by JA Huss
“So that’s your type, huh? Biker?”
“Don’t judge me.”
“I’m not judging you. I’m just asking.”
“Why do you think I don’t date? It’s because no matter who I go out with, she finds out and steals him away.”
“She didn’t come on to me today.”
“No, of course not. But she will. And even if you think you like her, and it’s your job to seduce her—don’t fall for it. She just wants what I have. She doesn’t want you.”
“You realize that’s a little bit—”
“Paranoid?” I laugh. “Just wait.” I turn my back to him and cross my legs, swinging my foot in irritation. “I’m not paranoid. This has been going on since freshman year. I know her better than anyone. She’s fixated on me. On my success, or my luck, or my family, or whatever. She takes what I have, not because she wants it, but because she doesn’t want me to have it. It’s that simple.”
“So that’s your end game? Get her to fall for me. Then what?”
“The Capitol Hill Beer Fest is next Sunday. You can enter a beer for consideration up until the night before because the tasting is all done live in front of a crowd. So I’m going to enter Bucked Up and see what happens when the tasters all have to sample two of the very same beer. Because I already know she’s entered Buffed Up as well.”
He scratches his neck, like he’s thinking about this. “Is that the only entry you have?”
“No.” I sigh. “Assassin Sour Saison is my grand reserve special edition beer this year. That’s my main entry. But there’s no way she’s brewed a saison. She doesn’t have the talent to come up with a sour recipe, number one. And she’s her only brewmaster. Buffalo Brews is small. She has a very small bar up in Boulder and doesn’t employ an entire department for research and development like I do. Oh, and did I mention the name of her label? Buffalo Brews.” I huff again. “Do you see how she stole my name too?”
“No,” he says, getting off Sixth and heading north on I-25. “You’re called Bronco. She’s called Buffalo.”
“Yeah, but it’s similar.”
“Not really,” he says.
Which just pisses me off. How does she do that? Get people to trust her? Give her the benefit of the doubt? Play devil’s advocate?
“Well.” I laugh. “There’s no denying that Buffed Up is shamelessly copying Bucked Up. And do you know she tried to file a trademark for Buffed Up?”
“So?”
“So? It’s blatant brand confusion! She knows people won’t know the difference!”
He sighs. And it pisses me off because I’m right, goddammit! I’m not crazy!
“Anyway,” I say, brushing off my anger and irritation. “There’s no way she’s gonna enter a sour saison this year. Even if she knew I was brewing one, she can’t replicate it. It’s a long, long process. And I’ve had that recipe hidden in my apartment since I came up with it. I brewed it up myself. I’ve had those tanks and yeast under lock and key for the past three years as it aged. I have personally overseen the entire process—from yeast incubation to bottling. You’re the only one who has even seen the label. She didn’t steal that one.”
“Which is why I only did the blind taste test on three beers last night, not four.”
“Exactly. She doesn’t have it. And she doesn’t know I have it either.”
At least I tell myself that. I need to believe it. Because if Hanna Harlow got her hands on my sour saison recipe I might fucking kill her. Like for real blow her fucking brains out.
“Sometimes I think she knew about me, ya know?”
“No,” Law says. “What do ya mean?”
“Like… she went to CSU because I was going to CSU. She knew about me. Somehow. And planned all this.”
“Oaklee,” he says through a laugh. “That’s not paranoid, that’s crazy. How would she know about you?”
“I’m the heir to Bronco Brews!”
“Yeah, but so what? I mean, why the hell would she fixate on you?”
“I dunno. But it was all perfectly laid out. The roommate thing. And why would she be a microbiology major? She sucked at it. And I could always tell she was never really interested. She only passed microbial genetics because she cheated off me on the final.”
“Maybe she really did want to save the world from malaria?” he says.
“I’m not fucking crazy, OK?”
“Whatever,” he says, getting off the freeway at Speer and heading into LoDo. “You bought me for two weeks and I need you for the Home TV show thing. So I’ll do whatever you want. Even lure your archnemesis into a fake boyfriend experience if that’s what’s gonna make you happy. But it’s kind of a waste of seventy thousand dollars if you ask me.”
“Well, I didn’t ask you. And I’m not crazy. She’s obsessed with me.”
He just smiles and stays quiet. Which means he totally thinks I’m crazy.
“You know, this is why I never brought it up to the guys back there at the Opera House. They’d act the same way you are.”
“I’m not acting any way, OK? I’m just—”
“Playing devil’s advocate, I get it. But you don’t believe me, do you?”
He shrugs as he pulls into his parking garage. “I think this girl gets under your skin. I think you lost your dad a few years ago and you’re still recovering. She’s a good scapegoat. Maybe even a worthy adversary. And it’s possible that you’re just off your game right now and need an excuse. Something more than you’re just… sad. Ya know?”
He looks at me and turns off the car. We sit there in the dark silence of the underground parking garage just staring at each other.
“Fuck you,” I say.
“No, buck you, Oaklee.”
And I can’t help it. I laugh.
“You’re drunk. I’m gonna walk you home.” He gets out of the car, walks around to my side, and opens my door, leaning over me to unbuckle my seat belt. “Come on,” he says, extending his hand.
I take it and let him pull me out of the car, then hold his arm to steady myself as we walk down the alley towards my building.
“She’s—”
“Stop,” he says, cutting me off. “Just forget about her. You’ve got your stupid sour beer to show her who’s boss at that beer fest. Just let it go.”
“I’m not letting it go. And you’re not either. This is your job, Law. You’re going to seduce her and find out if she really did steal my Bucked Up recipe.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to do that?”
“Make her fall for you, of course. Then pump her for information.”
“You do realize that if she is the psycho you claim her to be, she’s gonna be on to me, right?”
“She’s got one goal. Be me. So she won’t be thinking about beer when she’s with you. You’re going to make sure of that. Tomorrow we’re going over to Shrike Bikes and turning you into my kind of guy.”
“Whatever.”
We walk into the Bronco Brews lobby, which is bustling with a gathering Friday-night crowd, and head straight to the elevators. “I can take it from here,” I say, flashing my keycard at the elevator since it’s locked up on the weekends.
“Shit,” Law says as the doors open, and urges me forward. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t walk you up to your door?”
“Looking for a kiss goodnight, Mr. Ayers?”
He just smirks at me as the doors close.
A few seconds later they open again straight into my apartment and we both exit.
“I don’t like this setup.”
“What setup?” I ask, throwing my purse onto the kitchen counter and walking over to the couch to fall into the cushions.
He follows, sits down on the other end of the couch, and picks my feet up, placing them in his lap as he slips my shoes off and begins to massage. “That elevator that leads straight into your apartment. You do realize that once you sell the condos there’s gonna be a shitload of strangers with access to it?”
/> “All the keycards will be coded.”
“Not during business hours.”
“God, that feels good.” His foot massage is no joke.
“You need one of those accordion gates.”
“I’ve looked into it,” I say, closing my eyes to enjoy the way his fingertips are pressing into the aching soles of my feet. “And I probably will before the condos go up for sale.”
“I know a guy who does them. I’ll give him a call for you.”
I open one bleary eye to smile at him. “Feeling protective all of a sudden?”
He shrugs, staring at me. “You’re young. Pretty. And rich, Oaklee. And while I think your obsession with Hanna is just that—an obsession—you are a target. You should take personal security more seriously. Especially since you live up here all alone. Doesn’t it freak you out?”
“Not until you put it like that.” I laugh.
“Seriously, how big is this place?”
“Four thousand square feet. Give or take.”
“Jesus,” he says, looking around.
“But it’s home,” I say. “My dad and I have lived here since I was born. I renovated it, of course. But all the original stuff is still here. I can’t leave. Even if I wanted to.”
He nods his head and begins massaging my calf. Which elicits a more sensual sensation than the foot.
I just look at him for a little bit. The way he’s concentrating on the massage. The shadow of stubble on his jaw. His broad shoulders and the way his muscles move in his upper arms as he works his magic on my tired leg.
I haven’t had a massage in ages.
Or sex. I have not had sex in months and that last hookup barely counts. It was quick and anticlimactic. Literally. At least for me.
Maybe I should take advantage of the perks that come with the boyfriend experience after all?
I know I’m buzzed. Possibly near drunk, like he insinuated. Those Gold Diggers were over eight percent alcohol content and I’m pretty sure I drank a twelve-pack. But Lawton Ayers is goddamned handsome. Even if he’s not quite my type.
“That feels good,” I whisper.
He smiles at me, making me notice, for the first time, that he has a little dimple in his chin when he does that. “Yeah. I’m well known for my foot and leg massages. Practically famous.”
Which gets me thinking. “So what’s your deal? I mean, besides you’re going through an early mid-life crisis and want to be a TV star?”
“Ah,” he says, laughing a little. “That’s a long story for another time.”
“I mean, you don’t have a girlfriend?”
“Nope,” he says, shaking his head as he looks back down at my leg.
“Why not?”
“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”
I shrug “I’m too busy, I guess. To put in that kind of effort.”
“Same,” he says, looking at me for a moment, unleashing the dimple once again.
“So you just what? Hook up with people?”
“Is that what you do?”
“Occasionally.”
“Same.”
“Are you going all mysterious on me, Mr. Ayers?”
“I see where this is headed and I don’t want it to get out of hand.”
“What do you mean?” I chuckle.
“You’re buzzed. You’re angry at that Hanna chick. And I’m your hired stud for two weeks. So you’re thinking… hey, why not fuck him?”
I tsk my tongue. But I don’t deny it. Because I am buzzed, angry, and horny. “So you’re gonna what? Deny me?”
“Are you asking?”
“Would you say no?”
“Probably not. I mean, you’re kinda hot.”
“Just kinda?” I say, winking.
“But I’d hate myself in the morning.”
“Why?” Now I’m scowling.
“Because you’re drunk, Oaklee. And it’s not right.”
“Ohhhh,” I say, getting it. “You’re one of those moral men who has trouble seeing the difference between opportunity and taking advantage.”
“Are you coming on to me?” he asks.
I nod.
“So beer makes you conveniently forget that this game isn’t about sex? That it’s not even about you?”
“Well… you’re touching me in a way that overrides all my sensibilities.”
“Which is the perfect reason why I should get up and go home right now and let you sleep it off.”
“So go,” I say.
He just laughs.
“Or you could be a good boyfriend and put me to bed.”
“Don’t start something you can’t finish. It’s not fair.”
“Fair?” I laugh loudly.
“Yeah. Because I’m a guy and you’re likable. Also crazy. But in a fun way so far. And you’re beautiful. Is that what you’re waiting to hear? That I find you attractive?”
“More or less attractive than Hanna Harlow?”
“Jesus.”
“Seriously.”
“Well, the two of you look a lot alike, actually.”
“I know! Right? She’s even copied my hair! Did you know when I met her she had a pixie cut? And now it’s long, and wavy, and wild just like mine!”
“I was joking, Oaks.”
The nickname makes me smile. “My dad used to call me that.”
“Sorry,” he says, redirecting his concentration to the massage. Which feels way better than it should. Like… my whole body is vibrating. Tingles are climbing up my leg headed straight for my pussy.
When they get there it begins to throb.
He’s right. I should stop this now.
But he called me Oaks. Like we’re old friends. And he’s here and there’s no awkwardness like there usually is with a first date—even though this wasn’t a date.
It sorta feels like a date.
God, Oaklee. Get your shit together.
So I try to concentrate on the conversation.
“No, I miss that nickname. And I do miss him, so you were right about that. Taking over the business was always my lot in life. But not this way, ya know?”
Now his smile is sad. And I don’t want to feel sad. Sad is something I’m very familiar with. So I pull my legs up, get on my knees and crawl over to him. Sit in his lap and straddle his legs.
So much for getting my shit together.
“What are you doing?” he asks, staring up into my eyes.
“I’m not that drunk,” I say, leaning in to kiss him.
He kisses back. No fight. No words. Just…
His tongue finds mine and they move together like we’re old friends. Like this isn’t our first kiss, even though it is. Like we’ve done this a thousand times before, even though we haven’t.
“I lied,” I say, whispering into his mouth.
“About what?” he whispers back.
“I bought the boyfriend experience for me.”
He smiles and I love the way it feels against my lips.
“And you’re perfect so far.”
“Am I?”
“Mmmhmmm. You open doors. And tell me to wear my seatbelt. And walk me home.”
“That’s just the standard service, ma’am.”
“Oh.” It’s my turn to smile against his lips now. “Well, I paid for the deluxe package. What’s that include?”
“You tell me. What’s your idea of the perfect boyfriend?”
I lean back, gripping the firm muscles of his shoulders, and think about this. He just gazes up at me with this stupid smile on his face.
Not stupid, like stupid. But stupid like cute.
Yes. Cute.
“Well,” I say, taking him in. “The perfect boyfriend is always on your side, ya know? Even when you’re being crazy.”
He chuckles under his breath. But his eyes never leave mine. He just stares at me. “What else?”
“And,” I say, biting my lip as I think, “he protects you.”
“Like he gets you a security door for your
elevator so no freaks can find their way up on accident.”
I giggle and nod my head. “Kinda like that, yes.”
“What else?”
“He remembers things.”
“What kind of things? Like birthdays, and anniversaries, and Valentine’s Day?”
“Pfft,” I say. “No. That’s the standard package.” Which makes him smile. Big enough to really flash that chin dimple at me. “In the deluxe boyfriend package he remembers things like… how she enjoys cooking for him so he brings home fresh ingredients once a week.”
He raises his eyebrows high on his forehead. “She enjoys cooking?”
I nod. “She does. And he enjoys eating it. Even if she does try some experimental dishes every once in a while. In fact, he searches for obscure recipes online and just brings the required groceries home every now and again to show his support.”
“Ahh,” he says, laughing. “Noted. What else?”
“He dresses up for Halloween.”
“Hmmm,” Law says. “Like matching costumes kinda dressing up?”
“Exactly,” I say, forcing myself to keep a straight face.
“O-kay… is that it?”
“Nuh-uh,” I say, shaking my head a little. “There’s more.”
He waits, but he must get my meaning when I don’t answer—and I’m grinning like a dumbass at the thoughts running wild in my head. Because he says, “Right. He knows all her sweet spots that want to be massaged.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “He does.” And then I lean into his ear, my lips brushing against the stubbled skin of his jaw, and whisper, “He can make her come in seconds if he wants. Or he can draw it out of her slowly over an entire night.”
“Which does she like better?” he whispers back.
“Depends on her mood. For instance, tonight… she’s wound up tight and just needs a release. The perfect deluxe boyfriend would know that and act appropriately.”
I lean back just as he opens his mouth to respond, and place my fingertips on his lips, saying, “Shhhhh.”
He stares at me for seven long seconds. His eyes searching mine. Darting back and forth like he’s waging some internal war with himself.
But then his hands find their way to the curve of my ass and I close my eyes and say, “You have great hands.”
