Chapter Eight – Chloe

 

Shit happens.

And in my life, men are usually the root cause of said shit.

Well. It’s either men or a questionable curry.

 

Warren: Hey, Chloe. Sorry, I can’t make it this weekend. An emergency came up at work and I’m still out of town. Raincheck?

Me: Of course. Don’t worry about it!

 

I sighed and set my phone down on the sofa next to me. Working from home had many positives, but also many drawbacks. Like the fact I could pick up my texts instantly because I was almost constantly distracted.

The TV? A distraction. The washing machine? A distraction. A cat walking across my fence outside?

Distraction.

And now I had no plans for the weekend except for to work. At least Dom would be out of the office on Saturday evening, so I could catch up on all the things I wasn’t doing while sitting at home, on my sofa, browsing social media and watching my Friends boxset from series one, episode one, to the final episode in series ten.

It didn’t matter how many times I watched this series. It never got old, and I almost always found something I’d missed before.

This time? It was my dating life.

Another sigh escaped my lips. Nobody ever really said how much it sucked to be the only single one in your group of friends. I couldn’t be happier for Mellie and Peyton to have found people they loved and who loved them—and who balanced out their crazy personalities—but that didn’t mean I wasn’t jealous.

They’d both found their person in the last four months. It was ridiculous to think I’d find mine, too.

Because it sure as hell wasn’t the person my heart wanted it to be. And, let’s face it, even if it were Dom, it’d be a daily disaster. Between my temper and his skill at losing things, it would be nothing but a hot ass mess.

I pushed my laptop off my legs onto the cushion next to me. The fan whirred to cool it, and the screen blanked off.

How long had I not been working for?

Ugh.

You know what? I was done with this pity party. I didn’t even have a ticket to a pity party for one night—I had a freaking season ticket to every party every weekend.

It wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t the only party-goer.

Still, I was done. It was time to make a change. And that started with a new haircut because all good things did.

 

***

 

So, as it turns out, I was a big fat chicken.

The new haircut I’d intended to get had ended up with a one-inch trim, meaning the only new thing about my hair was the ends.

I’d take it.

I did get my nails done, though, so there was that. And I felt better. Even with the knowledge that in approximately one hour, Dom would be on his second date with Rachael, and I’d be in the office working like a little loser.

I’d take it. I’d get a pizza on my way to the office and a giant sangria from the cocktail place on the corner of the street.

I pushed my freshly-trimmed bangs out of my eyes and made good on that plan. I grabbed all the things I needed to work for the next few hours, including my laptop, and sent for an Uber. Sangria wasn’t exactly the best friend of driving, plus it was Saturday, so if I wanted to get anywhere on time, Uber was the way to go.

Within ten minutes, a shiny, red car pulled up outside my house. Grabbing my things, I headed out, pausing only to lock my front door and tuck my key into my purse.

The Uber guy agreed to stop and wait at my favorite pizza place. The pizza place was, as always, quick to get their stone-baked pizzas out of the oven and into a box, so he wasn’t waiting long.

A plus since I’d had to agree to pay him while he waited.

I slid into the back of the car, pizza box in hand, and nodded when he asked if I wanted to go to my final destination now. He seemed relieved at my response and almost pulled out on another car as he joined the traffic.

If I was going to die because I stopped for pizza… well, there were worse reasons a girl could die. Carbs were up there with the good ones.

By the time we made it through the Saturday traffic, I was ready to chew my own arm off in hunger. I just about managed to resist, but not without a momentary flash of murderous tendencies thanks to the rude goodbye from the Uber driver.

It wasn’t even goodbye. It was a random grunt that said he wanted to be one of the people going to drink instead of ferrying them around.

Not that I was going out to drink in my yoga pants and sneakers. Nobody did that. Which, really, was a bit of a fucking shame.

The world would be a happier place if a girl could go dancing in her yoga pants.

Think about it; you’d never have to worry about accidentally flashing your panties at a club full of random strangers.

Also, what else would you wear yoga pants for? Everyone knew you didn’t actually do yoga in them. You simply wore them like real pants, helping them to fulfill their dreams of one day becoming accepted as real pants.

All right, so that was my dream, but did it matter? For all we knew, all yoga pants everywhere wanted was to be in the same clothing group as jeans.

I snorted to myself as I unlocked the door.

Right. Like yoga pants would ever be equal to jeans.

We all knew they would be far superior.

I put my pizza on a clear corner of my desk and dumped my purse on floor. I bent to pull my phone out of it and brought up my messages. Going to the thread I kept with the guy who owned the cocktail place on the corner, I hit “new message.”

 

Me: I found you three more dates.

 

His response came as quick as lightning.

 

Luca: On my way.

 

I laughed and kicked off my sneakers, shoving them underneath the desk. Wriggling my toes, the glitter that adorned my Harry Potter socks winked at me thanks to the light right above my desk.

I crossed my legs on my spinny chair, tucking my feet beneath my thighs. The rich scent of the pizza slammed into me right as the office door opened. I looked up just in time to see Luca swan in. His blue hair was unmissable as it swept across his forehead into green tips.

“I see you dyed your hair again,” I said by way of greeting.

“I got bored of the red,” he said nonchalantly. “I brought you a little something.” He waved a large Styrofoam cup.

“Sangria?” I grinned.

“Of course. That’s your working potion. But first…” He held his hand out, palm up, and waved his fingers in a “gimme” motion.

I held up one finger and opened the bottom drawer of my desk. A quick rifle through the files gave me the one I was after, and I grabbed the neon yellow paperclip to pull it out.

“Oooh!” He put down my drink to clap his hands together. “Tell me about them!”

“Off the top of my head…” I clicked my tongue. “The first guy, Robbie, works downtown at that new gay bar. I can’t remember the name—”

“Robbie’s.”

“All right, so he owns it. I knew he worked there. He’s been single for two years, has a pet cat called Rudi, and is looking for something serious.”

“Good.”

Another click of my tongue. “Number two… I’m not entirely sure about him, but I think it might work for you. He’s in his late thirties, so a little older than you usually go for, but he owns one of the most popular ghost tour companies in the city.”

“I can go for that.” Luca nodded. “What about the last guy?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, he’s the cherry on top of everything.”

Luca clasped a hand to his chest. “Tell me!”

“Okay.” I paused, watching my friend bounce on the spot. “Leo is thirty-two, been single for five years, lives close to downtown, and… Moonlights as Cleo four times a week.”

He gasped. He didn’t breathe out for the longest minute, and I was actually a little afraid he might choke.

“You found me a drag queen?” he finally wheezed. “Oh, honey. You are never paying for another drink ever again.”

See? This was a relationship I could get behind.

“Be still my heart,” Luca swooned. “Where did you find him?”

“He actually emailed me late last night after his best friend got proposed to on stage at the drag club. I think he’d had a little tequila, but I assured him I had the perfect person for him.”

He swayed a little. Actually swayed.

Lord help me if he fainted…

I wasn’t equipped to deal with fainting people.

“Screw the others. Email him. I’m gonna date the fuck out of him.”

I licked my lips as I tried to come up with a response to that.

Thankfully, his phone rang, saving me the need to carry on down that line that didn’t seem to have a light at the end of it.

Luca sighed. “I have to go. Bachelorette parties are out in force, and we found the first of the night.”

“First what? Street urinator? Nipple shower? Skirt-tucked-into-panties flasher?”

“Nope. The first should-have-eaten-before-drinking idiot.” He rolled his eyes so hard they were millimeters from popping out of his head. “Set me up a date with Leo and text me, okay?”

I picked up my sangria and held it up in agreement that I’d do just that. He left the door to swing shut on its own, and after a sip of the best sangria in the city, I pulled a slice of pizza out of the box.

The door clicked open.

“Was that Luca?” Peyton asked, staring at the cup on my desk.

I nodded, mouth full of pizza.

“And he didn’t bring me a drink?”

“D’int know ‘oo were ‘ere,” I said around my dinner.

“Man. I never would have understood that before Briony, but now… Got every word.” She shook her head in disbelief. “He only ever hand-delivers drinks for a date. What did you pull out of your bag of tricks this time?”

“I didn’t even have to pay for it. And the date is so good, I get free drinks forever,” I told her, resting my slice back in the box.

Peyton paused. “You didn’t.”

I nodded, a solemn look on my face. “I found him a drag queen.”

“Oh my God. That’s only taken, what? Two years?”

“Yep. But, I did it. I found him his dream…man? Woman?” I paused. “What’s the correct way to refer to them?”

She frowned. “I think it’s him when they’re, you know, themselves, and her when they’re…well, dressed up.”

Where was the real-life Chandler Bing when you needed them?

“Makes sense.” I nodded again. “Why are you here late?”

“Late appointments. I’m about to leave. Why are you here?”

“Warren canceled our second date. He’s stuck at work out of town.” I shrugged a shoulder. “And since Dom is on his second date with Rachael, I figured I could come in and get some stuff done since I’m useless at working from home.”

Peyt jerked her head in agreement. “It’s hard. But, hey. At least you have, what? Two? Three hours here before he’ll get back?”

“Enough time to eat and do what I gotta do.”

“You want me to stay and hang out with you for a while?”

“It’s okay. We’ll just end up streaming Friends on Netflix which would make my trip here counterproductive.” I grinned. “But, thanks.”

“Okay. In that case, I’m going home to run a hot bath and order pizza since I didn’t eat yet.” On that, she leaned over the desk and swiped a slice out of my box. “Thanks, love you, bye.” She shoved the slice in her mouth before she’d even opened the office door.

I glared at her back, but I couldn’t help smiling.

Hey—I felt like crap, but tonight, I’d made someone happy. And that was what my job was about.

Making people happy.

Even if I struggled to find happiness myself sometimes.

 

***

 

“Chloe!”

My name was a faint cry thanks to the headphones in my ears. I pulled one out and looked up, jumping when I saw it was Dom.

“Jesus, Dom. What are you doing here?” I asked, pressing my hand to my chest.

“I was going to ask you the same question. It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday night. Are you working?”

I nodded. “I had nothing else to do, so I thought I’d get some work done.”

He rubbed his hand across his forehead. “I have questions.”

“I have leftover pizza,” I offered.

“Leftover pizza? Can’t have that.” He pulled my client chair out so he could sit down and reached for the closed box.

“Don’t get too excited,” I said, pulling out the other earbud and pausing Shawn Mendes. “There are only two slices left.”

“Pizza is pizza,” he said, folding one slice in half and shoving it into his mouth like a savage. “Eye ‘oo ‘orkin’? ‘At abou’ date?”

I assumed that meant, “Why are you working? What about your date?” in the highly challenging language of English.

“Warren had to cancel yesterday. Got caught up with some work stuff out of town, so we took a raincheck.” I shrugged the same way I had when I’d told Peyton. “Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be on your date? Or are we living parallel lives where we both get canceled on?”

Dom laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, I’ve already been on it.”

I blinked at him for a minute. “You said it was nine.”

“We had dinner. Who eats dinner at nine at night?”

I waved my hand at him finishing my pizza.

“No. Not dinner. This is a snack.” He held up the folded slice as if to emphasize his point. “I already had dinner. A snack, Chloe. A very tasty snack.”

“All right, I get it. It’s a snack. But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“Do you want a play-by-play of the whole night?”

Couldn’t think of anything worse, if I was honest. “Not particularly. I just think you’re back early.”

“We got done with our first date about this time.”

I rolled my eyes. “First dates are a different story.” I finished the last of my sangria and threw the cup into the trashcan. “They’re supposed to be shorter. You’re getting to know each other. Second dates should just be… longer. I don’t know. Eat dinner and then go dancing—”

“I don’t dance,” Dom said firmly.

“Lies. I’ve seen you do the Macarena.”

“Only because I lost a bet to Peyton when I was fifteen. She deliberately requests that song at all our family get-togethers.”

It was true. I couldn’t remember the details of the bet, but I remember him being stupidly confident that he wouldn’t have to do the Macarena at every party ever, and that he’d be able to revel in smugness as he made his sister do it.

“Okay, but that’s still funny.” I fought a smile.

“I don’t dance by choice,” he corrected himself. “Is that good enough?”

“It’ll do. Still, you could have gone for a walk, grabbed a coffee, a cocktail to walk through the square with…”

Dom sighed and put down the last slice of pizza. “What are you getting at?”

“Nothing!”

“You fish any harder and you’re gonna reel in a goddamn shark,” he grumbled.

“I’m just saying that you’re home early from your date.” I held out my hands. “If something went wrong, you may as well tell me. You’re going to have to eventually.”

“It didn’t go wrong. It was just a short date.”

“No, a short date is coffee in a lunch hour.”

“You’re really starting to get on my nerves, Chloe.”

Good. He was getting on my nerves, too. It wasn’t like I hadn’t noticed how well that white shirt hugged his upper body, stretching over his biceps whenever he bent his arms.

For crying out loud, the material was going to rip if he kept doing it.

And I wasn’t even going to go there with the rolled sleeves. Nuh-uh. No way, Jose. Not a chance, rain dance.

Maybe it was the sangria, but I kinda wanted to lick the veins on his forearm.

Yep. It was the sangria.

I propped my chin up on my hands. “Am I? I couldn’t tell.”