My heart skips a beat the moment I glance across the pub and see you kissing Niall.

What the actual fuck?! I knew letting you have that many drinks was a bad idea.

We’d all agreed to hit the pub after a long day at the studio and you, our photographer, taking a lot of pics of us. It felt like the perfect way to unwind—until now. I was excited to be near you in a different setting, to maybe laugh a little more freely, sit a little closer, see that smile I pretend doesn’t destroy me. But now? Now it feels like the floor’s been ripped out from under me.

I’ve had a thing for you for almost the whole time you’ve been our photographer. Since your laugh first made me forget where we were. But I never acted on it—never even let myself look at you the way I wanted. I didn’t want to risk the group, or worse, lose you altogether.

And now Niall is kissing you like it’s nothing.

My fingers curl tight around the edge of the table. The other lads are still chatting, oblivious, but my mind is spinning.

Are you into him?

Is he into you?

Or are you just drunk and kissing the closest thing with a ‘hot’ accent?

The second that last thought creeps in—that maybe he’s taking advantage of you like this—I can’t stay seated another second.

I shove my chair back, standing so quickly it nearly topples over, and march straight toward you both with my pulse in my throat and fury clouding everything else.

“What the fuck is going on here?” I snap, my voice sharper than I meant—sharp enough to make heads turn.