Husband Material (London Calling, #2)

by Alexis Hall

The next bit was going to be awkward. Well, maybe not that awkward. Because Oliver would understand. Even if we did have a table booked and tickets we’d bought months ago. Oh, shit. It was going to be awkward, wasn’t it? And thank you, life, for manoeuvring me into a situation where I’d have to let down either my best friend or my boyfriend. It was like whatever I did, no matter how hard I tried, the universe wanted me to know that, on some level, I was a crappy person. On this occasion, my crapness manifested partly in not wanting to tell Oliver to his face—or even to his voice—that I was ditching him to hang out with a sad bride. I was two-thirds of the way through my fourth draft of my first text when I realised that I was living down to the universe’s expectations of me. And, more importantly, not living up to Oliver’s. Fuck. That was the problem with dating a good person. They got their ethics all over you. So I gritted my teeth and called Oliver. “Lucien?” Great. He already sounded concerned. Either because of boyfriend telepathy or because I normally only rang if I’d set the kitchen on the fire. “Is everything okay?” “Not really,” I told him, and then realising that could have meant anything from I think we should break up to My leg’s been bitten off by a shark, followed up quickly with, “I mean I’m fine, but Bridget’s in a hell of a state and… Look, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to bail on this evening.” For just long enough that I could hear my relationship gurg...