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I borrowed a wine-colored bodycon dress from Carla and paired it with black heels and a stylish leather jacket. My long, black hair is curled and draped over my shoulders and down my back, and I’ve finished the look off with some heavy eyeliner and dark red lipstick.
“Damn.” Carla wolf-whistles when I step into our small open-plan kitchen-living area. “Someone’s getting lucky tonight.”
“Carla!” I chastise, hitting her on the arm. “It’s our first date, I’m not going to sleep with him.”
She chuckles. I think she finds my innocence—as she likes to call it—amusing. Carla is positively someone who would not hesitate to sleep with a guy on the first date. I wish I had even a fraction of her confidence.
“Then you probably should have worn a different dress.”
I glance down at myself, second-guessing my outfit. I thought I looked sexy, and based on Carla’s reaction when I entered the room, I do, but perhaps it’s too much for a first date?
“Maybe I should change.”
“Hell no! You look fucking hot! He’s going to have a boner every time he looks at you.”
There’s a knock on the door before I can think of a comeback, and I gape at Carla with wide, nervous eyes before running my hands over my dress and tottering in my heels to the door.
“Fucking hell, you look incredible,” Conor states in a guttural tone when he sees me. His gaze drops to my heels before slowly rising, heat flaming in his green depths. As I scan my eyes over him, taking in his suit that has been specifically tailored to fit him perfectly, my core clenches.
I swear he gets better looking every time I see him.
We’ve been texting back and forth since I gave him my number several days ago, and even though our conversations have been light and flirty, I feel like I know him more—which somehow makes him seem even hotter tonight.
He leans in and presses a lingering kiss to my cheek. “Mmm, you smell even better.”
I blush beneath his compliments, earning another kiss to my warm cheek.
“Are you ready to go?” he asks when he steps back.
I nod, unable to push the words past my tight throat, and grab my purse, waving goodbye to Carla before heading out the door.
He takes me to an upmarket restaurant by the waterfront, and I stare wide-eyed at the other patrons, suddenly feeling underdressed. Women are wearing expensive-looking dresses draped in jewelry that looks like it costs more than my yearly rent.
I do my best to pull my dress down as far as it will go as he leads me toward the maître d’. The man looks up as we approach, his eyes widening with recognition before giving a polite duck of his head.
“Mr. O’Shea, a pleasure to see you again. Would you like your usual table?”
“Please.”
Another nod. “Right this way, sir.”
Conor places his hand on my lower back and we follow behind him through the crowded restaurant to a table by the windows overlooking the water. As we pass the other tables, men smile or murmur hello to Conor, and women give him coy looks.
I can feel myself becoming more and more uncomfortable by the second. I’m so far out of my depth, I probably couldn’t even afford to buy a glass of water in this place, never mind a meal.
Once we reach the table, Conor pulls out my chair before taking the seat on my left.
“Someone will be with you shortly to get your drinks order,” the maître d’ says, handing us both leather-bound menus.
He walks off, and a silence falls over the table as I stare unseeingly at the menu, trying to wrap my head around everything. Clearly, Conor is rich and well-known. I guess I should have figured that out from his expensive suits. Of course, I assumed he had money, although that's as far as the thought had gone. I hadn’t considered how that would translate to real life. However, the differences between us suddenly seem vast.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, leaning in to whisper in my ear. Despite my discomfort, I shiver as his breath tickles my skin.
I glance around the restaurant before meeting his gaze. “I thought you managed a couple of nightclubs?”
His brows furrow. “I do.”
“Then how come everyone here seems to know who you are?”
