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Beside him, Imran takes a drink of his Coke. “He’s doing it on purpose. Baiting him into throwing, so he can slip it and counter.”

“Aye? And how’s that working out for him?”

I leave them to it and glance over at the kitchen island. Briony is standing with Emmy and Niamh, a glass of wine in her hand, laughing at something I’ve missed. She’s got a wee bit of her hair pinned back at one side. The rest falls loose over her shoulders. She’s wearing a denim skirt and a green top that’s cut short, and every time she lifts her glass, I get a glimpse of bare skin at her waist. It’s making it quite hard to concentrate on the fight.

The last time she was here with my pals, it was the early hours of the morning and she was in stripy flannel pyjamas, Penny wedged under one arm, and she’d come to tell me off. Now she’s helping herself to wine and laughing.

Emmy says something into Niamh’s ear, and Niamh swats her on the bum then slips a hand into the back pocket of Emmy’s jeans and leaves it there. They’ve been together more than two months, yet neither of them seems to have worked out that you can stand beside your girlfriend without putting a hand on her arse. Mind you, I’d have my hand on Briony’s arse right now if I thought she’d let me get away with it.

Penny wanders in from the hall. She took herself off to my bedroom earlier, unimpressed by three grown men shouting instructions at a screen. She pauses in the doorway to assess the noise.

“Hello, sleepy girl.” Briony leaves the kitchen island and goes over to her. She bends to stroke her, and the back of her skirt rides up.

Liam’s eyes leave the television and go straight to the backs of her thighs.

I thump his upper arm. “Oi. Eyes up, Devlin.”

He lifts both hands, grinning. “They’re up.”

“Keep them there.”

Briony looks round at us, then straightens. She comes over, a wee smile on her face. Penny, meanwhile, retreats to my bedroom. Briony sets her wine on the coffee table, steps between my legs, then settles sideways on my left thigh, one arm slipping round my shoulders.

“Hello,” she says.

“Hey.” I put my arms round her waist and kiss her. Properly. Right in front of Liam, leaving him in no doubt who she belongs to.

“Christ, Ryony,” Niamh calls. “Get a room!”

The fucking cheek of it. She’s still got one hand tucked in Emmy’s back pocket. And more to the point, Ryony? What’s that about?

Liam sits up. “Ryony? Aw, that’s brilliant. That’s what we’re calling you two from now on.”

I’ve half a mind to tell Niamh and Liam to get to fuck, but Briony bursts out laughing like it’s hilarious, so I let it go.

On screen, the fighter who’s been ignoring Liam’s advice loses. Liam throws out an arm in disgust. “Told him.”

“Aye,” Imran says. “Next time, maybe try shouting at the telly a little louder.”

Next up is Cruz and Vale, the fight we’re all gathered here to watch. Niamh and Emmy bring their drinks over and settle on the smaller sofa. Clips of Cruz and Vale’s past fights fill the screen while the commentators talk them both up, building the thing for all it’s worth. My right knee—the one Briony isn’t sitting on—starts bouncing.

Briony squeezes my shoulder. “You all right?”

“Aye.”

I keep the knee still. For about ten seconds.

I beat Kovac four weeks ago, and all that did was keep me where I was. Tonight decides what’s next for me.

The arena lights dim, Vale’s entrance music thunders out, then Vale emerges through a shower of sparks, raising both arms to the crowd.

“Prick,” I mutter.

“You’ve mentioned he’s bad news,” Briony says, “but you never actually said why.”

“Where do you want to start?” Liam asks.

“He assaulted his ex-girlfriend,” Niamh says. “Back in Australia. Got convicted for it a few years ago.”