Chapter 5 Quinn

“Table for two,” Francisco says. “Right this way.”

Alessandra and I are seated and order a bottle of merlot from our waitress. When it’s delivered and uncorked, I raise my glass to hers.

“Cheers,” I murmur.

“To?” she asks, her eyes flashing on mine seductively.

“Would it be too cheesy if I said ‘to getting to know each other better’?”

She laughs, the sound lively and uninhibited. “A little, but I’ll admit, I like that idea, too.”

“Good. Because I’d like nothing more.”

“All right, then.” She translates our toast in Italian and in that moment, I’m speechless. Everything feels so surreal in that moment and I can’t take my eyes off of her. Who is this vixen who has my mind so tangled up? I just sit there and stare at her, her glass raised as she awaits my response.

I’m only able to respond back with, “Saluti.”

We peruse the menu and make small talk. I’m curious to know how she ended up studying Italian.

She shrugs, looking contemplatively into her wineglass. “Huge Italian family. I guess you could say I’ve been studying it since I was born. But then in college, I began my more formal education in the language, fully immersing myself in the history with courses taught completely in Italian, a full immersion program without actually being in Italy, which was great because then I was able to converse more deeply with my grandmother before she passed two years ago.”

“I’m sorry.” I reach over and take her hand, giving it a squeeze.

“She was eighty-six and had lived a great life. We should all be so lucky.”

At this, we both lift our glasses and drink.

“What about you?” she asks. “Tell me about your family. Are you from Boston?”

“Born and raised. Last year, I became interested in studying my ancestry, and since I knew my mother’s family was Italian, I sort of fell into it. I began studying the language, even took a cooking class on Tuscan techniques, and I’m looking forward to traveling there soon, too.”

Alessandra nods. “I think that’s great. And your parents?”

I shake my head. “It’s just my brothers and me now.”

“I see.” She looks deep in thought, and I wonder what she could be thinking.

“Have you decided?” I gesture to the menu she’s still holding.

“Not yet. What about you, since you’ve been here before, what do you recommend?”

I give the steaks and seafood listed barely a passing glance. “All of their pasta is homemade.”

“Those are my two favorite words.”

“Then we should indulge.”

She grins, closing her menu. “Pasta, it is.”

We share a caprese salad and enjoy it with generous chunks of bread dipped in the most delicious olive oil.

“This is incredible,” Alessandra says, her voice low.

The restaurant’s soft lighting and the flickering candle on our table give everything a romantic glow, and so while it should feel too intimate for a first date, it’s actually perfect.

“I’m glad you said yes.”

Her gaze is on mine again. “Me, too.”

Our food is delivered to the table, two large porcelain bowls heaped with the most delicious-looking pasta. A simple, classic spaghetti Bolognese for her, and penne with olive oil and grilled shrimp for me.

The expression on Alessandra’s face is pure delight as she digs in and tastes her first bite of pasta. “Oh, dear God,” she says on a moan.

Watching her eat is more enjoyable than partaking myself, and I take a sip from my glass, appreciating the view.

“To your liking?”

She nods enthusiastically, wiping the corner of her mouth with her white cloth napkin. “Amazing.”

“Vuoi venire a casa mia per mangiare pene?” I ask.

Alessandra’s eyes widen, and she pauses with her wineglass halfway to her lips, looking alarmed. “Penne is pasta. Pene is something else entirely,” she says, her tone hushed.

I push my plate toward her. “I was trying to ask if you wanted a bite of my pasta.”

Her mouth curves into a grin. “You asked me if I wanted to eat your dick.”

“For fuck’s sake.” I set my fork down and shake my head. “I’m sorry. I meant to save that question for after dessert.”

This earns me another laugh. It’s honest and raw, and I love the sound of it already.

“Probably a good idea,” she says with a chuckle.

“Call me old fashioned, but tiramisu first, and then dick-eating.”

Alessandra laughs again before taking me up on my offer and spearing a forkful of penne pasta from my bowl.

It’s strange. The conversation flows as easily as the wine. While we should have nothing in common—her, a young twenty-something fresh out of college; and me, a late-thirties CEO who’s grown a little jaded on the world—yet here we are, laughing and smiling and having an amazing time.

As the evening rolls on, I find myself more and more enamored with her. And as nice as it is to spend time with her, I already know how the evening will end. I’m a gentleman, and I’m not the type to sleep with a woman on the first date.

In my younger years, I was no stranger to one-night stands, but this is different. Alessandra isn’t some random girl I’ve met at a bar who’s looking for a quick roll between the sheets. And if I’m being honest, there’s something I like about this slow seduction—the back and forth of getting to know each other, the flirting. I know it will make it that much more intense when we do finally come together.

We finish dinner, lingering over wine. I'm not quite ready for the night to end, and I can't help but sense Alessandra feels the same.

"Dessert?" I ask.

"Next time," she says, and I can't help but watch the way her lips move. I'm equally thrilled about the possibility of there being a next time as I am about watching her eat dessert from my spoon.

After paying the check and adding a generous tip, I usher Alessandra to the door and out to where the waiting cab is that I’ve called. It’s too late for her to take public transportation alone. We stop on the curb together, huddled close.

“I had a wonderful time,” I say, watching her eyes as she tilts her face up to mine.

“Me, too,” she murmurs, her tongue coming out to wet her bottom lip.

Blood surges south, and the desire to take her home nearly overwhelms me. Instead, I place my hand on the back of her neck and guide her mouth to mine.

The moment our lips meet, it’s fucking electric. Our lips move perfectly in sync together, and the second her mouth parts, my tongue sweeps against hers, tasting sweet wine and her. It takes every ounce of self-control I have to pull away, and when I do, the dreamy half-lidded look on her face is everything.

I take a deep breath, fighting to compose myself and the erection I can feel nudging the front of my pants. “Good night, Alessandra.”

“Good night, Quinn.”

I open the car door and tuck her inside, and when she pulls away, I’m filled with a sense of buoyancy and hope that I haven’t felt in a long time.