Page 3 of The Boyfriend Experience

“The one with the water tower.”

“The old grocer building? Red brick, five stories tall. I live right behind that fucker. Can see that water tower from my patio. What’s that place called again?”

“Bronco Brews.”

“Right. How’d they ever get away with that name, anyway? You’d think the Broncos would be all up in their shit.”

“They were, but that place has been called Bronco Brews for almost seventy-five years. So they won. I know the owner. They hired our firm for that lawsuit about ten years ago, but then the old man died and his daughter took over. Oaklee Ryan is her name. And it just so happens she called me up last month looking for a game called…”

He waits for it.

“The Boyfriend Experience.”

He smiles. Which is cute. And good luck. Because this smile means he’s obviously never met Oaklee Ryan. “So what I’m hearing is…”

“You be her boyfriend, she’ll be your girlfriend, everybody’s happy.”

He’s nodding his head enthusiastically, but then he frowns. “Wait. Oaklee Ryan. Why does that name sound familiar?”

“No clue,” I lie.

He snaps his fingers. “Oh, yeah. I remember now. She started some protest a couple years ago trying to have all the old mansions declared historical buildings so they couldn’t be sold off to developers. She cost me a major deal—”

“But all that’s in the past,” I say, trying to smooth things over. “She’s not into that hippie shit anymore. In fact, she renovated her brewhouse last year and she got a crash course on property values since then. She’s not who she was.”

“Then why have you been holding onto this game for a month?”

He’s quick, I’ll give him that. Lawton Ayers didn’t become one of Denver’s most successful luxury real-estate agents because he’s slow. “I’ve been looking for the right guy. She’s picky. In fact, she might not like you, so I’ll have to run this by her first.”

He looks offended. Which is also cute. “What’s not to like about me? I’m fuckin’ perfect pretend boyfriend material.”

“That you are, Law. That you are. I’m sure she’ll love you. So you’re in? You can handle the boyfriend experience?”

“That’s like… what? Dinner and dates and shit like that?”

“Exactly,” I say.

“OK, but makes sure she knows what I need in return. I need polish. I need personality. I need a partner who will go in there on my arm and those people look at us and say, ‘Now that’s a Home TV couple!’ And that meeting is next week, so get this deal done today.”

With that he slaps the table, stands up, buttons his suit coat, and drops down a twenty. “Call me,” he says over his shoulder as he leaves. “Tonight.”

Oaklee Ryan isn’t so easy.

“Who?” she says, her face buried in her computer screen. We’re in her office on the top floor of the Bronco Brews building in Lower Downtown. I can see the mountains, the Pepsi Center, Union Station, and Coors Field as I pivot my head and look out her floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Lawton Ayers. He’s a real-estate agent. Not just any real-estate agent, either. He’s like… top fuckin’ notch, ya know? He’s the perfect pretend boyfriend for you.”

She pulls back from her computer, slides her glasses down her nose to peer over them. At me. Practically glaring. “Real estate?”

“He’s fine.”

“I don’t need fine. I need great.”

“He’s better than great, Oaklee. He’s rich as fuck. Sexy as fuck. Intelligent, fit—”

“How fit? Like huge biceps fit? Or lean fit?”

“Does it matter?”