Page 42
The DJ cranks up the volume, and it becomes harder to talk across the table. The group naturally breaks into pairs: Niamh and Emmy, Liam and Imran. Which leaves me with Briony.
Shit. I told Niamh I didn’t want to spend the rest of the night making awkward small talk.
Briony’s watching me with a wry wee smile.
“What?” I ask.
“I just can’t imagine you being scrawny.”
Her eyes wander over my fitted black T-shirt and bare arms. She’s about as subtle as Emmy was a minute ago when she was eyeing up Niamh.
Considering I’ve been looking at Briony all night, I don’t say anything. After a few moments, Briony catches herself and takes a sudden deep interest in her drink.
“I was pretty scrawny,” I admit. “That all changed when I joined Glasgow Fight Club, though.”
Briony nods. “I really am grateful, by the way. For downstairs.”
“You don’t have to keep on thanking me. It’s fine.”
I glance at her arm. The red mark has gone. Even so, a man putting his hands on a lassie like that? I should’ve hit him. He got off lightly.
“You ever done any self-defence?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Honestly, I hardly ever go out anyway.”
“Maybe no, but you can run into pricks like that guy anywhere, no just on nights out.”
She nods, but I can tell she isn’t convinced.
Don’t offer to teach her, Ryan. You’ve said your piece. Leave it there.
I keep my mouth shut.
Briony takes a sip, then turns her glass on the table. “So, you and Niamh. Sounds like you go way back. You two are just…friends?”
Is she curious? Jealous? I know she doesn’t like me—not my personality, at least. But my muscles? She likes them fine. I’ve caught her looking enough times to know.
“Aye, just friends,” I confirm. “She’s like a sister to me. She’s also into women, exclusively.” I glance past Briony and grin. “And judging by the look of things, she’s very much into your pal.”
Briony follows my gaze. Beside her on the sofa, Niamh and Emmy are properly going for it. Lips locked together, Emmy’s fingers curled into the front of Niamh’s top, Niamh’s hand sliding up and down Emmy’s fishnetted thigh.
Didn’t take them long. They’ve barely even touched their drinks.
Briony quickly turns back to me. “Oh.”
Liam and Imran have clocked it too. They exchange a look and elbow each other. No better than schoolboys, those two.
Briony shifts along the sofa, giving the girls room—and bringing her closer to me. Close enough that her bare thigh is only an inch from mine.
Fuck me. I absolutely should not be thinking about what she’s wearing under that dress, or imagining stroking her thigh the way Niamh is stroking Emmy’s.
Before I can shove the image aside, Briony reaches out and touches one of the flowers growing through the skull tattoo on my forearm.
The touch is light. Innocent. My cock gives an interested twitch anyway.
Down, lad. This doesn’t involve you. She’s a sweet lassie, and I don’t introduce you to sweet lassies.
“Those flowers,” she says.
