Boyfriend Material (London Calling, #1)

by Alexis Hall

There should really be a word for the feeling you get when you do a thing you don’t particularly want to do to support somebody else but then realise they didn’t actually need you and nobody would have noticed if you’d stayed home in your pyjamas eating Nutella straight from the jar. Anyway.

Why, hello other shoe. I’d been wondering when you were going to drop. Eff my effing L.

“Someone else’s actions may affect you. But what other people choose to do is about them.” We were both quiet for a moment.. “Will it…will it ever stop hurting?” “Non.” Mum shook her head. “But it will stop mattering.”

But you can imagine how happy we were when we discovered it was about men who like to dress as women—why are you laughing?” “Because I love you. Very much.”

“I am making my special curry.” Okay, that settled it. “Fuck no.” “Luc, I think you are very rude about my special curry.” “Yes, because I prefer my arsehole not on fire.” Mum was pouting.

Sometimes I think Judy must love Mum. God knows why else you would brave her cooking. “Probably because you’ve spent the last twenty-five years systematically murdering her taste buds.”

Because I knew Mum was right: if I could get through today, they wouldn’t matter tomorrow.

“Couldn’t you,” I asked carefully, “have reset the password on the email?” “I could have, but by that stage I was a bit scared to see how far the rabbit hole went.” To be honest, this happens a lot.

I headed back to my office where my computer was finally up and running, and wheezing like an asthmatic T. rex.

she’s an ideal person to work for because her management style involves paying no attention to you unless you actually set something on fire. Which, to be fair, Alex has done twice.

Alex had the eyes of Bambi’s mother. Possibly after she’d been shot.

“Alex.” I sniffed and surreptitiously attempted to wipe my nose. “People haven’t said ‘worse things happen at sea’ since 1872.” “Yes, they have. I said it just now. Weren’t you listening?” “You’re right. Silly of me.”

Alex thought about this for a moment. “You’re right. That is terrible. I mean, we’re complete duffers.” “Oh, come on,” I growled. “At least be offended. Now you’re making me feel like a total dick.” “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

There are times when I almost wonder if Alex is secretly a genius and we are but pawns in his grand design.

Oh hello, rock bottom. Nice to see you again. Do you want to be my boyfriend?

“No, you see that’s the clever thing about it. I can pretend that you’re my boyfriend, and nobody will think it’s strange that I’ve never mentioned you before because I’m such an utter nincompoop that it could very easily have slipped my mind.” Terrifyingly, he was beginning to make sense.

This earned her an over-the-glasses look from James Royce-Royce. “Priya, my darling, we’re trying to be emotionally supportive.” “You’re trying to be emotionally supportive,” she said. “I’m trying to be useful.”

“I—” The toe of his shoe whomped me in the knee. “God. I’m sorry. I’ve done it again.” “I’ve got to say, you play one hell of a hard-core game of footsie.”

he took the spoon from my fingers, crushing me so utterly I couldn’t even enjoy the way a taste of lemon posset made his whole face go dreamy with bliss.

He was never going to call me Lucien again, was he? He was going to respect my wishes like some kind of arsehole.

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

“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.”

“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.

“Yes, but you’ll slowly discover that you’re not as different as you initially assumed, and then he’ll surprise you with how thoughtful he is, and then you’ll come to his rescue in an unexpected moment of need, and you’ll fall madly in love with each other and live happily ever after.”

some people are meant to be lonely. I’m lonely because I’m a wreck and nobody wants me. He’s lonely because he’s awful and nobody wants him.” “See. You do have something in common.”

Nothing you liked or connected with?” Well, there was no denying the man had excellent taste in fish sandwiches. And lemon posset. And there was that hidden softness in his eyes sometimes. And his rare smile. And the way he said Lucien, like it was just for me.

“I’ve got to go. One of our authors emailed to say he had his entire manuscript on a USB stick that was swallowed by a duck.”

“Mum,” I asked, “have you been kidnapped?” “No. Then I would be saying, Help, I have been kidnapped.” “But you couldn’t say that, because the kidnappers wouldn’t let you.” She made an exasperated noise. “Don’t be silly. The kidnappers would have to let me tell you I’d been kidnapped; otherwise what would be the point of kidnapping me in the first place?”

“What you should have asked is, Have you been replaced by a robot policeman from the future who wants to murder me?” I blinked. “Have you?” “No, but that is what I would say if I had been replaced by a robot policeman from the future who wants to murder you.”

“Pro tip: Apologise or make excuses. Don’t do both.” “You’re right.” Oliver leaned toward me a little, his breath whispering across my cheek. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“Are we really bad at this?” I asked. “We’ve been fake dating for three days and we’ve already fake broken up once.” “Yes, but we fake resolved our difficulties and fake got back together, and I’m hoping it’s made us fake stronger.”

“Well…” He gave me an uncertain smile. “You’re here now. And everything’s still in the fridge.” “It’s nearly six. That’s not brunch, it’s…brinner?” “Does it matter?” “Wow. You rebel, you.” “Oh yes, that’s me. Sticking two fingers up at society and its normative concept of mealtimes.” “So.” I tried to sound casual, but I was about to touch on something very serious indeed. “This…brunch…brinner…punk-rock rejection of the egg-based status quo… Will there be French toast?” Oliver flicked up a brow. “There could be. If you’re very good.” “I can be good. What sort of good did you have in mind?” “I wasn’t… I mean, um… I mean, that is… Maybe you can set the table?”

“Dammit, Oliver.” His name tasted bright and sharp on my tongue. Sugar and cinnamon. “You’re kind of sucking the fun out of the criminal justice system.”

Very deliberately, he picked up another blueberry and launched it at me. It pinged off my eyebrow. “What was that for?” I asked with what I hoped came across as feigned petulance. His mouth was curling into a smile as slow and warm as maple syrup. “You deserved it.”

“Really? Shit. You should have woken me sooner. I mean, not woken me. Reminded me.” “I’m sorry.” Tentatively he unstuck a strand of hair from where it had plastered itself over my brow. “But you’ve had a long day. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Will you,” I asked, “will you come with me? If I go.” “Of course.” “You know for…” “Verisimilitude,” he finished. He still hadn’t moved his hand. I didn’t ask him to.

“Once again, giraffes are very large but we seem to be ignoring that for the purposes of this exercise. So I’d expect two in the… Oh no, wait. Of course, you’d have to take the elephants out first, assuming it was the same Mini.” My universe was imploding.

I decided to let that go. “So you’re telling me that if I hang out with you, I’ll either get my picture in better-quality magazines or I’ll be abducted by international criminals.” “Which will also get you in the papers. So I think that’s what the kids today are calling a win-win.” For the sake of my sanity, I decided now was not the time to explain to Alex what slang was

There was something about the way Oliver was relating this to me in his best “I care deeply about the right to a fair trial even for petty criminals” voice that made me giggle before I was probably supposed to. “What are you laughing at?” “Your expense. I thought we’d established.” “But,” he protested, “I haven’t said anything funny yet.” “That’s what you think. Do go on.” “You’re making me self-conscious.” “I’m sorry. I’m just happy to hear from you.” “Oh.” A long silence.

“We’ve been over this. And even if that were a feature of the British judicial system, what would I have said? Objection, my client is an idiot?” “Okay then. Did you do that thing where you rub your temples and look really sad and disappointed?”

“Y’know, I was going to be sympathetic, right until you started referring to yourself as one.” He gave a little chuckle. “One is sorry.” “One fucking well better be. One isn’t the fucking queen.”

I was just making a detailed plan to slink home, drink heavily, and pass out under a pile of at least three duvets when Alex popped his head around the door. “Ready to go, old chap? Bit tricky to get a reservation at this notice but, you know, a fellow’s always willing to call in a marker for a fellow who needs it.” Oh yes. That. Fuck.

“I’m not sure,” said Oliver, “but I think you might be getting jury trials mixed up with badgers.” Alex snapped his fingers. “That’s them. He can’t stand the things. Little black-and-white furry bastards causing unnecessary delays in our already overstrained criminal justice system.” Oliver opened his mouth, then closed it again. At which point we were mercifully interrupted by James returning with another glass of whatever Alex’s usual was.

More air kisses, which Oliver fielded expertly. Because apparently everybody got to touch my boyfriend—I mean, my fake boyfriend—except me.

“And this,” Alex went on, “is my… I say, Miffy, are we engaged?” “I don’t recall. I feel like we probably should be. Let’s say we are for now and work out the details later.”

I really underestimated how much work this was going to involve.” “Yes, well, as the kids say: Suck it up, buttercup.

“I’m sure that’s all…lovely.” My mouth was so dry it was making my words click. “But with me, what you get is fine. And that’s all there is.”

“Would you believe me if I said I did it deliberately for your amusement?” “Nope.” I did not want him to hold me again. I did not want him to hold me again. I did not want him to hold me again. “That’s just how you talk.” “It may be, but you do appear to derive a unique enjoyment from it.” “Okay. That one was deliberate.” He offered me a slow smile—not the effortless one he used so freely in public, but something real and warm and almost reluctant, making his eyes shine from the inside like a lamp left in a window on a dark night.

This was the problem with good deeds: they escalated.

Besides, if Oliver was breaking it off, it said more about the situation than it did about me. And, honestly, we’d be both better off not having to navigate this whole weird pretending-to-be-going-out-with-each-other thing that I should never have agreed to do in the first place. This was for the best. Definitely for the best.

major over thinker