Page 76 of The Boyfriend Experience

He laughs. “Well, it’s not even up for discussion. If I’m here, you’re eating breakfast. It’s good for you.”

“But it’s not good for you?” I ask, shoving the fork into my mouth. “Mmmm,” I hum.

“Well, you’re not insisting I eat, are you?”

“Should I be?” I ask, my mouth still full. “I mean, would you listen?”

“Of course I’d listen. Listening is the least I can do for you.”

Adored?

That might be it. But it’s so ridiculous.

“You don’t have to eat it,” he says.

“No,” I say back quickly. “I want to.” Because I do. He made it specially for me. He wants me to eat it. So I want to eat. “It’s the least I can for you.”

He pushes forward on the island. Slowly coming towards me. I swallow my food and hold my breath for a moment. Then his lips touch mine and we kiss.

If I wasn’t sitting down I might faint. That’s not even an exaggeration.

When he pulls away, he licks his lips and says, “You taste good.”

What the fuck is happening? Am I falling in love with this man?

“So do you,” I whisper back.

Which makes him sigh. “I gotta go home and take a shower and get to work. Got a nine o’clock showing down in Greenwood Village.”

“Then what?” I ask. “What will you do then?” Because I have a sudden need to understand his day better. I want to know everything.

“Then…” He thinks for a moment. “Then I have a showing in Cherry Creek at noon and I round out the day with another one in Park Hill at three. In between there’s lots of paperwork and shit. Pretty boring stuff.”

I picture all this. Him taking people to these million-dollar houses. Talking to rich people. Probably couples, but maybe not. Then I realize something. “You know, if we get this TV show we can do that stuff together.”

He nods. “I think that would be good fuckin’ fun, Oaklee Ryan.”

We stare at each other for a long moment. “I think I’m very fuckin’ glad you’re my boyfriend this week.”

He laughs and backs off. Standing up straight. Shoves his hands in his pockets and just stands there, looking at me as I look at him. His hair is messy, that stray curl I noticed in the shower last night still hanging over his forehead. Like that’s where it lives when he’s not taming it back into a more professional style.

“Well,” he says, “I get to be your boyfriend next week too, so there’s that.”

“And then what?” I ask.

“Then we’re partners forever,” he says.

And I’m not quite sure if he’s just talking about professionally. Or if he means we’re going to like… really give this romance thing a go.

“So I’ll pick you up for dinner?” he says.

I nod. “I’ll be waiting.”

He walks around the island and sits down on the couch to pull his boots on. Then he grabs his t-shirt and pulls it over his head. Slips his arms into the leather jacket and stands there looking like a Greek god in need of a motorcycle.

“I’ll check in with you later, OK?”

I nod, because I’m actually speechless. Then catch myself, because I don’t want him to walk out without me saying anything. “Yeah. I’d love that.”