9. Cole
COLE
Ho my frickin’ God, indeed.
Jenny the escort was, hands down, the prettiest girl I’d ever seen in my life. I’d been with plenty of gorgeous women, but not all beautiful women were pretty , not like she was. Jenny’s was an accessible beauty, All-American, her friendly, open face impossible to look away from.
Her dirty-blond curls tumbled over her shoulders, her complexion was dewy and fresh, and her full, pouty lips were natural and incredible. Then there was her figure. My escort had perfectly round, bouncy breasts—and I could tell just by looking at them that they were real, perfect just the way nature intended. Her body was toned but also lush. She was just so natural, down to the expression of pure excitement on her face.
She’d only said a few words to me, but I could already tell that I’dnever met anyone like Jenny before.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Jenny. And I agree, we are going to have a great couple of weeks.” I held out my arm for her. “Shall we?”
“Yeah. We shall.” She grinned at me and took my arm. I was momentarily engulfed by her scent, something coconut-y mixed with a spiciness that reminded me vaguely of patchouli oil. Whatever it was, it made my mouth water.
Jenny tossed her hair over her shoulder and eyed me as we followed Elena from the lobby. “You smell good,” she said.
Her statement, so direct and unrehearsed, caught me off guard. “Why… Thanks. So do you.”
She grinned in pleasure. “Thanks. I use a coconut body spray. I think it smells wicked good.”
“It does.” I grinned back. “It does smell wicked good.”
When was the last time a woman had said “wicked good” in my presence? Prep school? College? In any event, it was refreshing. Jenny wasn’t putting on any airs for me, and I appreciated the hell out of it.
She grinned more, pleased. That’s when I started believing that the next two weeks were going to be fun. Fun. When was the last time I’d had that? Firing the previous hockey coach was the only thing that came to mind, but that was satisfying, not fun. Not the same thing.
I swiped my Black Amex card at the front desk, not giving the hefty price tag a second thought. I would’ve paid triple. Jenny was worth every cent; I could already tell.
“Do you like Italian food?” I asked, putting my arm around her.
“Love it,” she said immediately.
“Then let’s go to the North End for a quick bite. I know just the place.” I turned to Elena. “Can you have her things sent over? I’m at Fifty Liberty in the Seaport.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Bryson. I hope you enjoy yourself.” The madam smiled at me with genuine warmth. I had just paid her a large sum of money. “Jenny, I’ll check in with you later this week. Let me know if you need anything.”
Jenny winked at her. “I think I’m all set, Elena.”
She snuggled up happily against me as I led her out. We’d just met, but it was good to have my arm around her, her warm body tucked next to mine. She fit perfectly against my chest. With the sun shining on us and my gorgeous hired date next to me, I felt like a million dollars.
Scratch that. I felt like a billion dollars. Which, I’m not going to lie, was a hell of a lot better.
My Porsche was double-parked out front. A disgruntled driver honked as I opened the door for Jenny. He yelled something unintelligible, but I smiled and waved. I climbed behind the wheel, still grinning. “I feel bad for that guy. He’s definitely not having as good of a day as I am.”
“Ha! You’re funny, Cole.” She ran her hands along the interior of the car. “What is this, the CayenneTurbo?”
I laughed as I threw the car into drive. “You know your Porsches?”
“I know cars, yeah.” She had a mild Boston accent, just another thing I found inexplicably charming. I wanted to ask her what she drove, but I wasn’t sure what her situation was. I didn’t want to embarrass her.
“What’s your favorite kind?” I asked instead.
“Hmm, that’s a tough question.” She pouted, looking impossibly beautiful as she thought about it. “I guess I don’t know the answer. But if I could afford any car to buy today, I’d have to go with a Range Rover. Because that’s what all the rich bitches drive.”
I laughed. “Is it? Is that what all the rich bitches drive?”
Jenny nodded. “I think so. Every time I see a Range Rover around town, there’s a hot, rich woman behind the wheel. I’d like to have a car like that.” Her cheeks turned a little pink. “Anyway, how do you like this car? It’s fast, right?”
“I love it—and yeah, it’s fast. Let me show you.” I threw the gear into sports mode and hit the gas. Jenny whooped as I zigzagged between cars, more people honking at us and gesturing angrily.
“I feel sorry for those people!” Jenny laughed. “They’re definitely not having as much fun as we are!”
Hanover Street in the North End was packed with tourists. I maneuvered around them and pulled up in front ofAlfonso’s, the finest Italian restaurant in Boston. Even though it was early afternoon, there was a line; people spilled down the sidewalk, waiting for a table. As soon as I put the car in park, a young man in a white shirt hustled out from the restaurant.
“Hey, Mr. Bryson.” He gave us a lopsided smile. “Can I park the car for you? Your usual table is ready.”
“Thank you, Luca. That would be great. By the way, this is Jenny. She’ll be joining me today.”
Luca grinned at Jenny, but good boy that he was, he looked directly into her eyes and not at her rocking body. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jenny. You will dine with us and love it. Long live Alfonso!”
“Long live Alfonso,” I agreed, climbing out and tossing Luca my keys and a hundred-dollar bill. “See you in there, kid.”
I put my hand on the small of Jenny’s back and steered her inside. The waiting customers gaped as we strolled past them. There was no valet parking at the restaurant, and the usual wait for a table was over three hours. Or so I’d been told—I never waited. Alfonso’s was one of my first investments when I started my VC business. Chef was forever grateful that I gave him his big break.
“Ah, lovely to see you, Mr. Bryson,” the raven-haired, sultry hostess said. She wore a form-fitting black jumpsuit that hugged her curves. She eyed Jenny up and down. “And this is…?”
Jenny thrust out her ample chest. “I’m Jenny, Cole’s new girlfriend. Nice to see you. Is our table ready? I’m starved!”
The hostess did a double take, but she quickly recovered and smiled. “We have some great specials today. You’ll love it. Right this way.” She led us through the restaurant, which was luxurious but simple. The tables were large, reclaimed wood, the walls were exposed brick, and candles flickered throughout the room. Our table was at the end, facing out on the action.
Wisely, the hostess sat us side by side. I immediately put my hand on Jenny’s thigh, and she leaned into me. I inhaled her coconut scent again, wondering if it was addictive. It seemed like maybe it was—I couldn’t get enough of her.
The hostess asked, “Would you care for some wine?”
“Yes, please. TheBarbaresco Gajashould be fine.”
She nodded quickly. “Yes, Mr. Bryson.”
When she’d left, I pulled Jenny’s chair closer so we were touching. “Do you like red wine?”
“I sure do.” She surveyed the packed dining room. “This place is popular, huh?”
“That’s because it’s the best. What would you like to eat? Alfonso does a mean risotto…” Our server brought the wine and our menus. Jenny watched as he poured a sample and handed it to me. “I already know it’s great. Go ahead and pour the lady a glass. Salut ,” I said before taking a sip.
Jenny grabbed her glass and raised it to mine. “Cheers.” She drank her wine in one sip. “Oooh, that’s good!” She happily opened the menu while the smiling server poured her another glass of wine.
“Now, what’s this…” Her brow furrowed as she read over the entrees. “What the heck is a Formaggio e Malazana ?”
“It’s mozzarella and eggplant,” I answered.
“Ew, they could have just said so.” Her brow furrowed deeper. “What about Polpo Scottato ?”
“It’s seared octopus.”
“Oh my God!” Jenny practically threw the menu at me. “No wonder they don’t say it in English—they’re trying to trick you! Whatever happened to spaghetti, huh? I thought this place was Italian!”
“It is.” I chuckled. “And there’s spaghetti on the menu, right there.” I pointed to the Spaghetti Alfonso . “Would you like that?”
She wrinkled her nose as she read the description. “What the hell is micro basil ?”
“It’s basil, I think. Just…tiny basil.”
“Tiny basil.” Jenny blinked at me. “That might be the dumbest thing I ever heard.”
“Ha! You’re funny, Jenny.” I poured us each more wine before the server had a chance to come back. “I haven’t known you for long, but I like spending time with you.”
She beamed up at me. “I like spending time with you, too. Just don’t try to make me eat an octopus, okay? That might just be the end of our friendship.”
I kept my arm around Jenny the whole time we were at Alfonso’s. Our meal was terrific. The wine was flowing; the food was incredible, and most surprisingly, Jenny actually ate. The women I dated—most of whom were models—barely touched their food, opting to save their calories for alcohol. It was refreshing to share a meal with someone who actually shared it.
“This micro-basil really kicks ass,” Jenny joked as she devoured the last bite of pasta. She dipped the bread—the pano caldo— into the infused olive oil and slathered butter on it. I watched, impressed, as she polished off the final crumbs and then licked her fingers. Jenny raised her glass. “This was so good. Long live Alfonso!”
I tapped my glass to hers. “ Salut! Long live Alfonso!”
The server appeared at our table. “Can I interest you in dessert?”
“Absofuckinglutely,” Jenny said. “Do you have anything with micro basil?”