Page 91 of The Boyfriend Experience

My thumb is on her contact. Ready to press it and try to explain how I’m feeling… but I don’t know how I’m feeling. That’s the problem. And I really am too tired to get into it tonight.

Tomorrow, I decide. Tomorrow I’ll make a date with her at lunch and we’ll go over all this. I’ll tell her everything Hanna said and see how she reacts.

I take one last look at her apartment and then the lights go out.

I turn away from the window, flick my lights out too, and get in bed.

When I wake to my alarm in the morning it feels like I spent the entire night thinking and didn’t get a moment of sleep. But it’s not true. I did sleep because I just woke up. I just feel like I didn’t.

I go through the motions of getting ready for work, utterly dead inside. And it’s not just Oaklee and Hanna, either. It’s everything. I don’t want to go to work. I don’t want to sell real estate anymore. I’m not even sure I want this TV show. Something feels off there too. Like… that phone call yesterday. Changing the date. Kinda hanging up on me.

Something’s wrong.

But I don’t have any options right now. Not good ones. So I put on the suit, careful of the tattoo, because I removed the clear antibacterial barrier in the shower and now it’s touching the starched fabric of my shirt.

And even that is bugging me. Like… what the hell was I thinking? Getting a tattoo? Jesus Christ, I really am having a mid-life crisis at thirty. It’s pathetic.

My phone rings just as I’m gathering up my wallet, ready to leave for work. I check the incoming call and see ‘unknown number’ on the screen.

Afraid it might be Home TV, I tab accept and say, “Lawton Ayers,” with as much enthusiasm as I can manage. Which isn’t much.

“Lawton, it’s Hanna.”

Jesus. That’s all I need.

“Hey, Hanna,” I say, reaching for the front door with my one free hand. “I’m on my way out to work right now. Can I call you later?”

“I’m afraid this can’t wait.” Her tone is clipped. Almost angry.

So I pause in front of my door and say, “What’s up?” knowing in my gut that I’m not going to like what’s up one bit.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but I have a rather sophisticated security system in my home.”

“Nope. Didn’t know that.” I say it calmly, but I already know where this going.

“Well, I do. Or I did. Because as it turns out, my contract with the security company was cancelled last night.”

“Hmmm, that’s weird,” I say, rolling my eyes. Fucking Oaklee.

“Very strange, yes. Especially when I do a little digging—digging I probably should’ve done before I hired them—and do you know what I found?”

“Hanna, I don’t have time for guessing games. So just get to the point, please. I’m on my way to work.”

“That my company was really a shell for Shrike Security.”

“The mobster-slash-royal family of Colorado?”

“That’s the one.”

“OK?” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“And someone was in my apartment last night.”

“If you’re alluding to me being there, then yeah, that’s no mystery.”

“That is not who I’m alluding to, Lawton. As you well know. Because I have my own private security, aside from the one I contract with. So not all the cameras were turned off last night. And guess who was in my apartment while we were out for dinner?”

I don’t bother answering this time. It’s rhetorical anyway.