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Clearly, I’m out of practice at this.

Niamh and Emmy made it look perfectly straightforward, and they didn’t even need a tattoo to break the ice. Why can’t I have an uncomplicated kiss? Because you know what? It’s my birthday. If Emmy is going to kiss somebody tonight, I don’t see why I shouldn’t.

Yes, yes, I know. I’m a little tipsy. A prosecco at dinner, two cocktails downstairs, and half a white wine spritzer. If I were sober, there is no chance—none—that I’d be sitting here willing my rude, arrogant, and generally maddening upstairs neighbour to kiss me.

But why shouldn’t I let my hair down for once? I’m still young. I’m allowed to do something a little reckless.

Right. Let’s see what he makes of this.

I place a hand on his thigh. Shiitake mushrooms, this thing is solid. I didn’t know thighs could be this solid.

I meet his gaze again and, thank the heavens, he’s finally got the message. He leans forward.

Lesson learnt: if you want to signal your interest in a man unequivocally, put your hand a few inches from his you-know-what. It works. Who knew?

I lean forward too.

Come on, then, Ryan. Kiss me, you gorgeous, infuriating, ridiculously muscled man. Pull me against you and kiss me till I forget why I don’t like you.

“Ryan! Oh my God, I thought it was you.”

Ryan turns, and I snatch back my hand. A tall brunette stands behind him.

I recognise her. She was the one curled into Ryan’s side on the sofa at his flat-warming and—I would put money on it, even though I don’t bet—the one who stayed after everybody else went home. The vocal one.

Tonight she’s in a tiny black dress. And, of course, she looks amazing in it. Ugh.

“Chloe. Hi,” Ryan says to her.

“My friends would love to meet you. I’ve told them all about you. Come and say hello!” She takes hold of his forearm.

“I’m in the middle of something.”

“It’ll only take two minutes.” Chloe tugs, laughing. At a booth several metres away, two women are watching us, and one of them already has her phone up.

Ryan glances at them, hesitates, then breathes out and gets to his feet. Before he goes, he bends and puts his mouth close to my ear. “Two minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”

Then Chloe leads him away, her hand never once leaving his arm.

Something sharp and sour twists in my stomach. He was this close to kissing me, and now he’s gone.

Emmy and Niamh aren’t locking lips anymore, but they’re in a world of their own—heads close together, Niamh’s arm along the back of the sofa behind Emmy, her other hand still resting on Emmy’s thigh.

Across the table, Liam catches my eye, then lifts his glass in a silent toast. Imran elbows him, but the damage is done.

Wonderful. They saw.

Heat climbs up my neck. I dig my phone out of my bag, just to have something to look at.

What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking, that’s the problem. I mean, Ryan Sloan? Really?

I glance up. Chloe has roped a member of staff into taking a photo of Ryan with her and her friends. He’s doing the same pose he struck for the gym lads in the café—fists up, chin down—and they’re copying him, laughing.

Suddenly I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to be home, in bed, in my PJs. I don’t even like going out. I’m only here because Mum and Emmy basically bullied me into it.

It’s time to go.

I tug on my jacket, slide my bag onto my shoulder, then lean in to Emmy. “I’m going to head off.”