The Hook-Up Experiment

by Emma Hart

  “I agree with you.” I tapped her nose and noticed how her hair fell back in front of her eyes. “You need a haircut.”

  Another nod. “Daddy forgotted.” She pushed it out of the way again.

  “Do you have a hairclip?”

  “In dere.” She pointed at a jewelry box with Cinderella on.

  I opened it up and found a whole drawer full of hairclips. I pulled out two, then went to Briony and clipped her bangs out of her eyes. “There. Is that better?”

  She beamed up at me. “Bedder. Fank you, Peydon.”

  “You’re very welcome. I’ll make sure you get your hair cut.”

  She gasped. “Are you donna taked me?”

  Was I? Was that what I’d offered?

  Not in adult speak, but in toddler speak.

  Yep. I had.

  “Sure,” I said with a half-smile. “I’ll take you.”

  “Fank you!” She grabbed me into a tight little hug. Meaning she wrapped her arms so tightly around my neck that I could barely breathe.

  “Okay,” I wheezed, extracting myself from her. Man, she was surprisingly strong. “I’m gonna go find the mop. Can you pick up the trash and put it in the trashcan?”

  She swung her head side to side to look for the trash. “Okay. I can dood dat.”

  I got up and went downstairs. Elliott was hiding in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, and he looked guiltily up when he saw me.

  “I was just…taking a break,” he said.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Well, while you were taking a break, I got roped into taking your daughter for a haircut.”

  He stopped, the mug halfway to his mouth. “Why would you agree to that? You know she has to sit still, right? Have you ever tried to get a three-year-old to sit still?”

  “And that’s why she needs it cut, then,” I muttered.

  “How did you manage to agree to that?”

  “I didn’t. I said I’d make sure she got it cut, and apparently, in toddler-speak, that means “I’ll take you to get your hair cut.”” I shrugged and got some water from the fridge. “She asked if I was going to take her. I couldn’t say no, could I?”

  Elliott sipped from the mug. “You could have. You have no self-control.”

  I stared at him flatly. “You should be glad of that. If I had self-control, I never would have slept with you.”

  “Sex and haircuts for a toddler are totally different things.”

  “I absolutely hope they are, or I want to get off this planet.” I looked at him pointedly and sipped from my water. “I can take her. I don’t mind.”

  “There goes your fear of responsibility. Look at you, tackling it head-on.”

  “It’s taking your child to the hair salon or breaking her heart.”

  “Breaking her heart might be easier on your nerves. Seriously. Trying to get a three-year-old to sit still is akin to herding cats. You might even get the scratches.” He was deadly serious. “Mom usually cuts her hair, but I guess she didn’t notice.”

  I rolled my eyes and recapped my water. “You’re a drama queen. It’ll be fine. So what if she wriggles a lot? The stylists are used to it.”

  “You’re brave,” he muttered. “Very brave.”

  “I allowed my friends to set me up on a blind date. Of course, I’m brave.”

  “We’ll reevaluate that soon. After the haircut.” He winked and toasted me with his cup.

  “Peydon!” Briony shouted from upstairs. “I gedded the trash! I bringed it now!”

  Little stomps echoed as she came downstairs. She’d found an empty packet of goldfish, too, and she had everything clutched tight in her little hands. She walked to the trashcan and dumped everything in it.

  “Are you donna mop soon?” she asked me, staring up at me with her big, blue eyes.

  “Just having a drink and I’ll be right there,” I said.

  “Okay. Das good.” And off she went, back up the stairs again.

  Elliott was staring after her. “Did she just pick up trash without throwing a tantrum?”

  I held up my hands. “I said please and asked nicely. I can be reasonable, and it usually works.”

  “Huh. I sometimes ask nicely five times, and she can’t hear a word I say until I shout.”

  “Selective hearing. Women do that when men are talking crap.”

  He finished the coffee and put the mug on the side. “I have got to call my mother.”

  “Good luck with that. Where’s your mop?”

  “A mop? Why would I have a mop?”

  No. He didn’t have a mop?

  “To clean your floors that aren’t carpet,” I explained as if I was talking to an idiot.

  Actually, it felt an awful lot like I was.

  Who didn’t own a mop? Mimi had four. Hell, even Dom owned a mop. Not that he probably knew how to use it, but he had one.

  “Don’t have one,” he said nonchalantly. “Doesn’t a sponge do the same job?”

  I held up a finger. “I might like Cinderella, but I’m not scrubbing a floor on my knees. Go buy me a mop. I’ll wait.” I folded my arms.

  He grinned. “Calm down, firecracker. I have a mop in the utility.”

  “You’re a dick. A giant, huge, shit-talking dickdouche.”

  “It’s so nice when you show me you care,” he drawled. “It’s in the corner, behind the dryer. I don’t use the mop, clearly.”

  I stuck my middle finger up at him and went into the utility. There was a black pole in the corner, so I reached over and grabbed it.

  It was stuck.

  I leaned over the dryer. It was stuck in a bucket that moved, but the mop itself was solid and glued to the bottom of the bucket.

  I sighed. Thank god this was a front-loader.

  I climbed up on top of it and reached down to get the bucket. I narrowly avoided smacking myself in the head with the mop handle as I lifted it and jumped down. It didn’t smell great, so I held it at arm’s length as I carried it into the kitchen.

  Elliott was on his phone, and again looked up when I walked in. “What are you doing?”

  I handed him the bucket. “That needs to be cleaned out before I touch it.”

  “Why do I have to do it? You’re the neat freak.” His lips twitched.

  “Because this is literally disgusting, and since you have a child, you’re used to cleaning up disgusting messes. The worst thing I’ve ever cleaned is bird poop off my car.”

  He sighed, putting down his phone. He took the bucket from me and looked inside. The disgusted expression he made said it all.

  “Gross. This is why I don’t mop.” He put it in the sink and turned on the tap.

  “Well,” I said, standing next to him and nudging his elbow. “If you mopped, this wouldn’t happen.”

  He nudged me right back. “Don’t be a smartass.”

  “Can’t help it.” I nudged him again. “It’s in my DNA.”

  He nudged me harder.

  “What was that for?” I asked, knocking my elbow against his arm.

  “Stop nudging me.” Elliott did it again.

  “Stop nudging me,” I argued with another nudge.

  “You started it.” Nudge.

  “I don’t care. Finish it.” Nudge.

  He nudged me without speaking.

  I nudged him right back.

  Nudge.

  Nudge.

  Nudge.

  I pushed his arm and stepped away. “Ugh, stop it.”

  He walked toward me and grabbed my hands.

  I raised my eyebrows. “What are you doing?”

  “Stopping you from nudging me.”

  I brought my right foot up and kicked his butt.

  “You did not—you kicked me!” Elliott’s jaw dropped, but there was laughter in his eyes. “What the hell, Peyton?”

  “You stopped me from nudging you. What, did you think I’d just stand here and let you imprison me with those nice arms of yours?”

  “You like my arms?”

  “I sai
d they’re nice, but lots of things are nice. Avocado on toast? Nice. UGG boots? Nice. It’s nothing special.”

  He tugged me right into him, snatching me fully in his arms when my body hit his. I let out a little “oomph” as he circled me with his strong arms and held me in place.

  “Like them now?” He looked down at me.

  “They’re nice. What else do you want me to say?”

  “Peyton, nice is what guys say when they’re so fed up with shopping but want to get laid. Nice isn’t even close to a compliment. I tell Bri things are nice that I probably never even listened to.”

  “Harsh. She has a lot of things to say!”

  “Which is why they get tuned out after a while. That’s parenting for you, baby.”

  Eh, I got it. I tuned out Chloe and Mellie all the time, and what with Chloe’s schtick with my brother and Mellie’s clumsiness, that sometimes felt like parenting.

  “Okay, fine. Whatever. Let me go now.” I patted his chest. “Please.”

  He shook his head. “Not for a second.”

  “Why? This isn’t a particularly enjoyable hug. You’re standing on my foot.”

  Laughing, he moved his foot. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Yeah, well, my toes do,” I whined.

  “Sssh.” He leaned his face closer to mine. “I have a question.”

  “Oh no, not another. The last time I heard that from someone in your family was when your daughter asked me if we’re “fwends.””

  He leaned back, eyebrows raised. “She did that?”

  “Upstairs.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said we were friends.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She asked me if we’d be “fwends” for a long time.”

  His eyes flashed with something, and he tilted his head to the side. His fingers tickled across my arm before he said, “And what did you say?”

  “You’re terrible at nonchalance,” I said. “And I told her that I thought we might be friends for a long time, yes.”

  “And by friends, you mean…”

  I smacked his chest, and he let me go. “You know what I mean. Hell, I got talked into taking her to the hair salon—a trip I doubt you’re going to accompany me on—so I may as well.”

  “May as well?” He grinned. “Boy, that’s enthusiastic, Peyt.”

  “Daddy? Why is the warder on the floor?”

  We both jumped.

  Where the hell did she come from?

  We turned around and looked at the sink. Water was overflowing out of the mop bucket and over the edge of the counter onto the floor.

  “Damn it!” Elliott jumped into action. Right as he reached the bucket, the mop handle swung down and hit him on the head.

  Briony burst into tinkling laughter that made me laugh even harder.

  “You little—” Elliott cut himself off before he swore and grabbed the handle. He’d barely turned off the tap when he handed me the mop. “It got unstuck,” he said cheerily, grinning.

  I wrinkled up my face and took the mop. “Gross, Elliott. Gross.”

  “Ew, Daddy! It’s yucky!” Briony pinched her nose. “Ewww!”

  “Elliot! Take it away!”

  He sighed and put it back in the sink. He slowly tipped the bucket water into the sink, so he could wash out the mop.

  Five minutes, soap, and hot water later, the mop was clean, and the bucket had lost all yucky bits of residue. Briony had subsequently gotten bored of him trying to clean it, grabbed some chips, and gone into the front room to color.

  “There.” He handed me a full bucket of hot, soapy water, and the now-clean mop.

  “Thank you. Finally.” I took them.

  He pursed his lips, but the corners twitched with his smile. “Shut up.”

  I took the bucket and mop upstairs to Briony’s room and started cleaning. Halfway through, I felt hands on my hips, and I was pulled back into a hard body.

  I twisted my head and craned my neck up. “What are you doing?”

  “Friends, huh?” Elliott said quietly.

  “Friends. I didn’t want to have to explain to your daughter the birds and bees.”

  He nodded, releasing me. “Good choice. But…What are you going to tell Dom?”

  I stopped, sighing, and leaned on the mop. “I haven’t figured it out yet. I’m sure I will. After I’ve stopped by the bank for his five hundred dollars.”

  He snorted, glancing down quickly. “I’m kinda glad you were my blind date.”

  “I’m kinda glad you were mine.” I walked across the room, dragging the mop with me, and kissed him slowly. He wrapped one arm around my waist, and my heart beat a little faster when he sighed as we parted.

  “How do we do this?” he asked, looking into my eyes.

  “Same way we have been. I guess we’ll figure it out as we go.”

  “I guess we will.” He cupped the back of my neck and kissed me again.

  This one was deeper, and more real, and it made all the hairs on my arms stand on end.

  It was perfection.

  ***

  “This belongs to you.” I put five hundred dollars in fifties on Dom’s desk.

  He looked down from his computer at the stack of bills. “What?”

  I dropped into his client chair. “Five hundred bucks. You won, Dom.”

  He stared at me for a long second. “What? I don’t get it. You fell for him?”

  I sighed and ran my hands through my hair. “Yeah. Falling. Whatever. There are some very real feelings there, and we’ve decided that we’re going to try to make a relationship work. So, there you go. Your winnings, bro.” I put one finger on top of the fifties and slid it across the desk closer to him.

  “I don’t understand, Peyt. How did that happen?”

  “The first night worked, then the second time, Briony was sick. I stayed to help him clean up—”

  “Of course.”

  “—And after that, things kind of snowballed. The other day? When you came for the expenses? We’d just had a massive fight, where he left, and I chased him barefoot down the street.”

  “You chased him barefoot down the street?” Dom’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? You chased somebody?”

  I shrugged. “I wasn’t done talking, and he was leaving.”

  “Well, now that makes sense. You’d swim the Mississippi if you thought someone there was ignoring you.”

  True story.

  “Anyway, one thing led to another. That was the night I found out what happened in high school—which I’ll tell you later—and it made me acknowledge the feelings I’d been ignoring anyway.” I rested my head on my hands. “So, congrats. You win. I was not able to sleep with someone three times without falling in love with them.”

  “I could have told you that.” He snorted and picked up the money.

  “Is Chloe here yet?” I pushed the chair back to get up.

  “No, she’s avoiding me.”

  “Imagine that.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s all good. I’ll call her.” I tossed him a wave and walked through the hall to my office.

  I sat down at my computer and fired it up. My to-do list was ten miles long, but at least I’d gotten that covered.

  I turned to retrieve a file on a client from the cupboard behind me, and when I turned, there was five hundred dollars on my desk.

  I looked at the money and up to my brother. “What are you doing?”

  “I can’t take this money, Peyton.”

  “Sure, you can. You won.”

  “Not fairly.” Dom put his hands in the pockets of his navy chinos and looked at me. “We didn’t set clear boundaries. I agreed based on it being a complete stranger. You already had an emotional attachment to Elliott when this started. You were never going to be able to separate sex and emotion. So, ‘cause of that, it’s a tie.”

  “Are you messing with me?”

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t feel right. I’m not happy about beating yo
u here. Plus, you know. He gave me an ass-kicking over the way I spoke to Chloe, so.” He shrugged. “He’s a good guy, and I’m glad you finally got your closure.”

  My lips formed a slow smile. “See? Why can’t you be this nice to Chloe?”

  “She pisses me off.”

  “Because you have a crush on her. I know you do. I saw your face when she told you she used to have one on you.”

  Dom tried to argue, but all that came out was a frustrated breath. He threw himself down onto the chair. “She just—I just—shit.”

  “And there’s the admission I was waiting for.” I smirked. “Dom, either tell her how you feel or move on. There’s no use holding onto those feelings if you’re never going to act on them.”

  “I can’t tell her. She’ll bury me alive, Peyt. She hates me. No. I think the best thing to do is offer to set her up with someone as an apology for how I’ve been the last couple of months.”

  No. No. Don’t do that.

  “What exactly will that achieve?” I tucked the money into my purse.

  “She gets to date someone good enough for her, and I’ll see how happy she is, and I’ll be able to get rid of this little crush. In theory.” He stood and waved his arms lamely.

  “What if she sets you up with someone right back?”

  “Good. It’ll be good. She should do that. I’ll suggest that, too.”

  That went wrong.

  “What? Why do you look like I just killed your cat?”

  “I just think it’s messy,” I said a little too high-pitched. “Two matches? Plus, all your work now? Hooooey, Dom. That’s a lot of work.”

  “Peyt, you said it yourself. She’s too good for me.”

  “I say a lot of things when I’m angry. I don’t always mean them.”

  “Do you know something I don’t?”

  “No! No. I’m like Jon Snow. I know nothing. Nothing, I tell you.” I mimicked a cross being drawn over my heart with my finger.

  Dom stared at me for a moment. “I’ll think about that. But, I think it’s a good idea.”

  Instead of saying anything else, I simply nodded, smiled.

  And banged my head on the table the second he’d left.

  What. A. Mess.

  Epilogue – Elliott

  The best things in life were free.

  Except for pizza and beer.

  And lawyers. They were most definitely not free.