Page 26 of The Boyfriend Experience

While I was dealing with the business of his death and generally picking up all the pieces and putting them back together in a new way as I tried to figure out how to move forward—truly alone for the first time in my life—she was making friends with all the other craft brewmasters. And that year—the year my father died—was the first year in eight decades that Bronco Brews didn’t enter a single beer festival.

Well… we did. I know that now. It just wasn’t under our name. It was under hers.

She started stealing our recipes before my dad’s body was even cold.

She started with an old brew we had discontinued. So even though I knew that was our recipe, there was nothing I could do. There wasn’t even a way to prove it.

But this year she bucked up. Big time.

“I don’t get it,” Law says. We’re driving down the Sixth Avenue freeway towards downtown. I’m good and buzzed too. I drank way too many Gold Diggers this afternoon.

“What don’t you get?” I ask, getting a little dizzy as I look out the window and watch the scenery whiz by. He’s been quiet this whole time I’ve been telling him the story.

“Like her audacity, for one. How could she think that no one would notice?”

I huff out a laugh. “Did anyone notice today?”

“But why didn’t they notice? How could they not notice? I noticed, for fuck’s sake, and I’m not even in the business.”

“You noticed because you were drinking it last night.”

“But they’re professionals. It’s their job to notice.”

“Bucked Up was new thirty years ago. It’s the first big beer we ever made. It won all kinds of awards back then, but we don’t enter it in festival contests anymore. Why would we? We develop new brews every year. It’s already had its day.”

He just shakes his head. “Well, I don’t think she likes me. This whole plan of yours isn’t going to work. She didn’t even look at me this afternoon. In fact, she went out of her way to avoid me. I tried to mansplain my workout at the gym and she scoffed.”

“Yeah, because I was there. She saw you. You practically declared your love for me. I’m wearing your fucking jacket. It’s a junior-high love story as far as I’m concerned and she’s going to react appropriately. Believe me, you’re going to bump into her in a few days. She’ll appear out of nowhere and be all friendly and probably hands-y too. She didn’t just steal my notes, she stole at least three of my boyfriends back in college. And she totally copied my senior thesis.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like stole it, Law. She found out what my topic was and did hers on the same thing. Then she asked to present first in class so it looked like I stole it from her.”

“And people fell for that?”

“Well, she got an A and I got a B+. So I guess they did.”

“Maybe she just did better work?”

“The fuck?”

“I’m playing devil’s advocate, Oaklee. Don’t get mad at me. I’m on your side.”

“She’s going to make a move on you, just watch.”

But he’s shaking his head. “I don’t think so. I’m not her type.”

“You are her type. Her type is my type, OK? So you are her type.”

He looks at me and smiles. “I’m not your type either.”

I huff out a long breath of air because he’s right. I don’t date real-estate guys. I don’t really date, but when I do, I date… bad boys. “Tomorrow we’re going down to that Shrike Bikes showroom and dressing you up like a biker so when she finally does make her move, she’ll see what she’s missing out on.”

“So that’s your type, huh? Biker?”

“Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not judging you. I’m just asking.”