Page 107 of Boyfriend Material
“Gosh. So it was. I thought it was a bit quiet.”
“Anyway.” If I didn’t stop this now, we’d be here all week. “I called to say I’m not feeling so great and I won’t be coming in today.”
He made a sound of genuine sympathy. “How beastly for you. Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, just had a rough couple of days.”
“I know the feeling. Last month my valet was sick and I could barely keep it together.”
“I’m trying to be strong.”
“Take all the time you need. A good man is hard to find.”
At this moment, Oliver came out the bathroom, stripped to the waist. “I think,” I said, “I’ll be okay on that front.”
“Glad to hear it. Toodle pip.”
I hung up and tried not stare too gormlessly at Oliver—which was easier than it might have been, since my phone was trying to notify itself into an embolism. Glancing into WhatsApp—the group was quiet, and currently named You Can Luc (But You Better Not Touch)—I got Bridged in the face by private message:
LUC ARE YOU OKAY
WHAT HAPEPEND WITH OLIVER
LUC
LUC ARE YOU OKAY
LUC
LUC
ARE YOU OKAY
IS EVERYTHING OKAY
Oliver’s lips twitched. Given he also knew Bridge, he’d probably also fallen victim to her texting. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Come down when you’re ready.”
Yes, I typed,sorry for the silence. It’s all good. We talked about feelings and Miles and shit
OMG ARE YOU KSSIING RIGHT NOW??????
No Bridge. I’m texting you
WELLS TOPI T AND GO KISS OLIVER
ANYWAY G2G BEAUSE GEOPOLITICAL UPHEAVEL HAS LED TO PULP PAPER SHORTAGE IN TWICKENHAM
AND SO NONE OF OUR BOOKS ARE GETTING PRIPNTED
AHHHHHHHHHHH
Good luck with that. Thank you for last night
ANYTIME G2G
Pulling on Oliver’s dressing gown, I headed downstairs. Oliver was eating something scarily healthy-looking from a mason jar, and reading theFinancial Timeson his iPad. God, he was adorable.
“There’s toast.” He glanced up, looking like some kind of weird and highly specific porno for people who are really into incredibly cut men and funny-coloured newspapers. “Or fruit. Or bircher. I can make porridge if you prefer.”
