Page 59 of Almost Ours

Cam shakes his head. “This is ridiculous.”

“No one needs your fucking input, Cam. You’re as sharp as a circle and you aren’t helping.”

Cam rolls his eyes at him. “Who put 50p in you today?” I don’t know how he isn’t scared of him. Oscar is fucking terrifying.

“Are you fucking alright?” Oscar fumes. “This is Ruby we’re talking about.”

“Yes, as you have said a million times already. We heard you.”

I glance between them, struggling to make sense of it. Ruby doesn't strike me as someone who needs protecting. She seems bold. Quick-witted. More than capable of telling any bloke where to shove it if he steps out of line. If anything, I'd be more worried about whoever got on the wrong side of her. So why is Oscar acting like she's made of glass?

“Look, I promise there’s no ill intentions on my part.” I fiddle with my coaster, making my hands busy. “Can we move on now?”

“Yeah.” Oscar aggressively gets to his feet, looking like he’s ready to tackle me to the ground. “I’ll get a round in.”

He storms off and we watch him go. When he’s out of earshot, Cam reaches across the table and claps me on the shoulder. “Congrats mate.”

“What for?”

“You survived the Oscar Hollis’ special and lived to tell the tale.”

Chapter Fifteen

Saturday

October 17th 2015

Ruby:

By midnight, I’ve lost count of how many boys Abi has declared “the one,” how many times Brooke has disappeared into Ewan and resurfaced looking thoroughly kissed, and how many rounds of the stupid chant currently rattling through The Shed has happened.

My feet hurt, the waistband of my jeans is digging into my stomach, and I’m fairly sure the glitter on my collarbone has fused with my skin permanently. The bunny ears keep falling off, and I think I might be too hungover from drinking a bottle of wine with Brooke last night to fully enjoy tonight.

“NA—NA—NA—NANANANANA—WE’RE COMPLETELY FUCKED—COMPLETELY FUCKED. WE’RE COMPLETELY FUCKED!”

Abi physically jolts as another wave of football boys barrels through the doors. “Jesus Christ,” she shouts. “Again?”

“They never stop,” Brooke yells, smiling into her drink, which is a dramatic turnaround from the first night here when she looked ready to call the police because someone danced too close to her.

I recognise Oscar’s voice before I see him. Deep, loud, and committing to the chant with an enthusiasm that would embarrass our entire bloodline if we had any shame left.

Cam is beside him, one arm in the air, leading the rest of the team as they tumble in behind him, pissed, sweaty and taking up approximately ninety percent more room than necessary.

Men really do expand in groups.

Oscar spots us and he starts shoving through the crowd in our direction with Cam close behind, both of them managing to make a packed club part for them without asking a single soul to move.

“RUBES!” Cam bellows from about ten feet away, arms already opening.

“Oh, God.” I groan. Having two boys who act like overbearing big brothers is not for the weak. Especially since Cam isn’t related to me and Oscar is only older by one minute and forty-three seconds. Cam reaches me first and folds me into a hug so enthusiastic my feet leave the floor.

“CAM!” I laugh, grabbing at his shoulders. “Put me down!”

“No.”

“I mean it!”

“No.”