Page 54 of The Boyfriend Experience

“Show-off.” She giggles.

“I played a lot of skeet ball when I was a kid. Lot of skeet ball.”

“Here?” Oaklee asks.

“Yeah, but other arcades too. I was a street kid. Homeless at fourteen.”

“What? But your mother did such a good job!”

“What?” I actually let out a guffaw at that remark.

“You have such great manners. I figured… I figured wrong, I guess. I seem to figure you wrong a lot. Which isn’t fair.”

“Why?”

“Because you have me nailed down, ya know?”

“Well, yeah,” I say, picking up another ball and tossing it. It bounces out of the center hole and goes in the gutter. “My mother didn’t teach me anything except I couldn’t count on her. I could count on myself. Can’t win ’em all, right? I mean… I had it pretty rough and then it got really great because Bric changed my mind about that. He taught me people do care. And you can count on them. And no matter how hard it was back then, I don’t ever forget to be grateful for what I have.”

Oaklee just stares at me. Nodding. Then she says, “I get it too. I used to have it pretty great, and then it got pretty rough. And the only thing that kept me going was the fact that things could always get worse so I’d better be thankful for what I had left.”

“Yeah, that sucks. Sorry,” I say. And not just because I want that word to fill the silence as she stares at me. “I really am sorry that you lost your dad. I’m sorry that Hanna Harlow is a dick and took advantage of you. And I’m on board, OK? I’m here to help you and that’s what I’m gonna do. We’re gonna get her, Oaks. I promise. We’re gonna get her back for making your life worse when things were already bad.”

She takes a ball and throws it, this time hitting her mark. We watch the ball disappear inside the center hole and then she says, “You don’t have to, ya know.”

“Don’t have to what?”

“Do this. Play this stupid game with me. I mean you have a lot going for you, Lawton, and I’m just fucking it up. I’ll still show up for that meeting. Don’t worry about that. I’ll still do my part.”

“Hey,” I say, sorta laughing, but sorta not. Because I’m not ready for this to be over yet. I like her too much to quit on her after only two days. “I’m in, babe. In it to win it, no doubts. So you say the word and we’ll get that bitch.”

She turns away, but I’m almost certain she’s smiling as she does it. So I peek around her shoulder and say, “What? Are you laughing at me?”

She shakes her head, but her smile is so big, I swear to God, she looks like a different person. A happy person. Probably more like the person she used to be than the one she is now. The girl who pranked the entire world with Rocky Mountain High beer for April Fool’s and went to jail for an entire weekend just to keep the joke going.

“Why are you smiling like that?” I ask.

And then she takes a deep breath, lets it out, and says, “OK, if you’re in, that’s cool. I want you to be in. And I’ve got a plan, and you’re gonna think it’s crazy, so I just want you to know you can back out and say no. I won’t get mad, and I won’t fuck up your deals and I won’t hate you or anything. That’s all. I just want you to know that.”

She says the entire thing in one breath and by the time she’s done, she’s sucking in air.

“Ahhh… should I be worried about this plan? You know, because you basically just scared the shit out of me with that little declaration.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, anyone who has to promise all those things in one breath just to make me understand that this crazy plan is entirely up to me and saying no is OK has something in mind I won’t want to hear. So spill it.”

“Well, that depends,” she says. “On how you feel about pain.”

“What?” I laugh loudly this time. “What are you talking about?”

She grabs my biceps, pulling me close to her like she’s about to divulge a secret. And then she looks up into my eyes—her caramel-colored ones looking up at me. Wide, and innocent, and very much like they’re ready to beg me if it comes to that. “Did you ever think about tattoos?”

For a second I don’t understand the connection to what we were talking about and what we’re now talking about. So I look down at her, dumbly, and say, “What?”

“Tattoos, Law. I was just thinking… you know, while you were standing over there with Larry, that you really do look like a biker today. Except he’s all tatted up and you’re not. And yeah, you’ve got the jacket, so no one knows you’re not. But Hanna knows you’re not, right? She saw you yesterday in that Johnny Cash t-shirt. So I think—”

“You think she’s not looking at me because… what? I’m just some wannabe weekend warrior?”