Husband Material (London Calling, #2)

by Alexis Hall

I took the extremely sensible and grown-up precaution of opening all the windows and taking the batteries out of the smoke alarm.

Oliver walked slightly unsteadily back to his seat. Then he put his head in his hands and, very quietly, started to cry. I wrapped my arms around him and drew him close while Christopher took his place.

“it was Christopher is going to be a doctor, Christopher has the loveliest girlfriend, Christopher said the most interesting thing to us the last time we spoke to him.” “Oliver wouldn’t be out so late on a school night,” Christopher shot back, “Oliver knows how to do what he’s told, Oliver makes time for us.”

“Mia”—I announced over the top of the Blackwood brothers—“do you want to just run off together? I know I’m gay, but I reckon I can work something out.” Stepping pointedly in between Christopher and Oliver, Mia took my hand. “Yeah, let’s go to Paris.” Christopher flung a glance at us. “What are you two doing?” “We’re leaving you for each other,” Mia explained, “because you’re both awful.” “I mean,” I added, “you’re both in your late twenties or early thirties, and you’ve been talking about your fucking A-level results.”

“What, should I buy myself a pair of those leather trousers with the bum cut out and go strolling around St. James’s Park?” Aaaand there was the Uncle Jim we knew and loathed.

I shouldn’t have texted back hello i am a murderer i took lucs phone hes dead now, but I did. I also shouldn’t have followed it up with bet you wish youd got that dj. But I did that too. Lucien you are not funny.

who is lucien i am a murderer

It’s…it’s what I want. Otherwise I wouldn’t have fucking asked you to marry me.” Oliver gave a little smile. “Yes, that was quite the gesture.” “I know, right?” I risked smiling back. “Didn’t think I had it in me. I must really love you or something.” “Yes. Yes, you must.” The blush was playing an encore on Oliver’s face.

I grabbed the wastepaper basket and upended it over Oliver’s head, showering him in a confetti of old receipts, chocolate wrappers, and those little paper circles from the bottom of hole punches. “You bastard. You utter bastard.”