Page 56 of Boyfriend Material
“Wow”—I threw myself listlessly onto the sofa, which was mostly clear apart from two pairs of socks and a blanket—“I really underestimated how much work this was going to involve.”
“Yes, well, as the kids say: Suck it up, buttercup. Now do you think we should hold hands?”
“Did you actually say, ‘Suck it up, buttercup’?”
“I thought pointing out that this is a lot of work for me too, and that I’m not complaining, while an accurate observation, would have made me sound like a prig.”
I eyed him, half-irritated, half-amused. “Good call.”
“So are we holding hands or not?”
If nothing else, you had to kind of admire his ability to stick to a point. “Um…I genuinely have no idea.”
“It involves minimum actual intimacy, but makes it clear we’re together if we happen to get photographed.”
“Well, I do love me some minimum actual intimacy.”
Oliver frowned at me. “Stop being frivolous, Lucien, and hold my damn hand.”
I stood up, picked my way back through a slalom of mugs, and held his damn hand.
“Hmm.” Oliver adjusted his grip several times. “This seems forced.”
“Yeah, I feel like I’m being dragged round the supermarket by my mum.”
“So, no to hand-holding. Try taking my arm.”
“Don’t you mean yourdamnarm?”
He blinked aggressively. “Just. Do it.”
I took his arm. Still weird. “Now it’s more like I’m a maiden aunt at a garden party.”
“So I either make you feel like a child or an old lady? How very flattering.”
“It’s not you.” I un-took his arm. “It’s the situation.”
“Then we’ll have to be one of those couples who never touch each other when anybody’s looking.”
“But,” I whined, “I don’t want to be one of those couples. I don’t even want topretendto be one of those couples.”
“In which case, I suggest you work out some way you can bear to touch me.”
“Okay.” I couldn’t think of anything clever so I said the first thing that came into my head. “Why don’t we have sex?”
His mouth twisted quizzically. “I don’t think that would be appropriate at a fundraiser.”
Well. In for a penny, in for pound. “No. I mean, like now.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Jesus, Oliver.” I rolled my eyes. “Who responds to a come-on withI beg your pardon?”
“That wasn’t a come-on. That was… I don’t even know what that was.”
“I just thought,” I said with a shrug I told myself wasn’t at all self-conscious, “if we had sex, we might be less awkward about touching each other.”
“Ah yes. Because sex is renowned for making things less complicated.”
