Page 18 of The Boyfriend Experience

I expect him to be smirking. Ya know, because he caught me looking. But he’s not. He’s just… unaware, I think. Unaware of the fact that the sight of his bare chest just made me breathless. Completely oblivious to my obvious ogling. Because he says, “So where are we going?” as he slips the Johnny Cash shirt over his head.

“A party,” I say. “And not the garden kind you probably go to over in the Country Club neighborhood. The beer kind. Which is why I need you to look a certain way.”

“Got it,” he says once the shirt is on. And then he toes the stupid Burberry sneakers off his feet and turns to the wall of shoes to hunt down his Chucks.

They are old, and torn—like the shirt—and the laces are already tied just the way he likes them so they slip on easily. He smiles after that and walks into the dressing room, where I’m still standing wearing his aged leather jacket, to look at himself in the mirror. Like this shirt and these shoes are old friends he’s happy to meet up with again.

“God, I feel so different.”

“You look different too.”

“Better?” he asks, reaching for a pair of sunglasses on a nearby counter and slipping them on.

I nod, unable to reconcile the two versions of this man. The preppy millionaire he was five minutes ago and the hot bad boy he just turned into before my eyes.

“So you don’t have a boyfriend? Why?”

“What?”

“Well, you hired me to be your boyfriend, so clearly you don’t have one. But you need one for this party?”

“Ye… sorta. I guess you could say that.”

“Trying to make a guy jealous?”

“No.” I shake my head.

“Liar,” he says. And now he is smirking. “You like the bad boys, admit it. And for whatever reason this bad boy you’ve got your eye on isn’t interested. So you need me to be his stand-in so he understands what he’s missing.”

“No,” I say, more forcefully this time. “That’s not it.”

“Whatever,” he says, walking out of the dressing room and then leaving me alone in the closet as he disappears into his apartment. “I’m gonna find out what you’re up to sooner rather than later, ya know. There’s no use lying to me.”

I follow him out, find him in the kitchen jingling his keys in his hand. “Ready?”

I nod yes as he opens his apartment door and waves me through. Always the gentleman, this guy.

We’re down in his underground garage heading towards his car when I realize I’m still wearing his jacket. “Oh, shit,” I say, stopping. “I’ve got your jacket on.”

“Keep it,” he says, clicking the alarm on his key fob. The lights of a black BMW blink twice as the alarm chips off and he opens the passenger door for me.

He definitely has nice manners. If I ever meet his mother I will be sure to compliment her on his upbringing.

I slide in and he closes the door gently as I find and secure my seatbelt. But my eyes never stop tracking him as he walks in front of the car to get in on his side.

How did this man get so hot in the span of ten minutes?

Is that all it takes for me? A stupid t-shirt and some sunglasses?

No, Oaklee. You saw his body, dumbass. You’re shallow as fuck.

“Now you really do have to tell me where we’re going.” He chuckles. “Otherwise we’ll never get there.”

“Golden,” I say. “There’s a bar up there having a beer-tasting party.”

“Oh, cool. So you’ve got a few beers in there?”

“Nope,” I say. “Not exactly.”