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guess you can order for me. If you really want to.” For about 0.2 seconds, he looked perilously close to happy. “I can?”
you’ve got no reason to believe this, but I’m not an alcoholic. Or a sexoholic. Or a drug addict.” There was a lengthy silence. I stared at the crisp, white tablecloth, wanting to die. “Well,” Oliver said at last. “I’ve one reason to believe it.” In an ideal world, I would have behaved with terrible dignity. In the world I actually lived in, I gave him a sullen glance. “Which is?” “You told me otherwise.
While I don’t have medical problems with alcohol, I do tend to make a bit of a tit of myself when plastered.” “I’m aware.”
“I’ve eaten meat before, and I like it. It’s just I’ve reached the point that I can’t justify it ethically.” “But you’re cheerfully going to sit there and watch me chow down on bits of dead animal like some kind of creepy carni-voyeur?” He blinked. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. I just wanted you to enjoy the food, and I’d never impose my principles on people who don’t necessarily share them.”
“I was too hasty. That was so good I could pretty much marry you now.” Maybe I was seeing the world through eel-tinted glasses, but right then, Oliver’s eyes had a touch of silver in them. And were softer than I’d thought. “I’m happy you liked it.”
And all of a sudden he was a lot more bearable. Enough more bearable that I could almost see myself putting up with a man who smiled like that, and bought me amazing eel sandwiches, even if I didn’t have to. Which was way, way worse than not liking him.
now he looked uncomfortable for a different reason—“I am aware of your reputation. But if I’m to know you, Lucien, I’d rather it came from you.”
“Oh stop it with the Lucien, will you?” “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you didn’t like it.” Except I did like it. That was the problem. I wasn’t here to like things. Liking things was trouble.
I offered him my very best, most hopeful smile. Whereupon, 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.
“Is this a game to you? What has Bridget told you?” “What? N-no.” “Tell me what’s going on.” “Nothing’s going on.”
“I’ll do it.” My jaw dropped open so hard it clicked. “You what?” “As it happens, I also have an event coming up that may go more smoothly with someone on my arm. I’ll be your public boyfriend, if you’ll be mine.”
“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.”
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.
“Then, I’ll see you on Sunday…” He smiled. Oliver Blackwood was smiling. At me. For me. Because of me. “…Lucien.”
“I don’t believe you. You only make such a big deal about hating people when you’re secretly into them.”
“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.” “Who the fuck is still using USB sticks?”
My apologies. Next time, I’ll send a photograph of my penis.
Of course if it is something you’re comfortable with, I understand. Not that I’m suggesting you have to send me a picture of your penis. Oh God, can you please delete every text I’ve ever sent 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.”
“There comes a point when enough people have said, It’s not you, it’s me that you begin to suspect it may, in fact, be you.”
Anything I want to know about you, I’ll ask.” “What about,” I said in a small voice, “when you’re mad at me? When you’re looking for reasons to think the worst of me.” “And you believe I’ll need the papers to help me with that?”
I can’t be fucked with birthdays, including my own.” “Well, I would remember.” “God,” I groaned. “I bet you’d get me an incredibly thoughtful gift as well. And make me feel awful.” His lips twitched. “I would make a point of it.”
“Versatile, are you?” I widened my eyes innocently. “Behave yourself, Lucien.” Well, that wasn’t sexy. Nope. Definitely not. Not at all. A sweet little shiver whooshed the length of my spine.
“Well,” I pointed out, “if neither of us can sleep on the sofa, then either I go home or…” Oliver faffed with a sleeve of his jumper. “I think we’re mature enough to share a bed without incident.”
it was a good thing I definitely didn’t want to get it on with him because Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle—the hedgehog design, that’s not what I call my penis—would have nuked my chances.
“What if someone asks? I should know for verisimilitude.” The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. “You can say I’m a gentleman and we haven’t got that far.” “You”—I gave a thwarted sigh—“are a terrible fake boyfriend.” “I’m building fake anticipation.” “You’d better be fake worth it.” “I am.”
“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.
I won’t lie. It was fairly terrible. But there were some compensations. Like what? I asked. You.
Grabbing a bagel. Case is complicated. Can’t discuss it. Apologies for lack of dick pic.
At nine o’clock on Tuesday night, halfway through an episode of Bordertown, which I’d been paying no attention to, I came abruptly to the conclusion that all my problems would be solved if I tidied my flat. At nine thirty-six on Tuesday, I came abruptly to the conclusion that this had been the worst idea ever.
This was all Oliver’s fault with his you-are-special eyes and his you’re-beautiful-Lucien bullshit, half convincing me I was worth something.
I miss you. Sorry. Was that too much? I know it’s only been a few days. Maybe this is why people don’t want to go out with me. Not that you’re really going out with me anyway. I hope I didn’t sound presumptuous. I’m probably sounding really weird now. I’m assuming you’re not texting back because you’re still asleep. Not because you think I’m disgustingly clingy. If you’re awake and think I’m disgusting clingy, could you at least tell me? Right. You’re probably asleep.
I’m insecure. Tell me how mature I’m being I think—and somehow I could hear him like a voice-over—genuinely mature people don’t demand praise for being mature. Baby steps, I typed. Praise me anyway You’re being very mature and I’m very impressed.
You must have noticed I have zero self-respect A pause. I don’t think that’s true. I think you’ve just forgotten where you put it.
I’m just not used to having something in my life that’s as important to me as my job.
What about your gazillion other relationships? They were different.
Hell, I had a lunch date. With a barrister. A fake lunch date, admittedly. But a real barrister. And suddenly my job didn’t look quite as crap. And my flat didn’t look quite as impossible. And I didn’t feel quite as hollow.
You just want me for my truck, don’t you? I bet, I couldn’t help myself, you say that to all the girls HOW IS FAKE BOYFRIEND????? What I say to all the girls is that’s my sculpture. Wanna fuck?
It’s wonderful. We’re getting married. Why do you think I need to clean my flat? YOUR BEING SARCASTIC THAT MEANS YOU SECRETLY LIKE HIM!!! SEE YOU ON SAT CANT WAIT!!!
We did lunch again on Friday, without much expectation of anyone caring, but we felt we should keep up appearances anyway. And also I, y’know, liked, y’know, seeing, y’know, him. And stuff.
“You’re not going to get fired, Bridge. You never get fired. They keep getting you to deal with this sort of nonsense because you’re actually fantastic at your job.” There was a long silence. “Are you feeling okay?” “Fine. Why?” “I can’t remember the last time you said something nice about, well, anything.”
“Welp.” I made a helpless gesture. “This is my life. And I wish I hadn’t invited you to come and look at it.” “You know,” said Priya. “I’d normally say something mean. But you’re so pathetic right now, it wouldn’t be satisfying.”
“I have no idea how Priya wound up with someone so much less of an arsehole than her.” “I’m a tortured artist,” Priya shot back. “And I’m fucking incredible in bed. Now how do we tackle the pile of unadulterated skank you call your home?”
then I realised how much I wanted to surprise him with how sensible and mature I was being. He’d made it painfully clear sex was very much off the table, but maybe if I managed to get at least some of my shit together, he might like me enough to kiss me.
“Oh my God, Luc,” cried James Royce-Royce. “What’s happened to your mouth?” I glanced up, startled. “If there’s hummus on my face, just tell me.” “It’s far worse than that. You were smiling.” “W-was I?” “At your phone.”
Bridget we have something very important to tell you Luc and Oliver are totally in wuv We are not! He sent him a dick pic and he got all smiley over it WHAT THAT MAKMES NO SENSE OLIVER WOULD NEVER DO THAT!!!!1 It was a picture of Richard Chamberlain Which means they have private jokes. They’re getting married in August.
ALSO G2G ONE OF MY AUTHORS IS BEIN G SUED BY THE STATE OF WYOMING
But they were so obviously happy for me, and their goal was so obviously to get me to admit that I was happy for myself, that even I couldn’t quite justify being a prick to them about it. Which meant they got to laugh at me, and I got to take it…and it didn’t entirely suck.
I even considered putting actual clothes on, but I didn’t want to overwhelm myself with too much maturity all at once
I would have supported you if you wanted to do the wrong thing as well.” “Supported me. But not been proud of me.” “Oh no, I would still have been proud. I admit that a tiny of part of me wishes I had the courage to tell him to go fuck himself.” “You wrote an entire album telling him to go fuck himself.” “Yes, but he did not have the cancer then.”
