Connor puts down his phone and walks over to me, putting his hands on my hips and resting his chin on the top of my head. “Baby, you already impress me every day. Besides, I don’t care what you wear as long as you’re with me. I just want to spend time with you, whether you’re in a ball gown or leggings…”
“Or your T-shirt?” I joke.
“Especially my T-shirt.” His voice gets deeper, and he drops his head to the crook of my neck. He peppers my throat with tiny kisses, so I move my head to give him better access. His fingers dig into my hips as he tries to maintain control.
“I think someone has a clothing fetish.” My words come out in a breathy sigh as Connor finds the sensitive spot behind my ear with his lips.
“Only with you, Tilly. There’s just something about you wearing my stuff, like you’re letting everyone know you’re mine. Like a temporary branding.” He lands one last long kiss on the hollow of my throat before turning me around to face him. “Look, we’re just going to a nice pub, you don’t need to be dressed up. Just wear what makes you comfortable. I guarantee I’ll love whatever you wear because you’ll be the one wearing it.” He kisses my nose sweetly then heads towards the bathroom.
It’s difficult to change your mindset after years of being told to do things a particular way. Rhys has always wanted me to dress up for everything, with hair, make-up, nails done – the works. And it still was never good enough for him. He was allabout appearances, placing so much importance on how I looked for him, how we looked to other people. And now I have Connor telling me to wear whatever I want because that’s not what matters to him; I am. Well, Connor matters to me too, and I want to make him happy.
I pull out a pair of jeans with a hidden tummy control panel, which make me feel slightly more comfortable than usual. I pick out a T-shirt, throw it over my head and tuck it into my jeans. My white trainers complete the look. Connor’s still in the bathroom while I straighten my hair and clip back the top section, letting some strands fall back into my face. I keep my make-up light, but sweep on some lipstick in a shade called ‘cheeky’. I don’t usually have the confidence to wear lipstick, especially in such a bold shade, but I want Connor’s attention to be on my lips tonight.
Just as I finish my mascara, the bathroom door opens. Steam billows into the room through the open door, and right in the middle of the cloud is Connor. He’s naked from the waist up, with only a towel around his bottom half. Water droplets drip from his hair to his shoulders and trickle down his broad chest. I never thought I’d be jealous of a water droplet, but here we are. I realise my mouth is watering, so I swallow quickly before I drool down my chin.
“Sorry,” he says, wafting the steam away with one hand and clutching his towel with the other. “I meant to take my clothes in with me, but you and your neck distracted me on my way in. Oh, shit…”
Connor finally looks at me properly, his eyes on stalks like a cartoon character.
“Do I look okay?” I ask nervously.
“You look beautiful, baby – you always do. Is that my shirt?”
I watch his chest start to rise and fall more quickly, and there’s a definite bulge starting to form under that towel. I may not fully trust Connor telling me I look good, but there’s noignoring the physical evidence in front of me.
“Yes.”
“And you’re going to wear that to go out? With me?” Connor’s eyes travel up and down my body but come back to rest on the T-shirt.
“Is that okay?”
“As long as you understand I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off you all night.” He looks at me like a wild animal about to pounce on its prey and, my God, I’m ready to be devoured by him.
I smile. “I can live with that. Now, come on, you need to get dressed.”
I retreat into the steamy bathroom to brush my teeth, leaving Connor alone in the bedroom to get dressed in privacy. Ten minutes later, we’re leaving the hotel again, on our way to our very first date.
The pub we arrive at is the perfect combination of smart and casual; it’s swanky enough to be considered a good place for a date, while being comfortable enough to relax. There are booths lining the outside of the room, which are upholstered in a rich burgundy leather, the tables between them topped with highly polished wood. There are tables dotted around the floor, with slouchy chairs made of the same material as the booth benches. The bar itself runs down the entire length of the right-hand wall, with bar stools evenly spaced in front of it. Behind the bar is a mirrored wall covered with bottles of different shapes, sizes and colours. Two barmen wearing fitted black T-shirts serve drinks, while a third shows me and Connor to our table.
We’re led to a private booth in the corner of the room. I slide onto a bench on one side and am surprised when Connor sits next to me, not opposite as I expected. I give him a questioning look and raise one eyebrow. He just winks at me and passes me a drinks menu, his arm finding its way around my shoulders.
“I warned you I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you,” he says, perusing his own cocktail menu.
I smile. “I wasn’t complaining.” I adjust my menu to see it better in the light of the table lamp and run through my options. Not wanting to get too drunk, I opt for my usual glass of wine rather than one of the elaborate but delicious-sounding cocktails.
Connor leaves to get our drinks, and I take a minute to people-watch. There’s a couple at a table not far from ours who seem to be on a first date too, though they don’t seem nearly as comfortable with each other as Connor and I do. A couple of booths down is a family, the two children arguing about something or other, their parents doing their best to ignore them and enjoy their meal. And at the bar is a group of young women, all attractive, all wearing next to nothing and all eyeing up my date.
A melting pot of emotions bubbles inside me. Jealousy hits me first, closely followed by frustration and embarrassment. Though Connor pretends he doesn’t notice them, I’m sure he does really. He’s just too much of a gentleman to flirt with them in front of me.
I’m about to distract myself with my phone when one of the girls separates from the pack and makes her way to his side. She hops up onto the barstool and makes a show of crossing her long legs, making sure her dress hikes up to show her toned thighs. I’ve witnessed this scenario play out countless times before, with Rhys, so I know how this goes down.
As expected, the girl leans forward to talk to Connor, pushing up her boobs and touching his arm as she smiles. My heart plummets as he turns towards her and returns her smile.
What did you think was going to happen? Of course he was going to move on to someone better than you.
But before I can plummet any further into my pit of self-pity and self-loathing, a spark of hope alights in my chest. The girl pulls back her hand like she’s been burned and pouts at something Connor says. He turns to look at me, and she follows his line of sight, giving me the evil eye. My cheeks burn at being caught watching them, and I turn away quickly, pretending to be fascinated by a vintage theatre poster on the wall. I don’t dare look back towards them, so I keep studying the poster in front of me until I hear Connor approaching the booth.
He slides my drink over to me. “Here you go.”
