Page 73 of Boyfriend Material
“Well.” James Royce-Royce drew in a long breath. “I enjoy a good penis as much as the next man, but I don’t normally go misty-eyed over them.”
Somewhat shamefacedly, I turned my phone around and showed them the young Richard Chamberlain in a brown velvet coat, holding a glass slipper. “It’s…sort of…a joke we have.”
Suddenly, with the exception of Theresa—who was looking very slightly confused—everyone had their phones out. And my own lit up with notifications from the WhatsApp group, which had just been renamed Don’t Luc Back in Anger.
Bridget we have something very important to tell you
Luc and Oliver are totally in wuv
We are not!
He sent him a dick pic and he got all smiley over it
WHAT THAT MAKMES NO SENSE OLIVER WOULD NEVER DO THAT!!!!1
It was a picture of Richard Chamberlain
Which means they have private jokes. They’re getting married in August.
YAAAAAAY
Nobody is marrying anybody. It’s just a bit of friendly banter about men called Richard. It doesn’t mean ANYTHING
IM REALLY CONFUSED BY THE MEN CALLED RICHARD THING
I think it’s a pun on dick pic. It’s about Luc’s level.
OMG THAT IS SO SWEEEEET LUC SEND HIM A DICK PIC BACK RIGH TNOW
I’m not sending my boyfriend either a picture of my penis or a picture of a famous guy called Richard just because my friends told me to
OH MY GOD YOU CALL HIM YOUR BOYFRIEND!!!
ALSO G2G
ONE OF MY AUTHORS IS BEIN G SUED BY THE STATE OF WYOMING
Also my girlfriend is in the room and we’re ignoring her and she’s too fucking polite to mention it
I was used to my friends teasing me about basically everything—it was how we related to each other—but that afternoon they’d hit a survivalist’s bunker’s worth of ammunition. Apparently the idea of me actually giving a shit about someone was such a novelty that it supported an endless stream of jokes, jibes, and ribbings. And, for some reason, I was totally defenceless, reduced to stuttering and blushing, when I was sure once upon a time it would all have just bounced straight off my armour of apathy.
It took a bit of getting used to because I’d spent a long time pretending I was invulnerable. But they were so obviously happy for me, and their goal was so obviously to get me to admit that I was happy for myself, that even I couldn’t quite justify being a prick to them about it. Which meant they got to laugh at me, and I got to take it…and it didn’t entirely suck.
Chapter 23
I woke up the next day in a clean flat, which was fucking weird. It was almost like I’d moved house—I didn’t recognise anything, or know where anything was, and there was this sense of emptiness I hadn’t been conscious of since Miles moved out. Although there was also a sense of possibility that was completely new.
It was so fresh and exciting that I got out of bed without my customary five-more-minutes-whoops-it’s-noon. I even considered putting actual clothes on, but I didn’t want to overwhelm myself with too much maturity all at once and shrugged into my dressing gown instead. What I did do, though, was make the bed. Not as well as Oliver would have but well enough that he wouldn’t rub his temples in dismay at the sight of it.
I was in the kitchen, making coffee very, very carefully so as not to get grounds all over the now-shiny countertops when my phone rang.
“Allô, Luc, mon caneton,” said Mum.
“Hi, Mum. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to say how proud I am that you made the effort with your father.”
“I…” I sighed. “I guess it was the right thing to do.”
