You’re his favorite, even if he doesn’t do much to show it. Oliver doesn’t care if you see him with other girls, notice the texts he sends them, or even the garments you’ve managed to spot in his car every now and then; a red piece of lingerie, a pair of sunglasses or even a cigarette with a lipstick stain that wasn’t yours.

His hands snaked around your waist from behind as he pulled you closer to him. “How’s my pretty little thing?” He purrs, nosing your neck.