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“What time?”
A pause that lasted longer than a beat. “I don’t know. I need to work that out.”
“Because there’s a vast difference,” I stated, “between switching it off at five and switching it off at nine.”
“I know that.”
“So what time?” I pressed. “You should make that decision now.”
“Five is too early.”
“Okay. So what time isn’t too early?” The long silence that followed already had me shaking my head. “Words mean nothing, Cillian. It’s actions that count.”
“You’re being very hard on me.”
“I am, but it’s for your own good.”
“Seven?” he suggested.
“You don’t need my permission. You’re a grown-ass man in your thirties.”
“I’m not asking for your permission. I’m asking for your opinion.” Cillian’s words were deliberately saccharine sweet. “If I can’t ask for my boyfriend’s opinion, then it makes you nothing but eye candy. And while, you might be the most attractive, handsomest eye candy that ever walked this earth, you’re too smart to be just that.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“Will it?” Cillian’s voice was husky with a whispered promise.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It’s just a shame you put the English Channel between us so you can’t collect.” Cillian’s answering groan had me laughing. “Well, you did.”
“I’m a fantastic swimmer.”
“I’m sure boners make excellent flotation devices.”
Cillian’s soft chuckle had me feeling better about everything. “What time?” I urged, determined to get an answer out of him. I doubted he would keep to any boundaries he set, but if he didn’t set any, he would be even less likely to adhere to them.
“Six thirty,” he said. “That’s reasonable.”
“And what time will you switch it back on?” Cillian’s groan said he hadn’t even considered that side of the equation. “What time do you get up?” I prompted. As his ex-boyfriend, it was a question I should already be able to answer. Or at least have an inkling, but I didn’t. We’d never spent a single night together. Even on that first night when we’d ended up in bed together only a few short hours after meeting, I’d taken the non-verbal hints and left before dawn broke.
“Five.”
“In the morning? Jeez! You’re headed for a heart attack if you don’t slow down. Why five?”
“I have a lot to get through during the day,” Cillian said defensively.
“You need to learn to delegate. And not just to Amrita. She can’t be the only person in the world you trust.”
“I trust you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not coming to work for you. I know nothing about advertising. Apart from that a barely clad muscular man strutting moodily down a street in black and white makes me buy male fragrance products in the hope it will make me as cool as them.”
“You and the rest of the world.”
“In reality, though, it just makes me smell nice while I trip over paving stones.”
“Seven,” Cillian suggested, dragging me back to what we’d previously discussed.
“For getting up or for switching your phone back on?”