Page 21 of Boyfriend Material
“Someone like you.”
“I see.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I finally managed to peel myself off his coat. “It’s not your prob—”
“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.”
He was insane. He had to be insane. “It’s not the same.”
“You mean”—one of his cool, grey glances—“I’m to help you with your significant occasion, but you won’t help me with mine?”
“No. God no. It’s just you’re a fancy lawyer—”
“I’m a criminal barrister. Most people think we’re the scum of the earth.”
“—and I’m the disgraced son of a disgraced rock star. I…I can’t hold my drink. I’m unnecessarily mean. I make terrible decisions. You can’t possibly want me to accompany you to anything.”
His chin came up. “Nevertheless, those are my terms.”
“You know you’ll end up in the tabloids if you spend too long with me.”
“I don’t care what people say about me.”
I laughed, shocking even myself with how bitter it sounded. “You think that. And then they start saying things.”
“I’ll take the risk.”
“Really?” God. Dizzily, I found myself reaching for his coat again.
“Yes. But if we’re to do this, we have to do it properly.”
I blinked at him. Properly sounded ominous. I was not good at properly. “You should know I perform very badly in standardised tests.”
“I just need you to make an effort to be convincing. I don’t care about your past, or internet gossip, but”—and here that stern mouth pressed into a hard line—“I would rather not have to explain to my family that my boyfriend is only pretending.”
“Wait. Your family?”
“Yes, it’s my parents’ ruby wedding anniversary in June. I don’t want to go alone.”
“Is it,” I couldn’t help asking, “in Provence?”
“Milton Keynes.”
“And you seriously want to take me? To meet your folks?”
“Why not?”
I barked out another laugh. “How long have you got?”
“If you don’t want to do it, Luc, you can tell me.”
He was never going to call meLucienagain, was he? He was going to respect my wishes like some kind of arsehole. “No, no.” I hastily flung up my hands. “I’ll do it. I just think you’re making a terrible mistake.”
“That’s for me to decide.” He paused, a flush crawling over the sculpted arch of his cheekbones. “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.”
