Page 46 of Hexed Up

“Fine,” he says, folding his arms across his chest, “then my name for you is going to be Sugar Booger.”

“What – that isn’t even a name!”

“It is. And it’s what I’m comfortable with.” He grins at me.

“I’m vetoing it.”

“You can’t. It’s a deal breaker for me.”

“Fine,” I say, “then for you I’m choosing,” I spin my pen, eyeing him up, “Cutie Patootie.”

His cheek twitches. “Fine,” he says, although I’m sure he’s bluffing. “I’m fine with that.”

“Good, I’m glad you’re fine with that. So Sugar Booger and Cutie Patootie.” I pause, waiting for him to cave. When he doesn’t, I wince and write the names into my book. “I think that’s everything.”

“Nope, we haven’t covered the terms of our break up.”

“We’re breaking up?!” I say in mock alarm.

“It’s standard practice to add a termination date to any contract.”

“You’re very knowledgeable about these things. How many fake relationships have you been in before exactly?” When he doesn’t answer my eyes widen. “You know I’m not leaving this apartment until you tell me?”

“I’m happy for you to stay,” he says.

“But are you happy for McGruff to stay? His farts are incredibly revolting.” McGruff lifts his head from his paws and looks at me with disgust.

“One,” Horatio says, “I’ve been in one fake relationship before.”

“How is that even possible?!”

“It was an old friend. Alex’s ex-boyfriend was being … shitty. It helped for him to think Alex had a new boyfriend on the scene.”

“A tall, muscular boyfriend,” I add.

“He was a coward. I could have been four-foot-three and weighing eight stone and it would have been enough.”

“That’s very sweet,” I say. “She must be a very good friend.”

“Heis a good friend – one of my oldest.”

“Oh,” I say, “oooh! I’m glad Alex had someone looking out for him. So, how did that fake relationship end?”

“We dated for six months and then Alex changed his relationship status on Facebook, posted a few posts on Instagram about remaining friends and we went our separate ways.”

“That sounds very civilised.” I wish my real relationships could have ended that nicely. “So you want to do something similar or shall we go out with a bang? Stage a public argument somewhere? Maybe I could catch you talking to cam-girls online?”

“I would never do that.”

“Oh, come on, every man on the planet has at least one Only Fans subscription.”

“I don’t.”

“No, I suppose you don’t,” I say; he really doesn’t need one – not when he has all the models from London Fashion Week filtering in and out of his bedroom. “Then you want to go with the argument? I could have enough of your insane need to keep everything neat and tidy–”

“And I could have had enough with your constant need to insult me.”

“I do do that,” I admit.