Page 42 of Unwritten Rules

First – yes. Book the one at ZENITH. We went there together last year, and it was exceptional.

Next – Alex, please don’t mention screwing on this chat again. Fucking disgusting, okay?

Last – keep the dick-measuring to a minimum, boys, or else I’ll be forced to show you mine and put you both to shame.

I flick my phone on silent, drop it into my bag and stand to gather my bearings.

Heaving a heavy sigh, I close my eyes and allow myself to think of brown eyes, a single dimple, broad shoulders, and deep chuckles.

Of his arms that feel like home. Of his soul that feels like mine.

I miss you, you absolute bollocks.

I’m still pissed off at him, but I still can’t stop the overwhelming happiness that washes over me, remembering how he’d come running when I needed him.

Like, we’re that inexorably tethered that he’d dropped everything to help me.

Maybe I don’t need to be mad at his actions this past week. Maybe I need to grow up and pick my battles because, in the grand scheme of things, he’s always got my back.

And when the chips are down, that’s what counts.

“Mila, come on.” Cal’s resigned voice rings out through the open door of The Nook. “Des potted the black, you’re up.”

Cal’s voice rings out into the night, and I leave my thoughts at the door, intent on enjoying the rest of my evening.

Three more gin and tonics and an unknown number of tequila shots later, Percy decides to call it a night, and, as it turns out, Des and Cal actually live one street over. Since Des doesn’t drink, he offers to escort her home.

She blushes wildly but agrees, going so far as to hug me after allowing me to program my number into her phone. “Text me when you get there, Percy.”

“Of course. And…” she trails off, smiling hesitantly. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, Mila.”

Once they’ve left, Cal presents me with a shot of tequila. “A nightcap for my beard?”

I grin. “Hardly your beard. According to you, you’re positively a cock magnet.” I clink my shot glass to his and knock it back without salt.

“Dear Lord, you’re practically feral.”

I grimace when the heat from the liquor hits the back of my throat. It burns all the way down. “Ugh, where’s the lime?”

Cal sniggers, stuffing the slice of sour fruit past my lips before taking his own shot. With the salt, of course.

He sucks the sour lime, grimacing and holding his stomach. “Ugh, that tasted worse than Simon Gordon’s asshole.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Cal. Really? TMI, dude.”

He raises a sardonic brow. “Always with the TMI, babycakes. Never too much information for my lovely beard.”

I roll my eyes good-naturedly, reaching for the rack once more. “One more flouncing?”

“Pfft, I’m going to kick your ass this time. Just watch.” His phone beeps in his jeans as I set about racking them up for the last time tonight. “One sec, okay?”

I nod and set to my task, and I’m so absorbed in racking the balls correctly that I don’t hear Cal return until he’s right behind me.

His sheepish voice drifts across the pool table. “Ugh…I puked. So much.”

I turn around to find a pastier-than-usual Cal swaying side to side. “I don’t think the air is my friend. The room is spinning….”

He just about makes it to the lounger nearest to him, where he lands with a thud, his head falling back against the seat, unmoving.