Boyfriend Material(19)

I laughed, shocking even myself with how bitter it sounded. “You think that. And then they start saying things.”

“I’ll take the risk.”

“Really?” God. Dizzily, I found myself reaching for his coat again.

“Yes. But if we’re to do this, we have to do it properly.”

I blinked at him. Properly sounded ominous. I was not good at properly. “You should know I perform very badly in standardised tests.”

“I just need you to make an effort to be convincing. I don’t care about your past, or internet gossip, but”—and here that stern mouth pressed into a hard line—“I would rather not have to explain to my family that my boyfriend is only pretending.”

“Wait. Your family?”

“Yes, it’s my parents’ ruby wedding anniversary in June. I don’t want to go alone.”

“Is it,” I couldn’t help asking, “in Provence?”

“Milton Keynes.”

“And you seriously want to take me? To meet your folks?”

“Why not?”

I barked out another laugh. “How long have you got?”

“If you don’t want to do it, Luc, you can tell me.”

He was never going to call me Lucien again, was he? He was going to respect my wishes like some kind of arsehole. “No, no.” I hastily flung up my hands. “I’ll do it. I just think you’re making a terrible mistake.”

“That’s for me to decide.” He paused, a flush crawling over the sculpted arch of his cheekbones. “Obviously, maintaining the fiction will require a certain degree of physical contact between us. But please don’t kiss me again. Not on the mouth, anyway.”

“Why? Are you Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman?”

His blush deepened. “No. I simply prefer to reserve that intimacy for people I actually like.”

“Oh.” Sometimes, you can half believe you’ve been hurt so much you’ve basically been vaccinated. Rendered immune. And then someone says something like that to you. I forced my mouth into a grin. “Well, as you’ve seen, that’s not a problem for me.”

My only consolation was that Oliver didn’t look very happy either. “Apparently not.”

“But don’t worry. Despite recent evidence, I can keep my lips off you.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Silence sloshed heavily between us.

“So,” I asked, “what now?”

“Brunch at mine? This Sunday?”

Twice in a week? He’d be sick of me before we even made it to the Beetle Drive. And I’d either be sick of him or I wouldn’t. And “wouldn’t” was too scary to handle right now.

“If this is going to work”—he gazed at me solemnly—“we need to get to know each other, Luc.”

“You can call me Lucien,” I blurted out.

“I thought you said you didn’t—”

“It can be your special name for me. I mean”—suddenly, I could barely catch my breath—“your fake special name for me. That’s a thing, right? That couples do.”

“But I don’t want to have a fake special name for you that you genuinely don’t like.” There was that light again. Those secret flecks of silver in the cold steel of his eyes. “That would make me a terrible fake boyfriend.”

“It’s fine. I overreacted. I don’t care.”

“That’s hardly an endorsement.”

“I mean I don’t mind.” Was he going to make me beg? Who was I kidding? I was probably going to.

This was why relationships sucked: they made you need shit you’d been perfectly happy not needing. And then they took them away.

He gave me one of those too-searching, too-sincere looks. “Well, if that’s what you want.”

I nodded, quietly hating myself. “It’s what I want.”

“Then, I’ll see you on Sunday…” He smiled. Oliver Blackwood was smiling. At me. For me. Because of me. “…Lucien.”





Chapter 9


“So,” I said to Alex Twaddle, “a man walks into a bar. And he sits down and there’s the bowl of peanuts. And a voice comes from the bowl of peanuts, saying Hey, your hair looks great. And then this other voice comes from the cigarette machine on the other side of the bar, saying, No it doesn’t, you look like a prick, and so does your mum.”

Alex’s eyes widened. “Oh I say. That’s a bit much.”

“Yeah, keep that in mind because it’s sort of integral to the joke. Anyway, the man asks the barman what’s going on. And the barman says, don’t worry, the nuts are complimentary but the cigarette machine’s out of order.”

“Well, I suppose they wouldn’t have bothered to fix it because you’re not allowed to smoke in pubs anymore.”

I should have seen this coming. “You’re right, Alex. It’s the accuracy that makes it funnier.”

“I’ll keep that in mind too.” He smiled at me encouragingly. “What’s the rest of the joke?”

“That was the joke. The nuts are complimentary, but the cigarette machine is out of order.”