Page 82 of The Boyfriend Experience

Pearl Street, where I’m headed to meet up with Hanna, has its own culture. Just as Denver has the 16th Street Pedestrian Mall, Boulder has the Pearl Street Pedestrian Mall.

If you’re going to be a craft brewer in Boulder, opening a brewery on Pearl Street isn’t a bad idea. Hipsters and families alike flock to the four square blocks of downtown trendiness every day.

After fighting the evening traffic on the Boulder Freeway, I finally make my way into downtown, pay for parking, and walk the two blocks into the shops.

And while Oaklee kinda prepared me for who and what Hanna Harlow is—I am not prepared for what I see when I walk up to the entrance of her brewery.

It’s three stories tall, red brick, historical and… there’s a giant buffalo head painted on the front.

The balls on this woman are almost unbelievable. Not quite, because I’m seeing it with my own eyes, but she’s got stones most men would kill for.

I sigh, wanting very much to just turn around, go back to Oaklee’s place, and fuck her all night.

But I go inside anyway. Because it’s my job.

It’s a lot smaller than Bronco Brews. Just a very tiny reception area where people are crowded against the walls as they wait for a table or a seat at the bar to open up. And just one hostess, who looks a little overwhelmed staring down at the seating chart on the small podium.

“Excuse me,” I say, leaning over to make sure she can hear me over all the noise. “I’m here to see Hanna Harlow. I’m Lawton Ayers.”

The girl, who can’t be a day over nineteen, looks up at me with a frazzled expression as she tried to make sense of my words. Then it must all click together, because she smiles and yells, “She’s waiting for you upstairs. Just go on up.” I look around for the stairs, then the girl points. “Over there!”

I thank her, but she’s already looking down at her seating chart again. So I push past servers, and customers, and people waiting for a table, and pull the door to the stairs open, sighing with relief as the noise level falls when the door closes behind me.

Of course she’s upstairs. Because that’s where Oaklee would be.

This whole thing is creepy. Like, what is wrong with this woman? Why is she so obsessed with Oaklee? And why can’t anyone else see it but us?

When I get to the top of the third floor, the door is locked. But there’s a buzzer next to it, and when I push it, one of those industrial bells rings for several seconds on the other side.

The door opens before the bell even stops—and there she is.

Hanna Harlow looks so much like Oaklee in this moment, I take a step back. Her hair, her makeup, her clothes… all of it. Oaklee.

A chill runs up my spine.

“You came,” she says in a soft voice.

“You invited me,” I say back.

We stare at each other for a long moment, her eyes meeting mine. Then she steps aside and says, “Come in. Please.”

I take a deep breath, tug on my suit coat, and enter.

Her apartment isn’t on the top floor of a downtown Denver building and it’s got no views of the mountains, but everything else… God. It’s all the same.

How is that possible?

Same floor-to-ceiling windows. Same open-loft layout with the kitchen in the center. Same stairs, same catwalk surrounding the perimeter, and there’s even framed beer labels on the walls like Oaklee has.

I let out an incredulous laugh.

“Yes,” Hanna says. “It’s eerie, right?”

I just turn to look at her. Wondering how she can stand there, letting me see her for what she is, and still remain calm. Like this is all normal. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Hmmmpph,” she says, blowing air through her nose. “You know, I figured you were a smart guy. A millionaire by the age of thirty. A guy who came up from nothing, just like me, and made it. That says a lot about a person, ya know. So I made some assumptions. But maybe I gave you too much credit?”

It’s my turn to huff. “Well, I certainly didn’t give you enough.”