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“Tonight’s special shot is a Traffic Light. It’s a mix of melon, strawberry, and mango liqueur,” he explains, pointing to the other end of the bar where a group of rowdy guys are throwing them back.

I nod quickly, though my stomach is already flipping at the flavour combination. “Great. I’ll take that.”

Wren quickly adds, “I’ll take two of the awful-sounding shots, along with a martini, if you don’t mind.”

“Coming right up,” the bartender says with a smile as he rushes away to prepare our drinks.

Wren leans over to whisper in my ear, so that only I can hear. “You are asking for trouble.”

I lean back to meet her gaze, and she’s wagging her eyebrows at me, but she looks more excited than concerned for my well-being. I roll my eyes at her before leaning in close so I can whisper my response.

“What’s he going to do? It’s not like he can march over here and put a stop to it. Besides, it’s only an extra shot. I can handle it.”

I know I’m breaking his rules, but I really want this assignment to go well for him, and this is the only way I know how to do this. I need something to help me loosen up a little, but I’ll make sure not to have too many, so I keep a clear head. He can’t lose his spot as Head Crow because of me.

Before she can respond, the bartender hands over our main drinks, before lining up three empty shot glasses in front of us. He then mixes up the shots while we’re watching, both of us drawn to the flair he uses. Then, once they’re done, he slides them over to us, and Wren hands over a black credit card I’ve not seen before.

Wren slides a Traffic Light shot over to me as she picks up her own. “Cheers.” She holds out her glass toward mine as she adds, “Lawson gave me his credit card, so I’m going to enjoy this.”

Wren was very insistent before we left the dorms that she would be allowed to pay for the drinks tonight—though I hadn’t realised she intended on making Lawson pay—and despite my pride being hurt, I couldn’t say no even if I wanted to. I barely have enough extra cash to feed myself each week, so a night out drinking is a novelty I cannot afford.

I clink our glasses together, shouting, “Cheers,” before bringing the rim of the glass to my lips as I tip my head back, swallowing it all.

Bloody hell! The liquor is strong, and it burns my throat as it slides down; the different liqueurs give it a thicker texture than a normal shot. As the three different flavours hit my tongue at once, they create an explosion of flavours, but I’m not entirely sure they work well together. They’re all such big flavours, they almost overwhelm each other.

Despite it not being the most pleasant taste, Wren grabs the second shot glass and repeats the process again. I follow my first shot with a mouthful of my vodka and lemonade, but even that makes my face screw up given how strong it is. The rush of alcohol is already making my head spin a little, as my stomach rolls in disgust.

“Well, they were…”

I pause, trying to find the word, but Wren cuts in to finish for me. “Fucking disgusting?”

I bark out a laugh as I nod in agreement. “They really were.”

I take another small sip of my vodka, hoping it will quickly replace the swirl of confusing flavours sitting on my tongue.

“I’m picking the next round of shots,” Wren says, as she holds out her hand to the bartender, flagging down a woman this time.

“What are you having?” she asks as she clears away the empty shot glasses in front of us.

“Can we get three Slippery Nipples?” my friend replies, and I almost spit out the vodka I had just taken a sip of.

With a nod, the bartender pulls out the shot glasses and sets about mixing our drinks. First, she pours in some sambuca, and then she adds Bailey’s Irish Cream on top, before passing them over to us.

Just as Wren is about to pass over Lawson’s card again, a hand rests on top of hers, stopping her. As we both turn to look, we’re pleased to see the hand belongs to Nigel. We feign confusion as we glance at him, while he simply smiles at us.

“Could I do the honour of buying you both these drinks?” he asks, trying to sound incredibly smooth.

Wren looks at me, excitement clear in her eyes, but when she turns back to face Nigel, her usual distrustful expression is in place. “I suppose that would be okay,” she says, before turning her attention to the bartender. She’s looking at us, waiting to see if we’re happy for this stranger to buy our drinks, and after a nod from Wren, she takes Nigel’s card as payment before rushing off to serve the ever-growing queue.

“Now I wish I’d gotten a shot to do with you,” he says, twisting his lips into the most ridiculous pout.

I lean towards him, fluttering my eyelashes at him as I reply, “I’m sure a big, strong guy like you could down the rest of his beer in the time we take to do our shots.”

While I’m aiming for flattering, I make sure he hears the competitive edge in my voice. I've been around Crows, and Order Pledges in general, long enough to know none of them ever turn down a competition.

“I definitely can,” he replies confidently, raising his almost-full pint glass towards us in challenge.

“Cheers,” we all say, clinking our glasses before we throw back our drinks.