Page 20 of The Boyfriend Experience

“Mid-life crisis at thirty, huh?”

“There’s a part of me that thinks… I was never this guy, ya know? This ten-thousand-dollar suit guy. This thirty-thousand-dollar watch guy.”

She looks at my watch, which she didn’t balk at like she did my clothes, and gasps. “Are you serious about the watch?”

I shrug. “Every successful man needs to tell time, right? Why not do it in style?”

“So you are this guy then. The suit guy.”

“Can’t I have a nice watch and live up in the mountains?”

“You can do whatever you want, I guess.”

“How about you? You always see yourself as Oaklee Ryan, brewmaster?”

“I grew up in that building,” she says. “I knew how to brew beer long before I got my degree. Long before I was old enough to drink, that’s for sure. And I like certain parts of it. I like finding new yeast and discovering new flavors. I like thinking up new names and designing labels. That’s all pretty fun.”

“I looked you up online. You guys have won lots of awards.”

She huffs again, only this time it’s different. Cynicism, I think.

“But not since your father died,” I add. Because it was left unsaid and we’re both thinking it.

“That’s… not my fault.”

“What do ya mean?”

But she just draws in a long breath of air, lets it out slowly, and stays quiet.

“How come you don’t have a beer at this tasting? At this bar we’re going to?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Is this part of the game?”

“Why do you ask so many questions? I’ll let you know when you need to know, OK?”

“Fine with me,” I say. “We can talk about the meeting next week then. How about that?”

“Cool. Tell me everything.”

“So…” I begin. “You know how Home TV is built around personalities?”

“I guess,” she says. “I’m not really one of those girls who lives for renovation shows.”

“It’s not a renovation show. It’s a real-estate show, but only for the über-rich looking for mountain homes in Colorado. Like a second home in Vail or Aspen, get me?”

“I get you,” she says, the tension easing out of her body as she relaxes against the door, facing me again.

“So I’ve been negotiating this deal for like a year now and we’re finally in the final pitching stage. I haven’t met anyone yet so they’re flying to Colorado for the tour, right? I take them around, show them my idea, give them a taste of what I’m selling, convince them I’m a guy people want to see on TV and all that good shit. But Jordan—our sex-game mutual friend—mentioned that they like partnerships and I don’t have that. My business partner is antisocial. He’s refusing to do this with me even though he’d be perfect. So Jordan mentioned you as a prospect. We could be partners. And to be honest, you’re kinda perfect, Oaklee. Just the way you are. Like… this game with you is like luck smacking me in the face. You’ve got everything these people are looking for. You’re pretty,” I say, holding up a finger. “Smart.” Holding up another. “And successful.” Ticking off number three. “But not just successful. Lots of people are successful, ya know. You’re like creatively successful.”

“So I complete you.” She laughs. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yeah.” I laugh back. “Yeah. That’s what I’m saying. You complete me. Just the way you are. Like… I can’t think of a single thing I’d change about you going into that meeting. Just be you, man. We got this. We totally got this.”

“Do I have to be on TV with you?” She wrinkles her nose at this.

“Probably. I mean, this is a real business deal, Oaks.” I don’t know where that nickname just came from, but I like it. It takes her by surprise too, because I think she’s blushing. “You have so much… color to you. They’re gonna want you. Like they’re gonna see you and think, OK, she’s nice to look at. But then they’re gonna learn about you and think, We need this girl now. Because you’re just… interesting.”