Page 120 of Boyfriend Material
“Then I suppose I’ll see you there.”
The table broke into only slightly sarcastic applause.
“Anyway”—Jennifer began to help Peter clear the table—“to bring things back tomy birthday, do people need a pause before dessert?”
Brian stroked his beard. “Very much depends on what dessert is.”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Does that mean it’s something we’re all going to hate?”
“Ooh.” A thought struck Amanda. “Is it Angel Delight?”
A different thought appeared to have struck Ben, who shuddered theatrically. “If it’s Black Forest Gateau, I’m leaving.”
The frozen dessert banter looked set to continue for a while, which a couple of people seemed to read as a cue to stretch their legs and take bathroom breaks. I was more or less happy where I was, but then Oliver leaned over, and whispered to me that I should come outside a moment.
Oh shit. I shouldn’t have tried to develop his friend. What the fuck was wrong with me?
Feeling distinctly chastised, I trailed Oliver into the hall.
“Look,” I started, “I’m sorry I—”
At which point he pressed me against the wall and kissed me.
It was fair to say we’d done a decent amount of kissing since putting it on the boyfriend menu, but it hadn’t been like this since myGuardian-related freak-out. I was beginning to think dumping him had put him off me somehow. And while I’d have really liked to get back to how things had been that night on my sofa—the sweet, sharp certainty of wanting, and being wanted—I’d been wary of pushing my luck. We hadn’t managed to see each other for most of the week, and it was hard to expect a guy to look at you as a passionate and intensely sexual being when your last two meetings had involved crying on a bathroom floor and an exhibition of glass sculptures. But, apparently, being moderately supportive at a party and trying to make one of his friends give money to dung beetles had done the job just fine.
In any case, I was here for it. Very,veryhere for it.
As, briefly, was someone else who told us to get a room on his way to the loo.
But fuck it. These weren’tyeah whateverkisses. They weren’ttake it or leave it, get your coat you’ve pulledkisses. They were everything I thought I could never have, everything I’d been pretending I never wanted, telling me that I was worth it, that he’d be there for me and put up with me, and wouldn’t let me drive him away.
Oliver Blackwood was giving all that to me, and I was giving it right back. In the clutch of hands and the press of bodies and the urgent heat of his mouth on mine.
And when it stopped, it still wasn’t over, because he sort of kept staring at me, his eyes all shiny, as his thumbs brushed lightly over my cheeks. “Oh, Lucien.”
“I, um, I take it you’re not cross about Sophie, then?”
“On the contrary, it was very impressive. I hope you’re not having a terrible evening.”
“No, it’s…really nice..”
“They like you, you know?” He kissed me again, more gently this time. “You can tell by the way they’re being total dicks.”
I laughed. “I should probably introduce you to my total dicks as well.”
“I’d like that. I mean, if you think…I’d reflect positively on you.”
“Oliver”—I was feeling way too soppy to give him a withering look but I tried anyway—“my friends know who I am. Of course you’d reflect positively on me.”
“Sorry. I just…I’m glad you came with me tonight.”
“Me too. I haven’t had a Bacardi Breezer in years.” I paused, savouring his reaction. “And this bit didn’t suck either.”
“Well, I’m glad I at least outrank the prawn cocktail.”
Pulling him close again, I nipped playfully at the edge of his jaw, where he was all stern and square. “We should go back.”
