Boyfriend Material(46)

“How’d you meet?”

“How long do you think you’re going to last?”

“Have you done him in an alley yet?”

I was basically made of day-old spaghetti at this point, but Oliver got me through the crowd. It wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined. Mostly people fell back, and when they didn’t, a look at Oliver’s face seemed to make them reconsider. And, all the time, I sheltered in the circle of his arm, and nothing touched me but him.

Eventually, though, we got far enough and I calmed down enough that I became very aware of what a total arse I must have looked, clinging to Oliver and trembling like a kitten.

“Okay,” I said, making a bid to pull away, “we’re clear. You can let me go now.”

Oliver’s hold tightened. “They’re still following. Endure me a little longer.”

As ever, Oliver wasn’t the issue. The problem was me, and how good this could have felt if I’d let it. “We can’t do this forever. Just get me to the Tube and I’ll sort myself out from there.”

“You’re obviously shaken. We’re getting a taxi.”

Wait. What did he think was happening? “Hang on, what’s this we?”

“I’m taking you home. Now stop arguing with me in front of the press.”

“Fine,” I grumbled. “We can argue on the way.”

Oliver flagged down a passing cab which, of course, actually stopped for him instead of speeding past with an air of contempt. He bundled me into the back, and I reluctantly gave my address. Then off we went.

Knowing Oliver would probably disapprove if I didn’t, I resentfully fastened my seat belt. “Look, I appreciate the whole chivalry bit. But you are absolutely not coming into my flat.”

“Not even”—his eyebrow flicked up nastily—“if I appear unannounced on the doorstep after standing you up?”

“That was a very different situation.”

“Which doesn’t alter the fact that I’ve welcomed you into my home and you’re pushing me away from yours.”

“Well, I’m sorry. Let’s chalk this up to one more example of you being a fundamentally better person than me.”

“That wasn’t what I meant. Although”—his expression grew grave in the flicker of the city lights—“I found your behaviour tonight somewhat…surprising.”

“Because I was supposed to sit there and take it while you completely ignored me in order to chat up Alex Fucking Twaddle?”

Now he did the Lucien is being terrible temple-massaging thing. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I was trying to make a good impression because I understood that to be the purpose of the exercise.”

“Then you succeeded,” I retorted with more vehemence that perhaps made sense in context. “They clearly thought you were just ducky.”

“I’m confused. You’re angry because I did too well at reflecting positively on your taste in boyfriends?”

“Yes. I mean. No. I mean. Fuck you, Oliver.”

“I don’t see how that’s helpful.”

“It’s not meant to be helpful.” My voice bounced off the walls of the taxi. “I’m angry. I don’t understand why you’re not angry too. Because this was clearly a shit evening for both of us.”

“Actually, I thought your friends were rather charming, as long as you didn’t expect them to be anything they weren’t. What made it a shit evening for me was your eagerness to demonstrate how little you think of me.”

I…had not expected that. And, for a moment, I didn’t know what to say. “Um, what?”

“I’m very conscious that you wouldn’t be with me if you had any other choice. But this will not work if you can’t hide your contempt for me in public.”

Oh God. I was the worst human. “I tease you all the time.”

“It felt different tonight.”

I wanted to say that was on him. Except it wasn’t. I guess I hadn’t expected him to notice. Let alone care. Fuuuck. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“Thank you for the apology. But, right now, I’m not sure it’s helping.”

Yeah, that had been a bit lacklustre. “Look”—I addressed myself to the floor—“I really don’t believe any of the shit I said.”

“You acted as if you believed it.”

“Because I…I thought it was going to be different.”

“What was going to be different?”

“I thought it would be like when it’s just the two of us. But you wouldn’t look at me. You didn’t know how to touch me. And you were supposed to be bonding with me over what a posh twerp Alex is. Not bonding with him over how I didn’t go to Oxford.”

There was a long silence.

“Lucien,” said Oliver, in the soft, low voice that made me want to curl up inside him. Like, not in a serial-killer way. Like, in a blankety way. “I think I owe you an apology too. I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable or excluded, and I will admit I didn’t quite know how to act in front of your friends because, well, I’ve never had to pretend to be someone’s boyfriend before.” He paused. “Especially in front of a pair of… What did you call them? Posh twerps who think the National Minimum Wage is the Duchess of Marlborough’s prize racehorse.”