Page 47 of The Boyfriend Experience

“Yup,” I say, opening the first crate and taking out one boot.

“Oh, that’s pretty,” she says, leaning over my shoulder to pet the leather. “Try them on, I want to see you.”

So I slip my shoes off, slide the boots on and realize… “Shit. My pants are too straight.”

“Oh, I’ll go find you some jeans. One sec.”

She’s gone before I can stop her. Not that I could stop her. So I just put the other boot on, ignoring how stupid I look wearing them with straight-leg pants, and walk around, trying them out.

You know you’re wearing a pair of quality boots when they feel like they were made custom for your feet.

I try on the engineers next. Which have the same feel, but the not classic biker vibe the harness ones give off, so I pack them back up and decide on the first pair.

“Here,” Oaklee says, handing me a stack of jeans. “I didn’t know your size, so I guessed. Go try them on.”

I sigh, take the stack, and walk off to the dressing rooms.

“Looking hot isn’t torture, Lawton Ayers! It’s fun!” she calls after me.

“Whatever you want, Oaklee,” I mumble back.

There are three sizes in different styles, but all of them are faded and ripped. They’re a lot like the ones I chose for Oaklee today. Soft, the wash so light, they’re almost baby blue. And filled with strategically placed holes that don’t look manufactured. When I glance down at the price I get the feeling they aren’t manufactured. That each hole was carefully made by hand by some seamstress.

I pick my size, strip out of my own pants, then pull them on.

A black leather belt comes flying over the top of the dressing-room door, the buckles slapping against the wooden louvers. “Put that on too,” Oak calls from the other side. “And let me see you before you take it off, OK?”

“Sure,” I grumble. “Whatever you want, Oaklee.”

“Was that sarcasm?” I can sorta see her through the louvers. She’s got her eye pressed up against the door trying to get a peek.

“Go away, you weirdo. I’ll be out in a second.”

But she doesn’t go away. I can see her boot tapping on the carpet through the opening at the bottom of the door.

Fuck it. I change, pull my boots back on, and open the door to let her gawk at me.

She covers her mouth with her hand when I walk out, trying to hide her smile. Then she says, “Oh, wait,” as she comes towards me, slipping the jacket down my arms. “I actually love the look you have today, but take this off so I can see how it looks with just the t-shirt.”

She’s tugging on my denim button-down, so I take that off, smiling as I watch Oaklee study the muscles in my arms, and then slip the leather jacket back on over the white t-shirt.

“How’s that?” I say. “This the look you’re going for?”

She bites her lip, walks up to me, reaches up to thread her fingers through my hair, musses it all up, then steps back and smiles. “You’re perfect. No, you’re fuckin’ hot, Lawton. I love it.” She whirls in place, and that’s when I see Chuck, standing behind her. Waiting patiently. She says, “We’ll take this,” as she does an up-and-down motion with her pointer finger at my body.

“You got it, Oaklee,” Chuck says. And then he’s snapping price tags off the jeans and the jacket and walking away before I can stop him.

I’m about to remind her that she’s not paying for this stuff. Not any of it. But decide that’s a losing battle and when you want to get your way with Oaklee Ryan, you play her game. So I say, “Hey, aren’t you getting anything? You didn’t find a skirt you like over there?” I nod my head to the women’s section.

“Maybe,” she says, biting her lip again. I kinda love it when she does that.

“Go look again. You might as well. We’re here, ya know.”

“OK.” She smiles. “I won’t take long, I promise.”

“Hey, there’s fifty bikes in this place for me to try out. Take all the time you want.”

She darts off and disappears in the racks of clothing.