Page 63 of The Boyfriend Experience

Oaklee nods, and even though I’ve only known her two days, I can see those crazy wheels spinning in her head.

“Oaklee,” I say. “This isn’t an April Fool’s joke. This isn’t some prank. This is one hundred percent not happening.”

She nods her head, still quiet. Then finally, she says, “Agreed,” just as Vivi comes back in talking about how I should take care of the tattoo.

Which is fabulous.

It’s a group of five people. Teenagers I might’ve hung out with back in the day. Leather jackets, punk hair, tattoos tattooed on their bodies. All hanging out in a decaying urban setting. The building behind them has broken windows. The old brick crumbling. And on the side of the wall is a spray-painted anarchy symbol in red and blue. All done up in photorealism.

I have to admit, the artist might be insane, but her work defies any opinion I have of her moral compass.

It occurs to me though. The irony that what she just inked on my body is a testament to who I was. And I have to wonder, as I watch her wrap my arm with special tattoo wrap, then get up, listen to her instructions, and pay her a thousand dollars on my credit card, if I have any room to judge.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - OAKLEE

“I’ll walk you home,” Law says, once we get outside Shrike.

“Of course you will,” I say, smiling at him. “You’re a true gentleman, Law. And I’m sure you’ll walk me to my door again, won’t you?” I do one of those wink-wink things. To indicate I’m thinking about sex.

He gets it.

“I’m definitely walking you all the way up. I need to show you the progress Eduardo made on your security system today.”

“Is that the only reason?” I joke.

He just gives me a sly grin. But it’s enough. And it’s not that I really even want sex with him tonight. I mean, that would be a bonus, of course. I just want him to stick around. It’s been nice having someone to divert my attention away from all this Hanna bullshit. Even going up to Golden yesterday for the beer thing at the Opera House was funner with him there. And today… well. Wow. We packed a lot into today.

“I’m actually pretty tired,” he says, jolting me back to the conversation we’re having. “So I’ll probably just drop you off and we’ll figure out where we go next tomorrow.”

“Oh,” I say. “OK.”

“I have clients tomorrow,” he says, trying to explain. Because my reaction was clearly disappointment. “I have three houses to show and the inevitable paperwork that will come with those since the market is hot and all three of them are interested in putting in offers.”

“That’s fine,” I say. “I have a ton of things to do tomorrow too.”

Which is a lie. I don’t really do anything at the brewery. I mean, it’s not like I tend bar or wait tables or anything important like that. I have paperwork. There’s always that. But none of it is pressing. In fact, most of my days are spent doing busywork. Some beer testing. I do that almost every day just out of habit. I chat with customers at lunch or dinner. I work on new recipes, and new label designs, and new beer names, and new beer recipes. Which is all the fun stuff that comes with running a brewery. And yeah, that’s all critical stuff, but… I have no labels to design, or beers to name, or recipes to come up with because I employ fifty-two people for a reason. So they can do all that stuff for me.

So I spent a helluva lot of time thinking about Hanna Harlow. Way too much time thinking about that bitch.

Maybe I’m having an early mid-life crisis too?

It’s not like anyone ever asked me if I’d like to run a brewery. It was just assumed. By me, not just my dad. I never even considered another career.

Is that weird?

“Ya know,” I say as we cross the street and head towards the front door of the brewery, “I’m looking forward to this TV show interview thing. In fact, I think it would be fun to work with you on this project.”

“Yeah?” Law says.

“Yeah. I might be bored, Lawton. Meeting you might’ve highlighted some deficiencies in my life.”

“Social?” he asks. “Or professional?”

“Both.”

“You’re falling for me, aren’t you?”

I laugh as he opens the door to the brewery and holds it for me. “Maybe a little.”