Page 8 of The Boyfriend Experience

“An interview?” Which makes me laugh.

“Yes.” She waves a hand over at the kitchen where I now notice there’s a row of beer bottles lined up on the countertop. Sitting in front of each is a short glass. Like the kind they probably give you downstairs when you order one of those flight display sampler trays. “To see if you’re what I need.”

“What do you need?” I ask, waggling my eyebrows. “I mean you don’t need to get me drunk, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” She sighs, rubbing her forehead with her index finger and thumb. “This probably isn’t going to work. I mean, you’re handsome and all, but I need more than handsome. I’m sorry.”

“Wait,” I say, putting up a hand. “We had a deal. I need a girl—”

“I know all about your needs, Mr. Ayers. That’s the only reason I said yes. It was… intriguing. But I just don’t know if you’re up to this.”

I laugh. “Up to what? Treating you nice, bringing you flowers, opening the door and pulling out your chair? I can handle it, I assure you. And I can handle the beer too. What do you need? Should I taste each one and tell you which one I like best?”

I walk over to the beers, pick up the bottle opener, pop the first cap off, and pour it into the glass using proper beer-pouring technique. It’s a dark beer. Like fuckin’ mud. Not really what I go for. And now that I read the label I see it’s called Mountain Mud. Which should’ve been my first clue. But… fuck it. In for a penny, right?

I take a sip, the foam collecting on my upper lip, then swallow it down and think for a moment.

Oaklee has her arms crossed in front of her very nice breasts, her mouth not quite smirking, but definitely not smiling, either. “Well?” she says.

“Nutty,” I say, wiping the froth off my lip. “And thick. Maybe a hint of vanilla too. It’s a brown ale? Or a stout?”

“Brown,” she says. And maybe… just maybe, she smiles. “So you’re a craft beer guy?”

“Not really. But this is Colorado. There’s a craft brewhouse on every corner these days.”

“Yes.” She sighs. “Which is part of my problem.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You don’t need to. Yet.”

“OK, wait a minute. Let’s back up. Jordan told me you bought the Boyfriend Experience. What’s that got to do with beer?”

“Everything,” she says. “But I’m not going to waste my time explaining if you’re not the right man for the job.”

“What’s the job?”

“Boyfriend Experience,” she snaps.

“I feel like we’re talking in circles. So again, what’s that got to do with beer?”

“Just taste the next one.”

“Fuck it,” I mumble, popping the top off the next in line. This one’s called Anarchy Orange IPA and the label is the pink punk rocker on the artwork I noticed earlier. IPA is more my style, so I pour and take a long sip. “Hell, yeah. This is great. Citrus with a lot of hop. Dig it.”

Now that was a smile.

“See,” I say. “I’m the right guy.”

“Next.”

“You’re trying to get me drunk, aren’t you? So you can take advantage of me later. I’m on to you, Oaklee Ryan.” I shoot my finger at her and wink.

“Just taste. Your flirty jokes are wasted on me. I’m all business.”

“Whatever,” I mumble. I’m trying to be friendly and she’s just… not. Like I’m not good enough for her. Like she’s not interested in me at all.

She’s lucky I need her or I’d walk out.