Page 40 of The Boyfriend Experience

He. Is a freak. In bed.

Freak.

Uggggh. I flip the covers over my head and smile. Because it was fantastic. I feel like I never had sex before Lawton Ayers took me last night. Like every other time was just pretend compared to what he did to me. How he made me feel.

I sigh, then throw the covers off and swing my feet out of bed. I look around, straining to hear if he’s maybe in the bathroom or downstairs.

But it’s just silence. Well, the sound of the city down below, and the birds, of course. There’s like a bazillion sparrows and robins nesting on the roof up by the water tower. But I don’t think Law is still here.

Some girls might feel sad about that. A one-night stand usually comes with lots of regrets the next day. Either that or the inevitable, Will he call me again? Or won’t he?

I have none of those feelings. I only have… satisfaction.

Yes. I laugh, standing up to stretch. I only faintly remember him dressing me in this nightie last night before he fucked me one last time. And even though I look a mess when I glance over at the giant floor-to-ceiling framed mirror propped up on the wall near my closet, I feel beautiful.

I walk over to it and just stare at myself. At the peach-colored nightie with the white lace ruffle splitting the sheer fabric down the middle to reveal the lower cleavage of my breasts. The little matching panties. My long, bronze legs and my toned arms.

I picture him standing behind me. Maybe putting his arms around me as we stare back at ourselves through the mirror. Maybe he leans down and kisses me on the neck, his reflective eyes locked on mine.

We smile, I think.

Good God, Oaklee. Snap the fuck out of it. He’s pretend.

But I sigh again anyway. I don’t care. Last night was… wow.

I go downstairs, just to make sure he’s gone, and even from the top of the stairs I see that he left a note on the kitchen island.

My stupid, silly heart begins to beat fast and my feet skip down the long flight of stairs and cross to the center where I pick the note up and read.

Oaks,

I imagine you’re pretty hungover this morning.

Which makes me snort. Because while I do feel tired and my body is sore, none of that has anything to do with drinking beer yesterday. And for fuck’s sake, beer is my life. I drink it every single day in the tasting room. A twelve-pack isn’t enough to knock me down.

So I took the liberty of leaving you recovery instructions.

One—drink the bottle of coconut water immediately. It will hydrate you. It’s filled with potassium, which you need after the workout I gave you last night.

Two—take the two ibuprofen.

Three—I found your home gym. So I’ve taken the liberty of putting together a hangover workout. Don’t balk, either. This is proven to make you feel better after a hard night of drinking and sex.

I skim the workout, which consists of lots of sit-ups, a healthy dose of push-ups, and twenty minutes on the cycle, then go back to the letter.

Four—drink the second bottle of coconut water.

Five—take a long hot bath. There’s a bubble bomb waiting for you tub-side. Nice assortment to choose from, by the way. I chose strawberry shortcake because… well, you’re delicious and sweet.

Six—I couldn’t help myself. I picked you an outfit from your closet. I feel it’s only fair since you get to play dress-up with me.

Seven—Pick you up at one for shopping.

See you then,

The Boyfriend.

Oh. My. God. He’s kind of adorable. In fact, I’m thinking he’s way too good for that no-good Hanna bitch.