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Why would she say that? Don’t get me wrong, it’d help us keep an eye on these lassies so nobody else bothers them tonight, but what would we talk about? Briony and I have had a few conversations now, and none of them have gone well.

Then I notice the way Niamh’s looking at Emmy, and I realise what this is about. Fuck.

“Er,” Briony says. I can practically hear the cogs turning in her head. She doesn’t want to be rude, especially not after I stepped in to help her, but she doesn’t want to spend the night with us. With me.

Just say no, I silently urge. Go and enjoy your night with your pal.

Emmy, though, is giving her a pleading look.

“Maybe one drink,” Briony says eventually.

Niamh grins. “Great. What are you girls having?”

She takes their orders then tells them to grab their jackets and meet us upstairs. They peel away, and Niamh and I head up to the mezzanine.

“Really?” I say to her.

She smirks, then catches the eye of the lassie serving the mezzanine and puts in the girls’ orders, along with drinks for the rest of our table.

“I don’t want to spend the rest of my night making awkward small talk,” I say afterwards.

Niamh’s mouth twitches. “Oh, aye, it’s gonnae be torture for you. Forced to sit next to the lassie you’ve barely taken your eyes off all night. The lassie you were ready to swing for.”

Fuck. I’ve clearly not been as subtle as I thought. We’re only out tonight because the fight card for Braehead was officially announced today, with Niamh and me both on it. The plan was a beer—singular—with Niamh and a few of the boys to mark the occasion. Some banter. Some ribbing. A quiet night, by our standards, because you don’t do wild nights in camp.

Then Briony Sinclair walked in.

I clocked her at once, then forced my attention back to Niamh and the lads. But my eyes kept seeking her out, again and again.

And then she started dancing. Eyes half shut, singing along, not a scrap of self-consciousness about her. I’ve never seen her like that. I tried not to watch. Failed.

Then she left the dance floor for the bar, which is when I saw that prick bothering her.

Niamh and I head back to the booth, where Imran and Liam are sprawled across one of the sofas. I half expect Briony and Emmy to have changed their minds about joining us, but nope, I spot them coming over, jackets over their arms.

“Right,” Niamh says when they reach us. “Lads, this is Briony and Emmy. Ladies, this is Imran and that’s Liam.”

Liam sits upright and points at Briony. “Here, I know you! You’re the one who gatecrashed Ryan’s flat-warming wi’ the wee dug.”

“That would be me,” Briony says.

“You look different tonight.” His gaze snags on her bare legs.

“Liam,” I warn.

He puts his hands up. “Just saying she looks different, is all.”

Niamh slides along the sofa opposite the boys. Emmy follows her in, then Briony. There’s no way me, Liam, and Imran are all squeezing onto the other sofa, so I take the stool at the end of the table instead, which just happens to put me beside Briony.

Imran leans forward. “What was the commotion downstairs? Thought you were about to get yourself into a fight.”

Briony’s shoulders go up a fraction.

“Nothing,” I say. “All sorted.”

She glances at me, and I can tell she’s grateful not to have to go through it all again, especially in front of strangers.

Imran takes the hint. “So, what brings you ladies out tonight, then?” he asks instead.