Connie’s nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. “Leave her alone, Aidan.”

“Heard she was all over her, dancing all up on her and everything—”

“I’m serious. Drop it.”

He chuckled. “What? Jealous, O’Reilly?”

“Jealous of what?”

“That somebody else might have had their eyes on little Alex here.”

My whole face was bright red, I was sure of it. Connie’s was no better. Her eyes were wide, her whole face etched with a deer caught in the flashlights expression. Nobody but Aidan was laughing. Molly and Orla glanced at each other. Jim looked down into his lap. Jack simply seemed bored.

“So what, just because I won’t fuck you means I’m a lesbian now? Is that what you say about every girl that rejects you? Get a grip.”

We didn’t stay long in the pub after that. It was quite evident none of us felt like being there but Aidan, whose accusations settled around us, choked the very air we were breathing. A grim expression had fixed itself on Connie’s face. She didn’t laugh or smile the remainder of the evening and when it was time to leave, she barely wished our friends a goodnight. Aidan received a nasty glare in lieu of a farewell. We set on home together, shoulders brushing as we walked through the quiet, empty streets of Halford, neither of us entirely sure what to say.

I eventually asked her if she was okay. “He’s a dick,” I said. “Please don’t listen to him, Connie.”

She huffed. “But he’s right too, isn’t he?” She scowled. “Is it really obvious? I mean—does everyone see it?”

“Of course not. You know no one knows about us. He was just…trying to get a rise out of you. You know what he’s like.”

“Was McMahon really all over you at his party?”

“What? I—no, she wasn’t. We just talked and danced and then you got sick—” I paused. “Connie O’Reilly—are you actually jealous?”

“No.”

“I—my God, you are.” I laughed, nudging her arm. “This is new.”

“I’m not jealous. Shag off.”

“You are, look at you! You’ve gone all red.”

“I’m not.” She hit my hand away and then stopped to look at me, her stare dark. “I just don’t like when people touch what’s mine.”

“Oh,” I blushed, my eyes widening. I felt something stir in my stomach. “Oh. Yours, am I? This was before Orla’s birthday, you know.”

It was her turn to smirk, then. She took hold of my forearm and turned to go, dragging me along behind her. “Of course you’re mine. Idiot. You’ve always been mine.”

* * * *

I woke up one morning to find our legs entangled beneath Connie’s baby blue sheets to the point where I could barely tell whose limbs belonged to whom. Her head was tucked under my chin and she was holding my arm around her with one hand, the other resting on her stomach. I smiled down at her fondly before I reached across for the watch on her bedside table, fumbling around before I felt a light tap on the wrist. A sleepy Connie untangled our legs and pulled away from me only to roll us over so that she was lying almost on top of me, hooking her hands around my neck and relaxing against me with a sigh, her face burrowed into the bare skin of my shoulder.