands in the hope the sweet, coconut scent of my shampoo from this morning’s shower would calm me down.

  I’d hoped my conversation with my brother had been a dream. Unfortunately, the text I woke up to this morning proved that it wasn’t.

  He’d really challenged me to sleep with someone three times in two weeks and not fall in love.

  It was stupid. So, so stupid. Why had I even entertained the idea? What the hell was wrong with me?

  I didn’t need to do this. I was happy with my sex life. I had my friends, and it was all fine. Why did I feel the incorrigible need to prove him wrong?

  Aside from the five hundred bucks, it was because it was ingrained in me.

  I was competitive. I needed to be the best. I needed to be right. I had to win.

  I was a modern-day Monica Geller.

  Which was why I’d enlisted the help of the girls. Screw Chloe’s undying love for him, she knew I was right. And Mellie, well, she knew it, too.

  I was right.

  It was possible.

  One. Hundred. Percent.

  But why did I have to prove him wrong? Why couldn’t he be the one to prove you could fall in love with someone in three hook-ups?

  He was the one who needed to get laid, not me.

  The front door opened, and Mellie walked in with Jake on her heels.

  Great. Now the boyfriend was coming to girly chats.

  “Oh, good, you brought back-up.”

  Jake grinned at me. “A pleasure as always, Peyton.”

  I poked my tongue out at him.

  Mellie ignored our stupid exchange and threw herself down on my bright purple sofa, dropping her purse on the floor next to her feet. “All right. What’s the crisis?”

  I took a deep breath and let it out through my nose. I probably looked like an angry horse. “My brother—”

  “Oh, shit,” she muttered.

  “—is an asshole.”

  “Yes,” Mellie said slowly. “I became aware of that when he wedgie’d me in sixth grade as a dare.”

  I’d forgotten about that.

  “We had dinner at Mimi’s last night. He went on his usual shit trip about my job and how terrible I am and blah, blah, blah.”

  Jake’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Then, he decided to challenge me to prove that you can have sex with someone three times and not fall in love with them.” I paced up and down the rug. “I mean, how stupid is that? What a ridiculous thing to make me prove. Of course, you can have sex with someone three times and not fall in love.”

  “Know that, do you?” Jake asked me.

  I stopped and pointed my finger at him with a dark look before resuming my pointless pacing.

  At least I was getting Fitbit steps.

  Or I would have been if I was wearing it.

  Come to think of it, where was it?

  “This is bullshit.” Pace. Pace. Pace.

  “The fact I’m here and not having a nice lunch with my girlfriend? I agree,” Jake said, leaning back on the sofa.

  I hit him with another glare, and Mellie knocked her foot into his in a warning.

  She leaned forward and looked at me. “Peyt, you walked into the challenge. You know Dom’s the romantic of the two of you.”

  “That’s not the point. The point is that my brother challenged me to be the one to prove him wrong. Why can’t he do it himself?” Why was pacing so therapeutic? Or was that the ranting? “It’s his stupid argument, not mine. I already know you can screw a person three times and not fall in love. I don’t want to sleep with someone three times!”

  “Is once your limit?” Jake asked, grinning again.

  I’d had enough of him.

  I jabbed my finger through the air at Mellie. “Control your human.”

  Mellie touched Jake’s thigh and leaned into him. She lowered her voice and said, “Why don’t you grab lunch and take it back to the office? Chloe will be back in a couple minutes. No offense, but you being here isn’t helping.”

  No shit. All it was doing was winding me up even more.

  Thankfully, he replied with, “Okay. ‘Cause if I stay here any longer, I’m gonna climb onto the roof and take the outdoor elevator down to the sidewalk.”

  He leaned in to kiss her, and I mimed vomiting. He kissed her again before glancing at me and almost-waving on his way out. The sound of the door clicking behind him was music to my ears.

  Don’t get me wrong, I liked him, and he was perfect for Mellie, but we didn’t exactly get along all the time. Mostly when I was in this kind of mood.

  Then again, I didn’t get along with many people anyway.

  I finally slowed to a stop and looked at Mel. “What am I going to do?”

  “Tell Dom no,” she said simply, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to prove anything, Peyt.”

  “Tell him no?” Was she suggesting I lose? “Let him win? Hell no!”

  The door swung open, revealing Chloe balancing two paper bags and two drinks holders. “Sorry, sorry! The traffic was awful. Here’s your…double shot hurricane you asked for.”

  I almost snatched the cocktail from her and sipped. I gave her a grateful smile as she set down the bags and sat next to Mellie.

  “Dom filled me in,” Chloe said. “I told him he was fucking dumb. We all know you can screw someone three times and not fall in love. I told him to stop sharing your mom’s Netflix account and watching her stupid emotional movies.”

  “Thank you!” I flung my arm in the air in a self-righteous swing of triumph. “And he’ll pick the guy I get to screw based on who’s in my database? That’s bullshit!”

  Chloe grimaced.

  “It actually is.” Mellie briefly met my gaze before she turned to Chloe. “I mean, he’s the dater. He literally creates relationships. He’s not going to pick the guy she can screw, he’s going to pick the guy he thinks is most compatible with her.”

  “I know that,” Chloe replied. “He’ll probably pull someone from our database over just to screw with her.”

  “Noooooo!” I clutched hold of my drink and sunk down into the armchair next to them. I hadn’t thought of that. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

  “Why don’t we do it?” Chloe sat up. “I mean, think about it, Peyt. We’re on your side. We agree with you. We’ll pick a guy we know you’ll never fall for, and Dom can’t argue because we’re impartial. We’re not involved in this stupid bet.”

  Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. They’d pick someone I’d never fall in love with, or even consider falling in love with. They knew me better than anyone. This was totally doable with them on my side, right?

  “Yeah, well, you better make me win. I don’t want to lose five hundred
bucks to that idiot.” I sniffed.

  “You bet five hundred bucks?” Mellie could barely get the words out through her shock. “Why?”

  “Because! I need to be right, and if I win, he’ll go away.”

  Chloe and Mellie shared a look. “Sure,” Chloe said slowly. “Come on, Peyt. You don’t have to prove him wrong, and you get to win. Let us do it for you.”

  “You know we’re right,” Mellie added, now scarily cheery.

  Was I really going to do this?

  Oh my God, I was. Because proving my brother wrong may as well have been in my DNA at this point in my life, and it would undoubtedly still be the case in thirty years.

  I sighed and ran my hand over my face, then gave in. “You know what? Fine. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  ***

  “Okay!” Chloe sat down at my home desktop and opened up the website hosting site. She stretched her arms right out in front of her and cracked her knuckles. “How many submissions do you have in the “Unread” bit?”

  I shrugged, curling into my armchair with a slice of pizza on a paper plate. “I don’t know. Probably a hundred? The last couple matches have been easy to find.”

  “Okay. We’re gonna use one of those.”

  “But, I—”

  “Oh, good,” Mellie said, coming in with three wine glasses balanced in her hands. She passed me one. “You told her, Chlo.”

  “Told me what?” I took the glass from her and sat up, almost knocking my pizza onto the floor.

  They shared a look.

  “What?”

  “Uh…” Chloe slowly spun in my chair and looked at me. “You’re not allowed to know who it is. We can’t afford your endless vetoes just because you’re picky as fuck.”

  “I have a right to have a say in who gets to go inside my vagina.”

  “And when you’re on your date, you can happily refuse to have sex, and we’ll come back to the drawing board,” Mellie added unreasonably.

  All right. Fine. It was entirely reasonable, but I felt unreasonable.

  “You’re taking this hell and turning it into a blind date?” See? I was so unreasonable.

  Chloe grimaced. “Yes. Because you have to talk to the guy before you sleep with him, Peyt.”

  “I do?”

  “Most people do that.”

  “I’m not most people.”

  “No shit,” Mellie muttered, pulling my other armchair across the floor to the computer. “We promise we’ll find you a pretty dick.”

  I snorted. “Right, and my vagina will smell like a freshly bloomed rose garden halfway through my period. Just find me a decent penis, okay?”

  “That’s more realistic,” Chloe agreed, turning back to the computer.

  I stared at them as I ate my pizza. I couldn’t see the screen at all, and no lie, it was frustrating as hell. Mostly because I knew they were finding me someone to have sex with.

  Hell, even I sent my clients a shortened profile and a facial photo before I set up meetings.

  “What if they’re not attractive? I need to see a photo first. I already had to pretend to be on my period once to get out of a hook-up. I don’t wanna do it again.” I was fishing now, and I knew it.

  I could smell the desperation seeping out of my pores.

  Ugh.

  I hated not having control.

  I put my plate on the floor and swung around in the chair, resting my legs over one arm and leaning against the other. I let out a low, long groan, tilting my head right back and cradling the glass against my legs.

  “Oh, Jesus, here we go,” Mellie muttered. “I don’t know how you haven’t got yourself an Oscar yet.”

  “Neither of you have nominated me.”

  “Hair color,” Chloe demanded.

  “What?”

  “You can have a say. Think of it as guidelines. Also, I don’t want to be the one getting poisoned because you don’t like the date. So, give me a hair color before I change my mind.”

  Bingo.

  “Brunette. No shade preference.”

  “Wasn’t gonna ask.” She wrote it down. “Eyes?”

  “I don’t care. I don’t plan to look into ‘em.”

  “Age?”

  “Anywhere between twenty-five and thirty-two.”

  “Precise,” Mellie noted.

  I nodded in her direction. I knew what I liked. What could I say?

  Chloe sighed. “Height? Body type?”

  “Tall and fit. With just enough muscle so I can run my tongue down—”

  “Cock size?” she blurted out, stopping me in my tracks.

  I grinned. She was blushing furiously.

  Mellie rolled her eyes. “Oh, Chlo. Why are you even asking this? The answer is long, thick, and hard.”

  “Like a math exam.” I grinned even more.

  “A math exam?” Chloe asked, looking back at me over her shoulder.

  I sipped my wine. “C plus P equals O. Sometimes, O squared. Simple algebra.”

  “Do I want to know?”

  Mellie put a hand either side of Chloe’s head and turned her back to face the computer screen. “No.”

  “Never mind,” she muttered. “I got it.”

  “Is that all the information you need?” I asked.

  “It’s more than I ever needed. Now, shut up and let me find you a fuck buddy before you make my ears bleed.”

  Never let it be said that Peyton Austin didn’t listen.

  I listened. I just tended to ignore a lot, too.

  However, this time, my vagina’s happiness was on the line. I’d listen all day long if it meant my friends could get it right—and help me prove Dom wrong.

  Even if I was terrified.

  And I was. I’d never actually hooked up with anyone from my website before. It’d all been through personal meetings. All me. No middleman—or woman.

  What was I doing?

  I’d gone and lost my dang mind. Mimi always said that’d happen.

  I finished my wine and set the glass down on the floor.

  God, what if they screwed this up? I wouldn’t fall in love. Unless you were sweatpants or a brand-new donut place, I wouldn’t fall in love with you.

  It wasn’t in my DNA. Some people could, but I wasn’t one of them.

  I loved. Don’t get me wrong—I loved, and I loved passionately, but being in love was a whole other kettle of fish. One I didn’t boil.

  One I had no intention of boiling.

  I leaned my head right back and closed my eyes, humming along to a tuneless song. I was totally making it up as I went along, but it was getting me through the hell that was this evening.

  One day, I would be able to tell my brother to go screw himself, because these dares were stupid and immature.

  Honestly, I’d hoped by now that would have happened.

  “Done.”

  I jerked my head up. “What?”

  “Done.” Mellie grinned, leaning over the back of the chair to look at me. “We found him.”

  “You did? Oh, God.”

  “Don’t worry. He’s definitely not the kind of guy you could fall in love with.” Chloe clicked off the screen and folded a Post-It note in half. “I’m going to contact him tomorrow.”

  “Who is it?”

  “We’re not telling you. You know that.” She distorted her body on the chair and tucked the bright square into her pocket. “I promise he’s hot, has a suitable penis, and you’ll never fall in love with him.”

  I blinked at her.

  That sounded like the punchline to a joke.

  Oh, it was. The joke that was my life.

  “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” I groaned.

  Mellie grimaced. “Peyt, you should have known that the second you agreed to do this shit.”

  Well, yeah, I knew that, too.

  “We’ll call you when we have the date set up.” Chloe stood, picking up her phone. “And before you go searching, don’t bother, Sherlock. I deleted your brows
er history, cookies, and everything except your saved passwords.”

  “And we deleted his profile.” Mellie grinned, standing, too.

  “I hate you both.”

  Chloe stopped in my office door. “And you should really delete your card info from your saved stuff. If someone hacks you…”

  “They might put me out of my misery,” I muttered. “You promise I’ll win this stupid bet?”

  In unison, they both crossed their finger over their heart in an ‘x’ motion.

  Well.

  That was fucking reassuring, wasn’t it?

  Chapter Three – Peyton

  Not all best friends are created equal. Unless they’re mine. Then they’re both raging assholes.

  Chloe: Don’t forget. 7pm. Billie’s.

  Me: I’m half-dressed. I’m not going to forget.

  I threw my phone down on the bed and leaned back against my bedroom windowsill. I lied. I wasn’t even close to being half-dressed, but at least I’d showered.

  That was how I stood now. Wrapped in my robe with my hair twisted up in a towel, staring at my still-blotchy-skinned reflection in the mirror above my bed.

  I had no idea what to wear. Billie’s was my favorite restaurant, and no doubt they’d picked that so I’d be somewhat comfortable in this dumbass situation.

  But was there a dress code for this date? I’d worn both jeans and flats and dresses and heels to this restaurant.

  Maybe the happy medium was jeans and heels.

  Hmm.

  I pushed off the windowsill and walked over to my dresser. My jeans were tightly packed into the third drawer, and I pulled out every single pair.

  Aha.

  There they were.

  I pulled my favorite, light-blue pair from the pile and kicked the rest to the side, shutting the door. Flinging the pair onto the bed, I looked at the clothes on the floor.

  Nope. Couldn’t do it.

  I crouched down, opened the drawer, and carefully folded every pair of jeans back up. I put them away, pair by pair, until they were ideally situated in the drawer, then closed it and went to the small bookshelf that housed my favorite heels.

  Simple. If I did simple, I could go fancy on the shirt.