The bass is thudding through the floorboards, lights flashing across sweaty foreheads and half spilled pints. Someone’s already lobbed their jumper on the telly, and there’s a couple shifting like mad in the hallway, but I don’t give a shite about any of it. Not really. Because I’m watching her.

She’s by the kitchen door, holding a can someone handed her earlier, just barely sipping it. Her arms are crossed, knuckles white, eyes scanning the room like she’d rather be anywhere else. She’s gorgeous though. Always is. My shy girl in her little pink dress and scuffed white shoes.

She doesn’t belong in this chaos. Doesn’t blend in with the madness and smoke and half arsed small talk. She’s like still water in a crashing tide.

And she’s mine.

“Oi, AJ!” Connor shouts, stumbling over with a stupid grin and a camera out. “Photo time, lad. All of us. Come on!”

I nod, distracted, eyes still locked on her. All the lads pile together near the battered couch—Rian, Gibson, Biggs, Mikey, the whole lot of them, already hollering like eejits.

Conor’s trying to fit everyone in, but it’s a mess.

“Where’s your lass?” Aiden Rian asks. “She hiding again?”

“She’s not hiding,” I mutter, already walking away from them.

She sees me coming before I reach her, cheeks tinting pink like she thinks she’s in trouble.

“I’m alright, AJ,” she starts, voice small. “You go-”

“Nope,” I say, already slipping a arm around her waist. “You’re coming.”

“AJ—”

Her protest melts the second my fingers curl at her hip. I tug her gently toward the group, grounding her with my touch.

She bites her lip, glancing down at the drink in her hand.

“They’re all looking at me,” she whispers.

“Good,” I smirk. “Let em.”

And I mean it. Let the whole bleeding party see. She’s mine. The girl I’d crawl through glass for. The girl who leaves notes in my locker and kisses my knuckles when I’m angry. The girl who sees every ugly part of me—and stays.

I press a kiss to the top of her head, right there in front of everyone. Rian howls in the background. “He’s feckin gone for her, lads!”

“Shut it,” I laugh, flipping him off.

She laughs too. It’s soft, quiet, just for me. And feck if it doesn’t make my chest ache in the best way.

So I pull her in close, wrap an arm tight around her waist as the camera comes up again. The flash goes off. She flinches.

“You okay?” I ask under my breath.