Cloud White Fearne Hill

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CLOUD WHITE
NAILED IT!
BOOK 3
FEARNE HILL
Copyright © 2023 by Fearne Hill
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or

mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a
book review.
 CONTENTS

Author’s Note

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Fearne Hill
 AUTHOR’S NOTE

I write with a light touch but please be kind to yourselves and take
note of trigger warnings for domestic abuse. There are also
mentions of gambling and addiction (secondary characters, not on
page), and fat shaming and mis-gendering (by a secondary
character, on page).
PROLOGUE
MILO
ONE YEAR EARLIER
Bearded men made better lovers. Mungo White had declared it thus,
and he was a lawyer. So it must be true.
His beard, which endangered wildlife could get lost in, had
nothing to do with it.
“And I’ll tell you something else, Milo,” he announced, his strong
arm providing vital support as we tottered on tipsy legs towards
home. “Kissing a man without a beard is like drinking champagne
without bubbles. Fact.”
If that were the case, I’d singlehandedly kept the flat champagne
economy afloat for years.
But no longer. Tonight, all that was on the cusp of changing
forever. Because as soon as I pushed open the front door, Mungo
White and I were going to be a hell of a lot more than best friends
and housemates. When I finally wriggled out of these excruciatingly
tight trousers and unzipped him from his much more comfortable
ones, he’d forget he was being seduced by the guy who’d once
turned him down and broken his heart. That was the past; I’d been
young and foolish then. Concepts like love and commitment had
been ugly swearwords. I’d stuffed my fingers in my ears and
pretended they didn’t exist.
He’d pieced together his broken heart, of course, then watched
from the sidelines as I’d kissed an army of clean-shaven frogs. Been
fucked by entire regiments, to be brutally honest. And took five
whole years to discover not a single one measured up to the
bearded beauty currently fumbling for our door key. When I flashed
him a smile, he answered right back with a grin of his own, one of
the conspiratorial ones passing between us daily. Saying I see you. I
know you. I love you.
We crossed the threshold, and in a puff of smoke, the rest of the
world vanished. Mungo let out a contented homecoming sigh.
“Promise me, Milo, that next time Frankie sweet talks us into making
up the numbers at one of his work events, you’ll pin me down and
tie me to my bedframe. Don’t let me escape until next morning. I’m
too old for this shit.”
A shiver of anticipation swept over me. Could he have fed me a
better opener?
In the narrow confines of our hallway, before he shambled
upstairs to his own room and me to mine, I laced my slim fingers
through his thicker ones. He glanced down, russet-brown eyes wide
with surprise.
“Milo, I…”
With a fingertip to his soft lips, I cut him off. Now wasn’t the time
for words. They would come later, after he’d enfolded me in those
brawny arms, carried me to bed, and fucked me to seventh heaven
and back. Several times over.
“Shhh.” Winding an arm around his thick neck, I raised up on
tiptoe—a stretch my puny calves were going to have to learn to love
—to kiss him. On a path to melding with his, my mouth brushed
against the soft silk of his dark beard. A bold heat curled from my
toes, stoking the simmering fire between us. Soft pillowy lips met
soft pillowy lips, the kiss igniting the way I always knew it would. A
million meteors rained down to earth as it exploded, a heavenly
firework display especially for us, a cacophony of…
Mungo’s palms cradled my cheeks. Gently pushing me away,
regretfully, he shook his head. My blood stilled in my veins. He took
a deliberate step away from me. He was not kissing me back. Mungo
White was not kissing me back. My bones turned to lead.
“What’s wrong? Mungo, talk to me. What is it?”
He held both hands up, palms facing me, like a shield. Voice
barely above a whisper, I clawed at his sleeve. “Mungo, what? Tell
me what’s wrong?”
Weeks, no, months later, battling the vertigo of heartbreak, I still
struggled to unpick the kaleidoscope of emotions passing behind
those fathomless brown eyes. Sorrow, for sure. Tinged with regret,
perhaps, for what could have been. Pity too—I hated that—mixed
with genuine concern. But no triumph. And not a flicker of malice.
This was no ice-cold calculated revenge. My Mungo was too good
and kind and fucking decent.
When he spoke, his gaze dropped away, to the left, to where the
stairs would carry him up to his room and me to mine. Alone.
“I’m so sorry, Milo. There is something I need to tell you. I’ve
met someone else.”
CHAPTER 1
 MILO

I stood, alone and fabulous, between the raised podium of the stage
and the unseemly scrum at the bar. A fabulous flamingo in a pond of
dreary uninspiring ducks. Clearly, I wasn’t actually a flamingo,
balancing on one leg, and at this moment in time, after two hours of
dancing, balancing on one leg was a physical impossibility anyhow.
My hips didn’t lie, but they certainly needed a more acute awareness
of their limitations. For the best part of the last thirty minutes,
tendrils of sharp pain shot through both. By morning, they’d have
burst into full bloom in my lower back.
I regularly passed myself off as twenty-five, though my age was
much closer to thirty. And also, on the wrong side of it. In time to
the hypnotic beat, I shifted my weight from one foot to the other,
managing to disguise the manoeuvre as an alluring pelvic roll. Trust
me, following an intense week at work, the phrase ‘his body
betrayed him’ was nowhere near as sexy as romance books had us
believe.
Whiling away an evening in the Lizard Lounge was the lesser of
several evils. The place styled itself as more of a lounge bar than a
club, so although the music was turned up intolerably loud, it didn’t
split my ears like Madison’s in Soho. Notwithstanding, even three
grapefruit mojitos and a spicy London mule hadn’t touched my
pounding headache.
One of my best buddies, Frankie, had mooted they might slide by
whilst their husband, Lysander, was out of town for the night. Until
they fell in love, we reliably went clubbing together every weekend.
But, as the hours wound down, it was becoming increasingly
unlikely. Tristan, their triplet brother and one of my other closest
friends, was still living it up with his toy boy on the other side of the
world. Not that he’d ever frequented these types of bars anyhow.
And my oldest friend Mungo was… I didn’t allow myself to dwell on
what Mungo was up to. His nuts in guts, probably.
In life’s cruel game of musical chairs, I was the only one left
standing. My best friends had found their significant others,
rendering me insignificant, and I missed them horribly. Not in a
grand like-the-deserts-missed-the-rain kind of way. Nor in a pathetic
begging-for-crumbs-of-attention, third-wheeling kind of way. But the
little things, like the predictable twitch of Frankie’s lips when
Lysander droned on about the monetisation and glittery rainbow
excesses of Pride, and how we should all boycott it, but we’d drag
him along anyway and he’d have a banging good time. Or how we
used to pile back to the triplets' flat after a heavy night, and
drunkenly cuddle up to grumpy Tristan, only to be unceremoniously
tipped out of his bed. And then charm their sister Maddie into
making us all toast and hot chocolate. The way Mungo would tilt his
big shaggy head of dark hair and stroke his thick beard thoughtfully,
as if my crocheted lime hot pants hadn’t scarred his eyeballs for life.
Now they were all married or loved up, while I was still douching
and optimistically guzzling PrEP before squeezing my rake-thin body
into tight pleather every Saturday night.
And I didn’t want to be anymore.
A group of friends crowded each other over at the bar. With an
ache of recognition, I bore firsthand witness to the brand of
closeness and familiarity I now mourned. Students probably, judging
from their youth. Young enough not to have peeled off into smug
coupledom yet. Full of mischievous smiles and back slaps
transforming into raucous laughter, crowding each other to share
shit on their phones. As I swayed uncomfortably, one of them, dark-
haired and bulky, sent a few cool glances in my direction, fooling no
one. He was a very good-looking guy. My night’s entertainment sewn
up right there if I wanted.
 I had other friends, of course, buckets of them. Half of the folk
on the prowl in here tonight were already in my contacts list. But
none measured up to Tristan, whom I could phone during my
lunchbreak to bitch about the boss. None like Frankie either, who
would drag me around the Selfridges sale until my feet dropped,
then whisk me into Langham’s for cocktails. Or my dear, dear
Mungo, who held my hair off my face and rubbed my back when I
puked, assuring me I was still beautiful even when I looked wrecked.
None who needed me.
The tsunami of misery sweeping across my heart had a name.
Loneliness, and it was about the scariest thing out there.
With a wearisome inevitability, the dark-haired guy slipped away
from his friends to join me at the edge of the dancefloor. Young
(very), built (stockily), and bearded (barely). Twenty years old, if he
was a day—the beard was nothing more than patchy scruff—but the
guy sizzled with eagerness, even though a tightness around his dark
eyes hinted at anxiety. How many times had he done this? If I was a
betting man, I’d say single figures. Cocky enough to approach me,
though, so that was something. Over his shoulder, his mates egged
him on.
“Hi, I’m Danny. Can I buy you a drink?”
As pick-ups went, it was neither original nor daring. Five
thousand miles away in sunny California, Tristan was smirking at the
predictability of my choice. Nonetheless, he earned bonus marks for
capturing my gaze, then having the nerve to hold it. Also, for not
fannying around, even if he introduced himself like he was across
the counter in Carphone Warehouse, with designs on flogging me an
upgraded phone deal. At close range, I awarded him another extra
gold star for convincing the bouncers he was over twenty-one. Ten
years from now, he’d be exactly my type. As I leaned in to answer,
his breath wafted over me: reasonably fresh. Liquid courage had
been imbibed, but not so much he wouldn’t be able to perform later.
“I said can I buy you a drink?” Russet-brown eyes, my favourite
colour.
In a word, he’d do. I needed a fuck, and, more importantly, my
lumbar spine was politely requesting a shift from the vertical to the
horizontal. Cutting short the tedious ritual of discreet sexual cues, I
cocked my porkpie hat at a rakish angle of sixty-nine degrees.
“Let’s go one step better, flower. I’ll pour you something back at
mine.”
New to the rules, or perhaps too tiddly to observe them, Danny
insisted on a grope and exchanges of saliva on practically every
street corner. Which was… wearing. But not as wearing as his
excited line in chat in between the groping and kissing.
“I can’t think straight around you.” That old chestnut was
followed up with a lascivious grin.
“I’m flattered, truly.” My eyeroll went unnoticed, seeing as he was
sandwiching me against a lamppost and excavating my tonsils. With
an ecstatic groan, he pressed his eager nether regions up against
mine.
“Fucking hell, Milo. If you were a door, I’d slam you all night
long.”
Oh my god, Mungo would be wetting himself. God knew which
websites this Danny had been perusing. Nor where he’d been hiding
his extra three pairs of hands, currently pummelling my sore ancient
flesh like he was warming up for a boxing match.
“You’ve got a gorgeous body, Milo. And face. I bet you’re vocal
during sex.”
Enough was enough. We reached my front door—thank heavens.
Clearly, my cock in his mouth was the only way to shut this boy up.
Twisting the key in the lock, giving it a wiggle, and then kneeing the
old wooden panelling just so, I gave the young excitable octopus my
most seductive pout.
“Danny, sunshine? It’s your lucky night. I can be vocal and lead
guitar.”

Oh my God, he’d failed to read the memo. The boy was still here! As
I discovered after easing myself out of bed late morning and tripping
over his naked form, laid out on the carpet as if the FBI were on
their way to draw a chalk outline around him. I yanked back the
curtains, and he stirred.
“What on earth are you doing down there?”
“Uh?”
Wrapping my silk robe more tightly, I repeated the question,
prodding him with my toe like I’d stumbled over something washed
up on the beach. Kissing and inane dirty talk in exchange for a quick
fuck was bad enough, but the morning after? Unmoisturised and
uncaffeinated? Heavens no. He’d think he’d gone to bed with Beauty
and woken up with the Beast.
The guy drew himself onto his elbows, blinking into the harsh
light, then belching softly. A smattering of acne across his upper
back reminded me just how young he was.
“Uh… you kicked me out? You specifically ordered me to get out
after we finished?”
“Yes, and by out, I meant out-out, not out of bed.”
“Oh.” Another blink. “Shit.”
He scratched his head and then his hairless belly, trying to
process his surroundings and equate the troll standing over him,
twin tracks of mascara painting his stubbly cheeks, with the smooth
sexy twink he’d shagged eight hours earlier. Twice.
I prodded him again. “It was lovely knowing you, Danny. It really
was. But time’s ticking, and I’m a busy man. I have a brunch date
in…” I glanced at my phone. “Pissing fuck, forty minutes, at Covent
Garden. So, flower, be a good boy and shake a leg. Now.”
During the course of his stupendous evening as a gallant chap
about town, young Danny had lost his phone and didn’t have any
change for the bus. I passed a tenner over to him, like he was some
sort of cheap gigolo I’d hired for the night. He studied it as if he’d
never seen actual paper money before asking if I had a fiver instead,
because he only paid half price. At which point his face turned the
same shade of scarlet as my silk robe. I might be old, but I wasn’t
so bloody ancient I couldn’t remember how travel discounts worked.
Fuck my life.
“So. Danny. You mentioned you were a student.”
 “Um… yeah.” My bland bedroom carpet suddenly became a
source of great fascination. “I am.”
“Good. I’ve always appreciated an educated man.” I whisked the
tenner back off him. “Um… what kind of student? Tell me the truth,
flower. And while you’re about it, I’ll also be needing the name and
number of the very cute guy on your fake ID. From the chiselled
jawline, I’m taking a wild guess that he’s your older brother.”
Bingo. His head shot up like I’d poked him with a cattle prod. A
piece of equipment I unfortunately didn’t have lying around to
extract this child out of my fucking house.
“I’d like to meet him,” I continued savagely, “because he’s hot.
More importantly, not only does he look plenty old enough to pick up
similarly inclined men in age-restricted lounge bars, but I’ll wager
he’s also not still at fucking school, Danny.”
The stony silence filling the bedroom told me I was bang on the
money.
“I don’t think he’s gay,” Danny mumbled, picking at the carpet.
“That’s a pity. And a waste.”
Danny’s chin jutted; his eyes pleaded. “But I am, and I lost my
house keys as well as my phone, and my mum and stepdad will
have gone to church by now, and then they’re going to my Aunt
Sandra’s for lunch, and my uncle’s the church warden, so they will
be ages leaving church, and I won’t be able to get back in the
house, and so… so can I hang around with you for a bit?”
Two soulful brown eyes beseeched me from the disadvantaged
position of being level with my ankles. Eyes like Mungo’s, but a
whole heap more desperate than my big friend’s ever were, very lost
and very young. Something told me that Danny’s church-going
stepdad probably didn’t appreciate having a gay stepson. Fuck, I
knew what that kind of parental disapproval felt like. My annoyance
with the boy softened a fraction.
“And the sex was all right, wasn’t it, Milo?”
I smiled inwardly. First time around, he’d pushed at my entrance
like he was vying to be the first bloke into the IKEA sale on Black
Friday. I’d fleetingly wondered if he’d ever done it before. But
afterwards, he’d been considerate, even passing me some bog roll to
clean up, and we’d had a repeat performance an hour later with a
much more satisfactory outcome. And those eyes reminded me so
much of Mungo’s, even if his sexual prowess lagged significantly
behind.
“Please, Milo? I haven’t got anywhere else to go.”
Okay, so soul-skimming big brown eyes were most definitely a
weakness that needed addressing. However, on this occasion, maybe
they would play into my hands. Mungo would be at brunch, which
meant his toffee-nosed boyfriend, Cav, would be at brunch, which
meant I’d be third-wheeling the whole lot—again. The least
important friend in the group. Again. My presence wouldn't make a
difference or not, except that Frankie would send a fucking Uber to
ensure I hadn’t died.
“You can join me and my friends for brunch at the pub.” Issuing
instructions over my shoulder, I headed for the shower. He hadn’t
moved. “But don’t expect me to buy you a beer, seeing as you’re
underage. And keep your trap shut if I… um… choose to exaggerate
the extent of our relationship.” I threw him a threatening smile.
“Come on, chop chop. If you’re a very good boy, I might treat you to
a Coke and a bag of crisps.”
CHAPTER 2
 MUNGO

Now I had a steady partner, I'd never expected waking with an

erection to cold sheets and an empty bed every Sunday morning.
And yet here I was.
Last night had been fun, though. A lingering mugginess in my
head proved it. Cav had sprung me a last-minute, unexpectedly
sweet birthday treat: an early supper for two at a new brasserie I’d
mentioned I liked the look of, then topped it off with a romantic
meander down the Kings Road afterwards. Followed by energetic
birthday sex. Which I’d been hoping to rekindle this morning.
Spirals of pleasant-smelling steam curled under the bathroom
door, and I pictured Cav lathering up in the shower with his usual
practical economy of movement, doing my lonely hard-on no favours
at all. His body was long and lean, honed by years of early-morning
runs, such as the one he’d just taken. Limber, too. This morning,
he’d jogged a ‘quick’ ten kilometres. Hah! Even funnier was asking if
I'd like to run with him. Fuck, no. If he wanted me all hot and
sweaty at the arse-crack of dawn, I’d need a hell of a lot more
motivation than a protein shake and a bowl of Bircher afterwards.
Like another round of sex, for instance.
I pulled the duvet higher. Alone and horny perhaps, but very
comfortable. We’d moved in together three months ago. With our
combined incomes and the generosity of Cav’s wealthy parents, it
was safe to say we’d both skipped a few rungs on the property
ladder. Our high-ceilinged bedroom looked out on a pleasing aspect
of similar smart apartments, separated from ours by a well-tended
green square of park. A vast improvement on my cramped old room
in the terrace I’d shared with Milo, overlooking a scruffy backyard
attached to the Erdogans' kebab house. Unsurprisingly, the park
smelled more fragrant too, although I missed wiling away lazy
afternoons with Milo in Mrs Erdogan’s kitchen. Full of the latest
gossip, she would feed us teeth-rottingly sweet baklava served with
lemon tea in tiny tulip-shaped glasses and paint Milo’s fingernails for
him.
My new flat was in walking distance to my friend Maddie’s place,
the only female Carter triplet, who lived with her partner Darren and
their small child a couple of streets away in their own cosy corner of
South Kensington. Cav and I had purchased a sturdy new bed too, in
which I currently lounged, big enough for two hefty blokes and with
room to spare.
So yes, undeniably comfortable.
Waiting for Cav to finish showering, I reached for my phone and
snorted at Tristan’s latest Instagram post. A photo of him in a sunny
Californian park clutching a baseball bat. A proudly grinning Dom
clutched him. Maddie had left a string of adoring hearts underneath,
whereas Frankie had commented Tristan looked like he’d already
been hit several times in the face with the ball. A precise summing-
up of their sibling relationship. Milo had yet to add his tuppence
worth, more than likely having too much fun himself to check in on
social media.
A dark cloud briefly soured my contentment. Not for the first
time, I acknowledged that I missed him.
Cav reappeared, already dressed, vigorously rubbing his neat
brown hair with a towel. A spark of irritation flashed through me.
Lazing around in bed was an alien concept. I’d hoped that might
change once we had a nice bed in which to snuggle. Seemingly not.
Never mind. Maybe he’d be up for some afternoon delight later.
“Don’t overdo it again at brunch, Mungo. My mum’s expecting us
by one thirty, and she’ll have prepared a massive Sunday roast.”
Okay, so maybe not. I said nothing; the last Sunday I’d declined
to visit his parents had ended very badly. He’d given me the silent
treatment, which I’d tried to combat with the didn’t-even-notice
treatment, until two days later I admitted defeat and apologised
wholeheartedly for being so thoughtless. And even then, he’d been
slow to thaw.
“My brother and his fiancée will be coming, too, with the baby.
So that will be nice.”
With an appropriately enthusiastic noise, I steeled myself for a
long afternoon feigning interest in a baby’s weaning regime,
alternating with Cav’s father bragging about his golf handicap.
“The shower’s free,” he added, not the subtlest of hints. Once,
we’d have been crammed under the hot jets together, ensuring
every nook and cranny of each other’s bodies were most thoroughly
cleansed, but the running regime put paid to that. Obediently, I
clambered out of bed, taking small comfort in Cav’s pale eyes flicking
over my meaty naked thighs and belly. My oversized build had
attracted him to me in the first place. When the mood took him, he
fucked like a tomcat and liked plenty to hold on to. I preened.
Then his gaze homed in on my face and settled there. “I
recharged your beard trimmer overnight.” He turned away to peer at
his hair in the mirror above the dressing table. “I know winter isn’t
too far away, but there’s really no need to start growing your own
scarf.”

Ever since finishing university and banking our first pay checks,
Sunday brunch had become a monthly diary fixture. Initially only the
triplets, Milo, and me, now it encompassed partners too and, in
Maddie’s case, baby Rosie. Only Tristan and his boyfriend Dom
currently had a valid excuse not to attend, having relocated to
sunnier climes until Dom collected his college degree. Even Milo
would turn up eventually, dragging himself out of whichever man’s
bed he’d found himself the night before.
The mild late summer weather was holding out long enough for
us to grab a table in the sheltered beer garden of one of my
favourite Covent Garden pubs. Cav would have preferred to sit
inside, but Frankie and their husband, Lysander, were already
seated. In Frankie’s world, tardiness was right up there with the
worst of the seven deadly sins. Like the heroes they were, they had
already ordered a jug of mimosa.
“Better limit ourselves to one,” Cav murmured as we approached.
“You know how silly you can get. And how my mum feels about
daytime drinking.”
I wasn’t brave enough to admit the only way I got through
Sunday lunch with his family was to partake in daytime drinking,
starting right here, right now with my oldest, bestest muckers. And
his mum had strong opinions about all sorts of things. Later this
afternoon, I was going to be privy to a fair few of them. Weekly
Sunday lunches were the price we paid for his parents' contribution
to the deposit for our flat.
In my mind, brunch without a snifter of booze might as well be
downgraded to breakfast, but I nodded anyhow, seeing as I planned
on ignoring his advice. Sometimes, agreeing was easier. And his
mood had already soured because we were outside.
Greeting me enthusiastically, Frankie and I exchanged a cuddle.
They had come out as nonbinary around six months ago, no surprise
to any of us, having been headed in that direction for a few years. I
couldn’t be happier for them. Today, they were their usual ravishing
self and dressed at the conservative end of their clothing spectrum.
Cav found some of their sartorial choices beyond his comfort zone,
so this should have pleased him. Lysander, making beige chinos and
a plain grey Henley sexy as hell, treated us to a hearty handshake,
and both Cav and I did our utmost not to be spotted checking him
out.
“Milo is running late,” announced Frankie, as if that was novel
information. Although, in the days before Cav, I’d have poured him
and his hangover kicking and screaming into my car, and we’d have
been the first to arrive and the last to leave. “He just texted. And…
drumroll… he’s bringing someone.”
Okay, so that was news. Milo’s pickups rarely lasted beyond
dawn. The idea of anything different sat with me much less
comfortably than it should.
 “Anyone we know?” Cav asked stiffly, sipping a sparkling water.
I wished he would relax a bit more around my friends, especially
Frankie and Milo. If he could see beyond Frankie’s genderfluidity and
just accept them for the amazingly loyal and fabulous person they
were, they would actually get on very well. Both were obsessed with
punctuality, calendars organised to the second. And Frankie had
always been incredibly friendly to him. Milo less so, admittedly, but
he was a cooler character in general. Even now, after all these years,
I could never say with any certainty what ran through his sharp
mind.
Since becoming half of a devoted couple, I’d seen all my friends
much less than I’d have liked. Especially Milo. When I’d pointed this
out, Cav had smiled, then shrugged it off, saying that was totally
normal for boyfriends who only wanted to be with each other. Which
was kind of nice. If I recalled, he’d shown me exactly how much he
valued our time alone.
Frankie smirked. “Not unless any of your friends or acquaintances
are nicknamed… let me check my notes,” they looked back at their
phone, “the throat GOAT, no.”
“The what?”
Frankie’s eyes flicked down to their phone screen again.
“Running five minutes behind,” they read out. “Am bringing my new
man, aka throat GOAT. Ciao ciao.”
I snorted. Typical bloody Milo.
“Ciao ciao? God, he can be quite pretentious sometimes, can’t
he?” Cav wrinkled his nose as if a bad smell had floated underneath
it.
“I assure you he’d take that as a compliment.”
Frankie’s tone was mild, but nonetheless, I wished Cav would
keep his thoughts to himself. The gang had welcomed my new
partner with open arms, even if I suspected, privately, they
considered him a surprising choice. Especially as they knew how
heavily I’d fallen for Milo. The two men were chalk and cheese in
every regard. For instance, Cav was tall, whereas Milo was short.
And a beneficiary of an expensive education versus the school of
hard knocks. Dark, not fair. Cav had a square-jawed, open
handsomeness, in sharp contrast to Milo’s foxy, angular features and
sly, knowing gaze, as if he were already two steps ahead. Added to
his healthy lifestyle and conservative outlook, Cav was everything
Milo wasn’t. In fact, for a gay man, he was remarkably… straight.
Outside the bedroom, anyhow.
Before we were able to parse that information, Maddie and her
partner Darren appeared. The big man proffered a dribbly baby
Rosie out to Frankie like he was bestowing the ultimate gift. The
only heterosexual triplet, Maddie made up for that dreadful
shortcoming by hitching herself to Darren, who was, in Tristan’s
words, the queerest cishet man he’d ever encountered.
Milo and timekeeping were poorly acquainted. So, by the time his
platinum blond head and tiny frame appeared at the far end of the
beer garden, we were all well into extra helpings of blueberry
pancakes. Except for Cav, who stuck to natural yoghurt and granola.
As he picked out the raisins and educated the table at large on their
surprisingly high hidden sugar content, a lecture I’d heard several
times before, I sneaked my second mimosa.
My oldest friend scanned the garden for us, and my belly
performed its usual flipflop, a response I’d trained myself to ignore.
Because I’d learned the painful way, years ago now, that the corner
of Milo’s heart reserved for me, although cosy and welcoming, was
just that – a corner, not the whole thing. And I’d come to terms and
moved on. The belly churning was merely a hangover from years of
classical conditioning.
Anyhow, I had Cav now, and we were a great fit. Sexually
compatible and aspirational. Ambitious and forward-thinking. We
enjoyed the same films, holiday destinations, thriller books, and
restaurants. Hell, we even shared the same taste in wallpaper. Come
to think of it, the fluttering in my belly was probably carb loading on
top of yesterday evening’s rich dinner. Cav had warned me I’d
overeaten last night.
“Wow, he looks…” Lysander trailed off.
Beautiful, I nearly finished for him, though I had a feeling that
wasn’t close. I hadn’t found the exact adjective to describe how I
felt whenever Milo walked into a room. Or a beer garden. Today, an
oversized pink sweatshirt with fresh peach juice emblazoned across
the front dwarfed his slim body. Just in case his prancing, hip-
wiggling walk didn’t scream gay loudly enough.
“Utterly ridiculous,” muttered Cav.
“Like a man who’s regretting some of his choices of the previous
evening?” supplied Frankie. Okay, yes, now they mentioned it,
beautiful but half dead.
“Good lord, and he appears to have brought a child along.”
They waved energetically at Milo, receiving a weak finger flutter
in return. My eyes had skimmed over the bulky teenager trailing in
his wake, assuming they had nothing to do with each other,
especially as Milo’s taste tended to older. But then Milo groped
behind for said teenager’s hand, clenching it in a grip that made the
poor boy wince, and, wow, it would appear they were together.
“Yes, I’m late, everyone, and yes, I look like shit.”
He dragged his dark sunglasses down his nose a fraction and
squinted. “Fuck me, it’s bright this morning. Remember your
manners, Danny, and say hello to all the nice people.”
He nudged the dazed and equally hungover youth sharply, before
holding aloft their joined hands in a mock salute. “This is Danny. As
you can see, we’re deliriously in love. And before you ask, he’s older
than he looks.” Clocking Cav’s disdainful expression (and because he
couldn’t resist winding him up), Milo added in a stagey whisper, “Fun
fact: last night I discovered Danny’s superpower. He can suck the
paint off a drainpipe. And he swallows like a champ.”
From his bewildered reaction, the last bit was news to Danny.
Letting go of him, Milo blew us all a tired kiss. I used to pretend to
catch them in the palm of my hand, then gobble them up, but I
couldn’t these days. I gave him a friendly nod instead,
simultaneously patting Cav’s thigh under the table. As Milo
succumbed to a bear hug from Frankie, a trace of unease hit me. All
his usual quirks were present: the wry humour, the languorous
manner, the fabulous get-up. But something wasn’t quite right, and I
couldn’t put my finger on it.
Introductions over, Danny immediately excused himself to find
the gents, possibly to throw up. Sliding into the bench opposite, Milo
rested his head on his forearms and groaned. His complexion was
pale at the best of times. Hungover, he was positively vampiric. “I
hope to God someone has already ordered me a rum and coke.”
Wordlessly, Darren stood and headed for the bar. Going with the
flow was the best policy when Milo was in this snippy mood.
Cav raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
While I often found my boyfriend’s practical qualities endearing,
Milo didn’t. I held my breath, praying he wouldn’t eviscerate him.
“Very,” he answered without lifting his head. “Drinking rum
before midday makes me feel like a pirate. Deliciously devilish.”
I bet he couldn’t have got his tongue around those mangled
syllables six hours ago. Too busy with it elsewhere. Unsurprisingly,
Cav didn’t come up with a suitable response, and I gave his leg
another reassuring pat. Being the newcomer amongst a group of
firm friends was always a tricky path to negotiate. On the whole, he
was doing fine.
“Big night?” Frankie asked, as if they didn’t already know the
answer. They ran their fingers through Milo’s fine hair, playing with
the silky white ends, knowing how much Milo liked it. When we’d
been housemates, he’d lie across my lap and beg me to stroke it for
hours, until I’d soothed his prickles into purrs. It hadn’t been a
hardship.
This morning, Frankie’s ministrations drew the tiniest of smiles.
“Fuck knows, I can’t remember much past midnight. Love you,
babes.” He let out a shuddering groan. “Any pancakes left? Might
settle my stomach.”
Lysander lifted the lid of the warmer and prepared one for him.
We all knew how he liked them: maple syrup, cream, a dollop of
cream, and another ungodly layer of cream. If Cav hadn't been
bristling next to me, I’d have done it myself. I hoped he wasn’t
building into one of his moods.
“Maybe you should stick to orange juice this morning,” he
suggested in the teacherly tone he no doubt used to address his
class of sixth-form boys. “Avoid complex carbs and have some dry
toast. After I’ve had one too many out with friends, I always find
toast and a dose of vitamin C to be an excellent combination.”
 When had Cav last experienced a hangover? Not since the
running regime. After two glasses of red last night, I’d had the
remainder of the bottle to myself, though not finished it. Cav hinted
it dampened my performance in bed. News to me.
Stiffening, I willed Milo to go easy on him. The stupid thing was
Cav meant well, but if my boyfriend found Frankie hard to get his
head around, Milo totally befuddled him. I’d never dared tell him
how I used to feel about Milo, so maybe our wealth of shared past
disconcerted him. Or, more likely, he couldn’t comprehend how a
razor-sharp barrister like Milo could get totally plastered on a
Saturday night, spend the early hours fucking a random pickup, and
still annihilate the opposition in court on a Monday morning.
“Is that so.” A lazy blink accompanied Milo’s softly spoken words.
“You and I must run in very different social circles.”
He treated Cav to a long blue stare over the frame of his
mirrored Ray Bans, drinking in my boyfriend as if seeing him for the
very first time. Humming, a little furrow ridged his brow. I wished I
knew what he was thinking. “Dry toast,” he pronounced eventually.
“How… wholesome. Or wholegrain. Or holy. One or the other.”
Lysander pushed a pancake drowning in maple syrup and cream
towards him, and Milo swiped a finger through it before bringing it
to his lips, sucking suggestively. His eyes never left Cav. “Personally?
I find pancakes and rum hit the spot perfectly. But, hey. Each to
their own. You keep doing you, sunshine.”
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
Contrasted expressions or comparisons, 20, XVII.;
comparison, short, 21, 1;
so-that, rather-than, etc., 21, 2;
as, than, 21, 3;
first expression negative, the other affirmative, 21, 4.
Consequently, 9, IV.
Copy, definition of, 104.
Correction in proof to be disregarded, 109, IX.
Cousin, when to commence with a capital, 63, 2, 3; 90, 2; 96, 2.
Crooked words in proof, 110, XII.

D
Dagger, double dagger, uses of, 53, VI.
Dash, 34-38;
additional punctuation marks, 38, 1, 2.
Days of the month, 60, VI.;
spring, summer, etc., 61, Rem.
Dates, 22, Rem.
Deity, the, 63, X.;
difference among writers, 63, 1;
First Cause, etc., 64, 2;
King of kings, etc., 64, 3;
eternal, divine, etc., 64, 4;
pronouns, 64, 5; 65, 6;
god, goddess, deity, 65, 7.
Democrat, 60, V.
Dependent clauses, 6, II.;
definition of, 7, 1;
omission of comma, 7, 2.
Devil, 59, 3.
Diæresis, 50, 4.
Diphthongs, how indicated in proof, 110, XIV.
Direct question, 31, I.
Direct quotation. See Quotation.
Divine, 64, 4.
Division of words, 50, III.;
where to divide a word, 51, 1.
Divisions of sentences, 23, I.; 25, Gen. Rem.
Divisions of a statement, 69, XVII.;
how readily recognized, 70, 1;
usage of some writers, 70, 2;
sentences broken off to attract attention, 70, 3.

E
East, when to commence with a capital, 59, 1.
Ellipsis, marks of, 52, III.
Emotion, strong, 32, I.;
unusual degree, 32, Rem.
Emphasis, words repeated for, 17, 3;
use of the dash to give prominence, 37, Gen. Rem.; 35, 1.
Enumeration of particulars, 27, III.;
particulars preceded by a colon, 27, 1;
not introduced by thus, following, etc., 27, 2;
particulars preceded by a semicolon, 27, 3;
comma and dash sometimes used, 28, 4.
Envelopes, addressed, 77;
with special request, 78;
with stamp, 78.
Esq., 74, 3.
Eternal, referring to the Deity, 64, 4.
Example, punctuation of words preceding, 24, Rem.;
first word of, 66, 4.
Exclamation point, 32, 33;
inclosed within parenthetical marks, 40, 3.
Expressions, inverted, 12, VI.;
two brief, 19, 2;
contrasted, 20, XVII.;
complete in themselves, 23, II.; 28, Gen. Rem.;
series of, 24, III.;
negative and affirmative, 21, 4;
at the end of sentences, 22, XIX.;
equivalent to sentences, 57, 2.

F
Father, when to commence with a capital, 63, 2, 3.
Federalist, 60, V.
Figures omitted, 36, IV.;
Arabic, 22, XVIII.
Finally, 9, IV.
First Cause, First Principle, 64, 2;
Father of mercies, Father of spirits, 64, 3.
First word in a sentence, 57, I.;
in expressions numbered, 69, XVII.;
after a period, 57, 3.
Following, 27, III., 2.
Foreign words, 43, 2.
Forms of address, 78-82.
Friend, when to commence with a capital, 63, 3; 90, 2; 96, 2.

G
General remarks, 28, 37, 110.
God, 63, 64;
goddess, 65, 7;
God of hosts, 64, 3.
Gospel, 61, 3.
Greeting. See Introductory words.

H
Handbills, use of capitals in, 62, 3.
Heading of letters, 83;
definition, 83;
punctuation, 84;
large cities, 85;
a small town or village, 86;
hotels, 86;
seminaries or colleges, 86;
position, 86.
Heaven and hell, 59, 3.
Heavenly, applied to the Deity, 64, 4.
Hers, 48, 3.
Hesitation, how indicated, 34, I.
His, Him, referring to the Deity, 64, 5.
His Excellency, 76, 5; 62, IX.;
address of envelope, 80.
Hon., 75, 4; 62, IX.
However, 9, IV.
Hyphen, the, 49-51;
connecting several words, 49, 2;
omitted, 49, 3;
doubt as to the use, 49, 5.
I
I, 68, XV.
If, 7, 1.
Indeed, 9, IV.
Independent clauses, 6, I.;
definition of, 6, 1;
comma omitted, 6, 2;
separation by a semicolon, 6, 3.
Infinite One, 64, 2.
In short, in fact, in reality, 9, IV.
Interjections, 32, II.;
exclamation point at the end of a sentence, 33, 1, 2.
Interrogation point, 31, I.;
inclosed in parenthetical marks, 40, 2.
Introductory words of letters, definition, 90;
punctuation, 91;
position, 91;
forms of salutation, 92;
salutations to young ladies, 93;
to married ladies, 94.
Introductory remarks, 5, 73.
Inverted expressions, 12, VI.;
explanation, 12, 1;
omission of comma, 12, 2.
Inverted letter in proof, 107, IV.
Italics, how indicated, 53, V.; 107, VI.;
words from a foreign language, 43, 2;
written with or without a capital, 60, Rem.
Its, 48, 3.
K
King of kings, 64, 3.

L
Leaders, 53, IV.
Letters or figures omitted, 36, IV.;
3-9 equivalent to, 37, Rem.
Letters omitted, 47, I.;
the apostrophe, 47, Rem.
Letters, care in writing, some facts, 73.
Letter-forms, 71-100.
List of abbreviations, 29, 30; 30, 7.
LL. D., 30, 5; 75, 3.
Logical subject, 19, XVI.;
definition of, 20, 1;
custom of some writers, 20, 2.
Long sentences, 25, I.
Lord of lords, 64, 3.

M
Madame, 93, 94.
Marks of parenthesis, 39, 40;
additional marks, 39, 1;
dashes, 37, V.;
comma, 40, 4.
Mark of attention in proof, 110, XV.
Members of sentences, 25, Gen. Rem.
Miscellaneous marks, 52, 53.
Miss, 74, 1; 93.
Months and days, names of, 60, VI.;
autumn, spring, etc., 61, Rem.
More—than, 21, 2.
Moreover, 9, IV.

N
Name, person’s, 16, 2, d.;
abbreviated, 30, 2; 74, 2; 96, Rem.
period used after name, 29, Rem.
See Signature.
Namely, 9, IV.; 35, 2.
Nations, names of, 59, IV.;
Italics and Italicized, 60, Rem.
Negative expressions, 21, 4.
Nevertheless, 9, IV.
Nor, 6, 1.
Not, contrasted expressions, 21, 4.
North, when to commence with a capital, 59, 1.
Nouns in apposition, 15, 16. See Words.
Numeral figures, 22, XVIII.;
dates, 22, Rem.

O
O, 68, XV.;
not followed by an exclamation point, 32, II.
Of which, 9, 3;
of course, 9, IV.
Omitted, letters or figures, 36, IV.; 47, I.
Omissions, how indicated, 52, II.;
in proof, 106, III.
Or, 6, 1; 18, 2.
Ours, 48, 3.

P
Pages, numbering of, 30, 4.
Paragraphs, quoted, 46, IV.;
sign of, 53, VI.;
in proof, 108, VIII.
Parallel lines, 53, VI.
Parenthesis, 39, I.;
additional marks, 39, 1, a, b, c;
comma and dash often preferred, 37, V.; 40, 4;
doubtful assertion, 40, 2;
irony or contempt, 40, 3.
Parenthetical words and phrases, 9, IV.;
definition of, 10, 1;
when commas are omitted, 10, 2;
parenthetical words and adverbs, 10, 3.
Parenthetical expressions, 11, V.;
distinction between parenthetical expressions and
parenthetical words, 11, 1, a, b;
when commas are omitted, 11, 2.
Parties, names of, 60, V.
See Sects.
Participial clauses, 14, IX.;
sign of, 14, Rem.
Perhaps, 9, IV.
Period, indicates what, 3;
uses of, 29, 30.
Persons and places, names of, 58, III.;
North, South, etc., 59, 1;
words derived from names of persons, 59, 2;
Satan, devil, 59, 3.
Person or thing addressed, 13, VIII.;
strong emotion, 14, Rem.
Personification, 67, XIV.
Phrases and clauses, 18, XV.;
definition of a phrase, 19, 1;
of a clause, 5;
when commas are omitted, 19, 2;
words and phrases in a series, 19, 3;
parenthetical phrases, 9, 10.
Poetry, first word of each line, 58, II.
Political parties, 60, V.
Possession, 47, II.;
singular of nouns, 47, 1;
plural of nouns, 48, 2;
ours, yours, etc., 48, 3.
Prefixes, 50, II.;
definition of, 50, 1;
vowel and consonant 50, 2;
vice-president, etc., 50, 3;
when to use the diæresis, 50, 4.
Prince of life, Prince of kings, 64, 3.
Projecting leads in proof, 110, XIII.
Pronouns referring to the Deity, 64, 5; 65, 6.
Proof-reading, 101-114;
its importance, 102;
preparation of manuscript, 102, 103;
copy, proof-sheet, revise, 104;
wrong letters and punctuation marks, 105, I.;
 wrong words, 106, II.;
omissions, 106, III.;
inverted letter, 107, IV.;
strike out, 107, V.;
capitals and italics, 107, VI.;
spacing, 108, VII.;
paragraphs, 108, VIII.;
correction to be disregarded, 109, IX.;
broken letters, 109, X.;
transpose, 109, XI.;
crooked words, 110, XII.;
projecting leads, 110, XIII.;
diphthongs, 110, XIV.;
mark of attention, 100, XV.;
Gen. Rem., 110.
Proof-sheet, definition of, 104;
specimen proof, 111, 112;
corrected proof, 113, 114.
Punctuation, its importance, iii., iv.;
how to teach it, iv., v.;
principal punctuation marks, 3;
other marks, 4;
punctuation marks, why used, 3, 4.

Q
Question, direct, 31, I.;
question and answer in the same paragraph, 36, 3.
Quotation, short, 12, VII.;
long, 13, 5; 26, II.; 27, 1;
expressions resembling a quotation, 13, 1;
introduced by that, 13, 2; 65, 1;
single words quoted, 13, 3; 65, 2; 66, 3;
quotation divided, 13, 4;
quotation in the middle of a sentence, 27, 2;
quotation within a quotation, 45, 1; 46, 2;
 parts of a quotation omitted, 46, IV., 2;
first word of a quotation, 65, XI.;
examples as illustrations, 24, Rem.; 66, 4.
Quotation marks, 43-46;
direct quotation, 43, I.;
exact words not given, 43, 1;
words from a foreign language, 43, 2;
quotation followed by a comma, semicolon, colon, period,
44, 4;
by an exclamation or interrogation point, 44, 5, 6;
titles of books, 44, II.;
quotation within a quotation, 45, III.;
paragraphs, 46, IV.
Quoted passage, 41, I.

R
Republican, Radical, 60, V.
Rather—than, 21, 2.
Reference marks, 53, VI.
References, 68, XVI.;
volume and chapter, 69, 1;
to the Bible, 69, 3;
volume and page sufficient, 69, 2.
Relative clauses, 7, III.;
commas when used, 7, III., 1;
when omitted, 7, III., 2;
introduced by who, etc., 8, 1;
exceptions, 8, 2, 3.
Reporter, remarks by, 41, 2.
Resolutions, 66, XII.;
Resolved and That, 66, Rem.
Revise, definition of, 104.
S
Salutations. See Introductory words.
Scriptures, sacred writings, 61, 3.
Sects, names of, 60, V.;
Republican, etc., 60, 1, 2;
Church, 60, 3.
Section mark, 53, VI.
Semicolon, 23-25;
indicates distant relationship, 3, 4;
often preferred to a colon, 28;
semicolon and comma, 25.
Sentence, definition of, 5; 57, 1;
long sentences, 23, I.;
members of, 23, II.; 25, Gen. Rem.; 28, Gen. Rem.;
complete sentences, 29, I.;
broken sentences, 34, I.;
first word of, 57, I.;
expressions equivalent to a sentence, 57, 2;
word following a period, 57, 3;
word following an interrogation or an exclamation, 58, 4.
Series of words, 17, XIV.;
commas, when not used, 17, XIV., 1;
when used, 18, XIV., 2, 3;
last word preceding a single word, 18, 1;
two words connected by or, 18, 2;
series of phrases and clauses, 18, XV.;
of expressions, 24, III.
Short quotations. See Quotations.
Signatures, 29, Rem.; 97, 98.
Since, 7, 1.
Sister, when to commence with a capital, 63, 2; 90, 2; 96, 2.
Sir, 63, 3.
Son of man, 64, 3.
So—that, so—as, 21, 2.
South, 59, 1.
Spacing in proof, 108, VII.
Specimen proof, 111, 112.
Special words, capitalization of, 66, 67.
Spring, summer, 61, Rem.
Stamp, 78.
Star, reference mark, 53, VI.
Strike out in proof, 107, V.
Strong emotion, 32, I.;
unusual emotion, 32, Rem.
Subject, logical, 19, XVI.;
definition of, 20, 1;
subject of statement or quotation, 35, III.;
definition of, 36, 1;
author, 36, 2;
question and answer, 36, 3;
as, thus, etc., 36, 4.
Summary of letter-forms, 98-100.
Supreme Being, 64, 2;
Son of man, 64, 3.

T
Titles, annexed, 16, 3;
of essays, orations, etc., 29, Rem.; 61, 2;
of books, 44, II.; 61, VII.;
of magazines, 45, 1, 2;
of persons, 62, IX.;
sacred writings, 61, 3.
Title-pages, 62, VIII.;
first word of a chapter, 62, 2;
handbills and advertisements, 62, 3.
Than, 21, 3.
That, 8, 1; 13, 2;
quotation introduced by that, 65, 1;
in resolutions, 66, Rem.
That is, 35, 2.
Theirs, 48, 3.
Therefore, 9, IV.
Thus, this, these, 27, III.; 27, 2; 36, 4.
To-day, to-night, to-morrow, 49, 4.
Too, 10, 3.
Transpose in proof, 109, XI.

U
Until, 7, 1.
Unconnected words, 16, XIII.,
comma, when used, 17, 1, 3;
when not used, 17, 2.
Uncle, when to commence with a capital, 63, 2, 3; 90, 2; 96, 2.

V
Verb omitted, 15, X.;
main clauses separated by a semicolon, 15, 1;
comma omitted, 15, 2.
Vice-president, 50, 3.

W
What, 8, 1.
When, 7, 1.
Words, parenthetical, 9, IV.;
in apposition, 15, XI.;
unconnected, 16, XIII.;
series of, 17, XIV.;
repeated for emphasis, 17, 3; 35, 3;
two connected by or, 18, 2;
words and phrases in a series, 19, 3;
from a foreign language, 43, 2;
compound, 49, I.;
division of, 50, III.;
repeated, 52, I.;
special, 66, XIII.
Words personified, 67, XIV.;
caution, 68, Rem.
Wrong letters and punctuation marks in proof, 105, I.;
wrong words, 106, II.

Y
Yours, 48, 3.
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