Page 24 of The Boyfriend Experience

Ah. Finally. I’m on task. “Real estate,” I say. “High-end real estate. That means I only deal with millionaires. I only sell in the trendiest neighborhoods and everyone has pre-approval for a jumbo loan before I take their calls.”

Mansplaining and monetary self-righteousness in three succinct sentences. Exceptionally douchebag, if I do say so myself.

Everyone makes a face. Even that guy named Jack, who has sidled over next to his girl, Beatrix.

I just smile at him and say, “What’s your deal, Jack? You own a brewhouse like Oaklee here?”

Beatrix, ever the supportive girlfriend, rubs his arm as he glares at me and says, “I homebrew, bro. Run a monthly club for insiders only.”

“Ah,” I say, laughing. “I get it. Everyone has to start somewhere.”

“Yeah,” Hanna says. “We all bootstrapped our way up to this level. Not like Oaklee, who was born into it.”

I look at Oaklee, because that was a not-so-thinly veiled insult. Like she got her success handed to her.

But she just smiles and says, “Cheers to bootstrappers! Now where’s my beer so we can toast each other properly?”

Oh, good. Beer. I need one because the social and cultural expectations in this room are stressing me out.

“Beer! Beer! Beer!” the guys all start chanting. And then the one called Bear—who kinda looks like one if you ask me—is standing on the bar, clapping his hands until they all quiet down.

“We’re here today,” Bear yells, “to celebrate the best of Colorado brews. Congrats to this year’s winners. Jack and his Black Label Stout took first place in the Breckenridge Beer Festival. Congrats, Jack!”

Jack takes a bow and gloats at me. Like this just proves his worth and my comment was stupid, just like my designer Joe Jeans.

“Second place,” Bear continues, “goes to Ace and his Gold Digger IPA! Took first place in the Fort Collins Fat Tire Fest!”

Ace whoops for himself and does a fist pump.

And then Bear is yelling again. “And first place, for the third year in a row, goes to Hanna and her Buffalo Brews Buffed Up brew, which took first place in the Brews of Colorado last week!”

Everyone goes crazy for this. Whistling and shouting. Bear even jumps down from the bar to swing her around as he hugs her.

I glance over at Oaklee, who is clapping politely, but her smile is forced.

Yup. These two definitely have history.

But is it jealousy? Because Hanna is the star now, not Oaklee?

“And now for the beer!”

Four of the girls appear with flight trays of glasses filled with what I presume to be this year’s winning brews. Each are set up on the bar, one for everyone, and Oaklee grabs my arm and drags me down to the end of the bar where we take up two barstools and look at the tray of glasses in front of us while everyone else finds their own place at the bar, or the tables, and gets down to business.

“You OK?” I ask.

“Yup,” she says, jutting her chin to the beer glasses. “Try them. I can’t wait to see what you think.”

“OK,” I say, picking up the first one. It’s in a glass that says Black Label Stout, so I can only assume this is Jack’s. I sip it, make a face because it’s not what I like at all, then set it down. “It’s good, I guess. But I like your Mountain Mud better.”

Oaklee smiles, then picks up the next beer and hands it to me. “Try this one.”

It’s Ace’s Gold Digger IPA. Which I know I’m going to love before I even take a sip.

“Yup,” I say. “That’s good.”

“Yes, he deserves first place if you ask me. Now this one,” she says, handing me Hanna’s Buffed Up.

I take a sip and nod. “Yeah, I love it. Tastes like…” But then I stop. Take another sip. Then another, just to make sure. I look at her. She’s frowning. In fact, her eyes are very sad all of a sudden. And not because she didn’t win this stupid contest either.