Boyfriend Material(85)

“Of course,” he said softly, “I don’t know her as well as you. But she seems…resilient to say the least.”

“That’s not the point. She shouldn’t have to pay because I trust the wrong people.”

“One person. Who betrayed you. Which is on him.”

My head fell back gently against the door. “The thing is, I didn’t even see it coming. I thought I knew him. Better than anyone. And he still…”

“Again, that’s about him, and his choices. Not about you and yours.”

“Rationally, I know that. I just don’t know when it’s going to happen again.”

“And so you haven’t been with anyone since?”

“Basically.” I tried to pick at Oliver’s floor like I had my own, but the grouting was too clean. “It was liberating at first. It felt like the worst had already happened, so I thought I might as well do anything I wanted. Except, then, doing what I wanted became steering into people’s worst assumptions about me. And before I knew it, I’d lost my job, alienated most of my friends, and my health was trashed and my house was a tip.”

I felt another ripple through the door—it was weirdly comforting, like he was touching me. “I had no idea how difficult it’s been for you. I’m so sorry, Lucien.”

“Don’t be. Because then I met you.”

Leaving the bathroom still seemed like a terrifying prospect, but I was coming to the conclusion that waiting wouldn’t make it less terrifying. And while Oliver’s toilet was way nicer than, say, mine, I hadn’t quite sunk low enough that I’d be happy to live there for the rest of my life. I got shakily to my feet, opened the door, and walked straight into Oliver’s arms.

“Yeah,” I said a few minutes later, still clinging to him, “I should probably have done this the first time round.”

He gave me a wholesome cotton pyjama squeeze. “We can work on it.”

“Does this mean you’ll have me back?”

I was treated to one of his intense stares. “Do you want to come back? I’m only just beginning to understand how much this is asking of you.”

“No, Oliver. I came to your house at whatever it is in the morning and spilled my guts all over your bathroom floor because I’m so-so about this.”

“I find it oddly comforting that you’re feeling well enough to be sarcastic at me.”

I risked smiling at him, and he smiled slowly back.





Chapter 33


A few minutes later we were back in Oliver’s tiny kitchen, and he was Olivering at the stove because he’d apparently decided that what we really needed now was hot chocolate.

Sitting uselessly at the table, I faffed around with my phone and discovered it was well after five. “You are going to be wrecked at work tomorrow.”

“I’m not in court. So I have no intention of actually going in.”

“Can you do that?”

“Well, I’m technically self-employed—though the clerks tend not to see it that way—and I haven’t had a sick day in…ever.”

I flooped. “I’m sorry. Again.”

“Don’t be. Obviously I’d rather we hadn’t had a crisis, but I’ve come to terms with the idea that there’s something I care more about than my job.”

I had no idea how to reply to that. Part of me wanted to point out that he probably shouldn’t put boys ahead of his career, but since I was the boy, that would have been pretty self-defeating. “Yeah, I think I’ll be pulling a sickie too.”

“I don’t think it counts as pulling a sickie if you’re actually having a hard time.”

“What?” I watched the muscles in his back as he stirred his pan—and couldn’t tell if noticing that kind of thing again meant I was getting my shit together or my shit had never been together to begin with. “I should ring them up, and say ‘Sorry, I gave myself a nervous breakdown with a Guardian article’?”

He came over with a pair of mugs and set them down carefully on coasters. I folded my hands around mine, letting the warmth seep into my palms, as the rich scent of chocolate and cinnamon wafted over the table.

“You’ve been through a lot today,” he said. “There’s no need to diminish it.”

“Yeah, but if I don’t diminish things I have to face them at their normal size, and that’s horrible.”

“I think it’s usually better to face the world as it is. The more we try to hide from something, the more power we give it.”

“Don’t be wise at me, Oliver.” I gave him a look. “It’s unsexy.”

With the air of someone with a lot on his mind, he turned his hot chocolate a quarter circle, and then back again. “While we’re on the topic of—”

“Unsexy?”

“Trying to hide from things.”

“Oh.”

“You mentioned in the bathroom that our arrangement was no longer feeling quite as artificial as it hitherto had?”

“Are you trying to stop me freaking out by using words you know I’ll mock you for using?”

His eyes met mine across the table. “Did you mean it, Lucien?”

“Yes.” Was there anything fucking worse than being called on your own sincerity? “I meant it. Can we please go back to what’s important here, which is that you actually just said ‘hitherto’?”