When my mother was alive, I used to dress conservative and feminine for her. Pearls, pencil skirts and cardigans. I hated it, it wasn’t me, but for some reason she thought it was important.

‘You never know who you are going to meet in life. It’s important to always be put together,’ she would say. I never saw the point. Why should I be uncomfortable all day just to give someone the right impression?

“The same reason, I guess. It’s comfortable.” He laughs, ignoring the snark in my question. I’ve never felt so comfortable being confrontational with someone. Is this what intimacy is?

“So, what do you wear to feel sexy and confident?”

“I don’t know.” I have no idea how to answer his question. I’ve never thought of myself as sexy. And I’m sure as hell not confident. Nothing I’ve worn has ever changed that.

His eyes are full of lust and I’m taken aback. I’ve never had anyone look at me the way he is now. And I can’t get enough. “No lingerie? Nothing black and lacy in the closet?”

“Nope.”

“That’s a shame.”

“And why is that?”

“You should have something around that makes you feel sexy. The sexiest asset any woman can have is confidence,” is his honest reply.

“So you’re saying I’m screwed?” I deadpan. He laughs, his shoulders shaking with the deep, sweet sound. I can’t help but smile back at him. I’ll never get sick of that sound. Making him laugh makes me feel good.

“Well, confidence and a great rack. One out of two ain’t half bad.” His voice is sultry as he lowers his eyes down my body to my chest.

I let out a small gasp and instinctively cover myself with my arms. I wear large T-shirts to make sure they aren’t pulled tight across my chest. My mother used to lecture me on how unladylike it was to be busting out of my tops. As if it were my fault that my genetics resulted in being comically well-endowed compared to the rest of my tiny frame. I’ve had a complex about my large chest most of my life, constantly doing what I can to downplay it.

Judging by Austin’s face, it hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“I have an idea,” he exclaims, jumping up. “Wait here,” he calls back to me as he walks out of the front door. He’s gone long enough for me to finish my dinner and move on to cleaning up. He saunters back in, without knocking, carrying a white button-down dress shirt on a hanger. He holds it out to me.

“Here, put this on.” He has a huge smile on his face.

“Is that even clean?” I wrinkle my nose and don’t take it from him.

“Mostly.” He smirks. I have no defense against that smirk. “We dress up for away games. It’s been hanging in my truck since our last one.”

I don’t take it from him. I stand there, staring.

“Come on. Trust me. You’re going to look sexy as hell.”