Page 23 of The Boyfriend Experience

When I notice the guy named Rosco is wearing some old-school Chucks I feel a little better. But just a little. Because everyone else is wearing chukkas or boat shoes, or old-school Adidas, and I’m left wishing for my Burberry house-check sneakers. Because even though Rosco and I are wearing the same thing on our feet—that’s where the similarities stop. Because he’s wearing Bermuda shorts with a button-down Hawaiian shirt.

These are not my people.

And it’s very obvious because every guy in here is side-eyeing me with suspicion.

The girls though… they’re all over me. And Oaklee. They crowd around her. In fact everyone crowds around her. She is definitely well regarded in this group because from the moment we walked in she commands the entire room with her presence alone.

Everyone has something to say to her. All of them have questions like, “Where have you been?” And, “Why didn’t you come to our barista jam last weekend?” And then, of course, “Who is this?”

Which refers to me.

But that’s when the door opens again—light forcing its way into the dark room, highlighting streams of dust in the sunbeam.

And now the chorus yells, “Hanna!”

And the whole thing starts all over again.

Oaklee seems to fade to the back of the room. Almost unconsciously. Like she’s a wolf and this Hanna chick is a baby goat she wants to kill and eat for dinner.

I look back and forth between them, trying to figure out the dynamic. And just as I’m about to decide they’re enemies, Hanna sees her and shouts, “Oaklee!” as she pushes her way through the crowd and hugs her hard. Almost spinning her around with her enthusiasm.

“Frenemies,” I mumble under my breath.

“Law!” Oaklee yells from her corner. Which has now been invaded by every female here because it’s obvious that Oaklee and Hanna are the ringleaders in this girl pack.

Except—girl packs never have two leaders. Even I know that.

“Where did you get this jacket?” the girl called Juniper exclaims, fingering the aged leather of Oaklee’s sleeve.

This brightens Oaklee up as I cautiously approach them. “This masterpiece of fashion belongs to my new boyfriend Lawton Ayers.” She hooks her arm in mine and pulls me close. “He wore it as a teenager and kept it for the memories. But it doesn’t fit him anymore—as you can tell.” She laughs heartily at that. “Because he’s built like a lumberjack now.”

I raise my eyebrows at her for that comparison. Lumberjack and Lawton Ayers have nothing in common. But it’s hipster speak for cool, right? So I go along. “I gave it to Oaklee because it’s a precious piece of my past and deserves a good home. I know she’ll love it as much as I used to.” It’s stupid, but it’s full of feelings and these chicks dig guys with feelings.

The girls all go, “Aww,” and take sips of their beer as they bat their eyelashes at me.

“So where did you two meet?” Hanna asks. Oddly, as suspicious of me as the men are.

And I realize—I have no idea what to say. Luckily Oaklee starts talking and diverts all the expectant looks from me to her.

“We were kayaking down Clear Creek—not together, mind you.” Oaklee laughs. “And I got stuck in a tangle of branches that must’ve gotten caught on some rocks after a thunderstorm.” She nuzzles her face into my chest and sighs. “He saved me.”

“Aww,” they all say again.

Except Hanna. She actually scowls. What is this chick’s deal?

“And since then we’ve been inseparable.”

“We’re probably in love,” I add. Because every face turns to me like I’m supposed to say something like that.

This time they don’t say, “Aww.” They just look at me. Confused.

“He means… we’re married to ourselves, of course. But we might shack up in the future.”

“Ahhhh!” They all laugh. “Of course.”

Of course? I’m so not cool anymore. Who the fuck marries themselves? Like… was that just an expression? Or do people really do that?

“So what do you do, Law?” Hanna asks.