Boyfriend Material(50)

I definitely wasn’t watching Oliver as he arranged his garments to his satisfaction and hung them up in my otherwise completely empty wardrobe. Fuck it, who was I trying to fool. I was watching because he was gorgeous and I totally wanted to do him and I’d totally wanted to do him even before I knew the V-cut wasn’t a joke.

This was bad. This was very, very bad.

What felt like hours later, I was lying in the dark next to Oliver, not touching him, and trying not to think about touching him. Which meant, instead, I was thinking about everything else. Like how much he was doing for me, when he didn’t have to, and how badly I kept treating him in return. And how scary this could all get if I let it.

“Oliver,” I said.

“Yes, Lucien?”

“I really am sorry. For tonight.”

“It’s fine. Go to sleep.”

More time passed.

“Oliver,” I said.

“Yes, Lucien?” Slightly less patiently.

“I just…don’t understand why you care. What I think.”

The bed shifted as he rolled over, and I was suddenly very conscious how close we were. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, because you’re this…incredible lawyer-slash-swimwear-model guy—”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, metaphorically. I mean, not the lawyer bit. That is your actual job. Fuck. Look, I’m just saying, you’re conventionally successful and conventionally attractive. And you’re a good person. And I’m…not.”

“You’re not a bad person, partly because there are no bad people and partly—”

“Wait. What about, like, murderers?”

“The vast majority of murderers murder one person and either regret it for the rest of their lives or have a reason for doing it that you would probably sympathise with. The first thing you learn as a criminal barrister is bad things are not the exclusive province of bad people.”

I guess it was some kind of masochistic penance for having called him cheesy earlier, but I heard myself telling him, “You’re hot when you’re being idealistic.”

“I’m hot all the time, Lucien. As you’ve just observed, I look like a swimwear model.”

Fuck. No. Help. Now he was making me laugh.

“Speaking of which,” he went on, “you surely can’t doubt your own…” He wriggled nervously and I wished I could see the expression on his face, because lost-for-words Oliver was one of my favourite Olivers. “Appeal?”

“You’d be amazed what I can doubt.” This right here was why you had sex. So you were too tired to randomly tell people personal shit at three in the morning. “Besides, when all you see of yourself is what the tabloids show you, it’s hard to believe in anything else.”

I felt the faintest stirring of air close to my face, as if he’d reached out to me but thought better of it. “You’re beautiful, Lucien. I’ve always thought so. Like an early self-portrait of Robert Mapplethorpe. Um”—I practically heard him blush—“not the one with the bullwhip in his anus, obviously.”

I wasn’t sure, but I thought Oliver Blackwood had just called me beautiful. I had to be gracious and calm and mature. “Pro tip: When you’re complimenting someone, avoid the word ‘anus.’”

He chuckled. “Duly noted. Now, seriously, go to sleep. We both have work in the morning.”

“You’ve met Alex. Consciousness is barely a requirement in my office.”

“Is there some reason you’re intent on keeping me awake?”

“N-no… I don’t know.” He was right. I was being weird. Why was I being weird? “Do you really think I’m beautiful?”

“At this very moment, I think you’re annoying. But, in general, yes.”

“I haven’t even said thank you for getting me away from those reporters.”

He sighed, his breath warm under the duvet we shared. “I’ll take your silence as gratitude.”

“Sorry… I…um…sorry.”

I turned onto my side. Then onto my other side. Then onto my back. Before flipping to the side I’d tried to begin with.

“Lucien.” Oliver’s voice rumbled through the dark. “Come here.”

“What? Why? Come where?”

“Never mind. I’m here.” Then Oliver folded himself around me, all strong arms and smooth skin and the thud of his heart against my back. “You’re okay.”

I lay still, my body not sure whether it wanted to run screaming for the door or just sort of…melt everywhere. “Um, what’s going on?”

“You’re going to sleep.”

There was no way that was happening. This was too much. It was far too much.

Except, as it turned out, he was right, and it wasn’t, and I was.





Chapter 20


“So,” I said to Alex the next morning, “I’m really sorry that I was such a dick last night.”

He gazed at me expectantly. “And?”

“Well, um, I should have been nicer to you.”

“And?”

“And…” Wow, he was seriously committed to holding this over me. “…I’m a bad friend and a terrible coworker?”