The Love Experiment by Ainslie Paton is a workplace romance with a plot that involves that 36 questions test which supposedly leads to love. I don’t know when the test was first created, but I do remember that it was everywhere a few years ago after The New York Times published the “test.” It’s an interesting concept for a romance, especially for a reader like me, who frequently takes online quizzes to see when I’ll get married completely based on what colors appeal to me. Or what animal will I be reincarnated into as decided by my ultimate breakfast feast.

However, the book was a lesson in yes! No! Yes! Oh, no. Every time there was something I enjoyed, it’d be followed up by something I didn’t, and there wasn’t enough of one yes or no element to really nudge out the other.

Both Derelie Honeywell and Jack Haley work at the same Chicago newspaper. Jack is known for hard-hitting journalism and breaking huge stories of scandal and corruption. Derelie is a newer and younger hire; there is about an eight year age difference between the two (Jack’s 36 to Derelie’s 28). Derelie writes for the digital component of the paper, a component that is becoming more and more successful than the print edition.

After announcing a series of cuts will be happening to the paper, many are worried about their jobs. Jack knows he’s too much of an asset to be let go. That doesn’t mean his section won’t be reduced in some way. Because of Jack’s reputation as a hardboiled reporter of sorts, Derelie, her editor, and the paper’s editor in chief think testing out the 36 questions test between Derelie and Jack will be a huge traffic boost for the paper.

At first, Jack refuses. It’s obviously beneath him. But the editor in chief refuses to publish his latest exposé on a city-wide scandal unless he goes along with it. Besides, his involvement in the 36 questions experiment will only increase exposure for his corruption piece and his corruption piece will increase traffic to the paper’s site. It’s a win/win.

Jack resists being picked for the experiment as much as he can. He doesn’t answer the questions presented by Derelie or refuses to set a time to meet up or insists he’s too busy with his current assignment. It’s an exhausting back and forth.

But of course, he acquiesces and over the course of the experiment, love happens.

Now on to my rollercoaster of yeses and nos.

Derelie was a sunny character. She grew up in a small, rural environment and worked at her hometown paper. It isn’t exactly her dream to write lifestyle articles for the paper’s digital arm, but she knows it’s a stepping stone for her career path. She also has Invisalign! As someone who had braces in their mid-to-late twenties (I got them off only a year ago), I loved this element of her character.

But her dialogue and thoughts were extremely repetitive and she was a bit of a doormat. She frequently referred to jerks as “bastards” and “dinkuses.” I’m still unsure what the latter truly means, by the way. Jack is a total dick to her about her role at the paper and for a good portion of the book, she kind of just lets him shit all over the work she does.

Jack isn’t Derelie’s first pick for the experiment, but her top choice is on vacation. When her superiors insist on Jack, she’s surprised because she had assumed he was gay. And she bases this assumption on the fact that she’s never seen him with any women or heard about him having relationships with women. But like…how the hell is that anyone’s business, especially in a workplace environment? And can we please stop using “being gay” as a punchline for someone who doesn’t have an obvious love life with the opposite sex?

Jack’s physical description reminds me a lot of Chris Pine and, as he is my favorite of the Hollywood Chrises, I was all over that. Stubble. Glasses. Blue eyes. But…he’s mostly an asshole. He publicly humiliates Derelie in front of the office after she asks a question he deems stupid. He belittles her work as “clickbait” and clearly believes his work is of more value than hers. Let me remind you that he is eight years older, from an affluent family, and has journalism in his blood. He has the upper hand on her in every way when it comes to having what he considers a “worthy” career.

Though he’s not all bad. He frequently calls out sexist language, namely the usage of the word “pussy” as an insult.

You would think that the “love experiment” should be interesting enough for the plot alone, but there are other elements thrown in and to me, it’s a bad sign when a secondary element is more appealing than the book’s main plot device.

Jack is part of an underground fighting club that takes place in an old church. The club is run by former priests who left the church. When someone needs to let loose some steam, they schedule a time to come fight. They then discuss their needs with the priests, who tell them what lessons they need to learn: bravery, generosity, humility, etc. Before each fight, the opponents reveal the lessons they’ve been prescribed and then proceed to help one another achieve those qualities. Ideally, through beating the shit out of one another.

I loved this element. Mainly, because I want more masochistic heroes in my romances, rather than Doms or overbearing alphas, and the process of fighting felt like an exercise in self-flagellation in a way. There’s even a scene where one of Jack’s opponents calls him the next day just to check up on him and how he’s healing. It was sweet and I honestly would have rather read a book that focuses on this underground fight club.

The heroine was wishy-washy, despite my ability to personally relate to some of her insecurities. The hero’s surprisingly feminist comments were a plus, but he was needlessly mean too frequently, and apologizing only does so much when a person continues to show the same behaviors. Oh, and a love test, while fun, couldn’t compete with my interest in the sweaty scenes of fight club penance held at an abandoned church.

The Love Experiment was a strange read for me that took a long time to finish. Whenever I hit some sort of reading stride, I’d be pulled up short by something that would rattle me out of it. The book wasn’t bad, but I don’t think I’d really call it good either. Mediocre with an added confused shrug.