Page 109 of The Boyfriend Experience

They don’t turn the bikes off. They just sit there, like an army of darkness in leather and chains, twisting their throttles to announce their arrival—as if they needed the announcement.

Ready for whatever happens next.

“Showtime,” Oaklee says, wiping her hands on her skirt. She takes one step away from me, then turns, kisses me on the lips, and whispers, “See you on the other side.”

CHAPTER FORTY - OAKLEE

I have to wipe my hands on my skirt twice as I make my way through the crowd to the stage where all my fellow brewmasters are gathered, waiting for the tasting to start.

I glance quickly around, gathering my courage, as I climb the stairs and approach Hanna.

She’s smiling with overflowing joy and happiness as she talks with one of the judges. Throwing her head back to laugh at what must be a joke.

I glance over at my peers, who look back at me with nearly blank expressions that aren’t easily decipherable. It could be fear, or hatred, or maybe just anxiety.

I guess I’ll figure out which soon enough, but there’s no time for that now. The host is already introducing today’s judges. All local celebrities—which makes this contest a little different than most—and a little more interesting too, because people come out to see them just as much as they do to drink beer in the park.

Hanna sees me coming and instantly her gregarious manner she was faking for the judges switches into something she reserves for me alone.

It took me a while to figure out what that was. But all week, ever since that meeting with the Home TV people where she admitted to being my nemesis, it’s been on my mind.

Last night I put my finger on it.

Hatred. Served with a smile.

It’s as simple and complicated as that.

She just hates me.

“Oaklee,” she says, her voice laced with fake sugar. Like… little yellow and pink packets of sugar-ish words come spilling out of her mouth automatically. “Well, don’t you look pretty wearing your usual outfit.”

“Yup,” I say, looking down at my short, fluttery skirt, my old Frye boots, and bedazzled t-shirt that says “I give no fox” in pink and yellow rhinestones right across my tits. “This is me. What you see is what you get.”

Hanna’s grin goes sideways, her eyes half closed as she meets my gaze and says, “Yes, that was always your problem. You’re transparent, Oaklee. You should try a poker face every once in a while.”

“You mean lie? Like you?”

She lifts one shoulder up, tilts her head towards it, smiling. A shrug that says, Guilty, but no one cares.

A cheer from the crowd makes both of us look at the stage. The local celebrities are all sitting down at the tasting table and the first beer is being served.

“I’m sorry it had to be this way,” Hanna says, looking back at me.

“Me too,” I say. “I’m sorry this is the day you finally lose and have to deal with what you’ve done.”

She laughs loudly. So loud several of the closer judges look over at us. “God, you’re adorable, Oaklee. Always putting up the good fight. Never having the sense to quit while you’re ahead.”

“Well, you’re wrong about that.”

She stares are me. “How so?”

“I do know how to quit when I’m ahead. And that’s why I’m selling Bronco Brews.”

Her eyebrows knit together. Fiercely. And for once I’m the one who wants to laugh at her. Because her confusion—even if it’s only for a few seconds—is perfect.

Watching her have doubts… well, that’s priceless to me after all these years.

“What do you mean?” she asks.