Chapter Nineteen

R: Fancy AF dinner and a sculpting sesh at my studio, MB. The text message read.

That seemed reasonable. A tamer date than Cole expected from the guileless short-stack who’d hounded him at every opportunity. He hadn’t realized Krystal had slipped Rachael his number until the chiming notifications started… and didn’t stop.

R: Sup!

R: Got ur deets from Miss Laurier. Lady’s sic as hell.

R: U O me 1 hot date, MB.

R: Pony up or put out!

R: I’m happy with either ;)

She’d sent him a farmers market’s worth of eggplant and peach emojis before escalating to selfies.

The images were reasonably innocent initially: Rachael on the campus commons sharing bubble tea with Ebony. Rachael pulling a goofy expression with smudges of clay on her chin. Rachael winking while giving the victory sign like an anime character.

Then, abruptly, they grew more… provocative.

A shot of Rachael from above, tugging down the neckline of her tanktop for a nipple slip. Rachael with eyes crossed and tongue lolling in what could only be described as an ahegao face. A bathroom snap of the short blonde in skimpy jade underwear, too small to properly contain her prodigious figure, shielding her face with the phone.

She’d had the good sense to obscure her identity in that one, at least.

Cole didn’t open picture messages after that. He was mightily tempted but recognized the images as bait. Krystal and Lita had thought it hilarious, prodding him to share.

Cole declined. He was a gentleman despite evidence to the contrary.

So Krystal texted Rachael instead and promptly received a string of replies that left his girlfriends giggling like naughty schoolgirls.

“She’s perfect. You’ve got to bring her into the fold.” The scheming brunette chortled, wiping away a mirthful tear. “Show the girl a good time and scope her out for us.”

“I bet she’ll be a bundle of fun.” Lita remarked, thumbing the phone screen. “Wear the waistcoat and trouser combo Farrah picked out for you.”

It had been betrayal most foul. Cole expected that sort of bad behavior from Krystal, not Lita. She’d smirked at his appalled expression.

“What? You’re more than enough man for the two of us and take care of my… specific needs. This is me paying it forward and maybe getting some work done since you kept us in bed half the weekend.”

“I am behind on grading assessments.” Krystal solemnly agreed.

Instead of arguing, Cole decided to take a walk. Get some fresh air and clear his head. Girlfriends were great, but a guy occasionally wanted solitude. The campus grounds were idyllic if he ignored the phallic imagery scattered among the tended gardens and green spaces.

Cole avoided a copse of Pandanus palms with their distinctive root structures where a trio of pretty coeds sat sketching in the shade.

Wandering aimlessly, he tapped out an affirmative reply to Rachael’s date request, enjoying a moment of peace when someone called his name.

“Cole! It’s Cole, right? From freshman orientation?”

Glancing around, Cole found a gorgeous vision standing on the lawn, waving at him. He recalled the inky hair and full figure, her name springing to mind.

“That’s me, and you’re Vivian–no, Vivi.” He corrected himself, returning the wave. “The post-impressionist and fan of Paul Cézanne. Nice to meet another finger-painter.”

Vivi’s hands flew to her mouth to cover a laugh. She was stunning in a pleated tartan skirt and crisp white blouse that reminded Cole of a high school uniform. Though, she filled it out far better than any teen.

The buttons of her top strained under the heavy burden held within, and the skirt barely maintained her decency, exposing firm thighs pinched by snowy stockings.

Cole was sure the slightest breeze would grant him a glimpse of Vivi’s panties before banishing the traitorous thoughts with a grimace.

“You’re too kind.” She toed the grass with her black mary-janes. “How are you finding college life? Gelling well with your study partner?”

“It’s great. We’re getting along fine. How about you?”

“Um, Tahlia and I are… ah, we're doing our best. She’s very… assertive. More so than me. There have been challenges.”

Vivi’s downcast gaze and bashful demeanor were all Cole needed to comprehend her situation. Standing before him was an introvert–beautiful and talented but cripplingly shy–who’d been paired with a spoiled egotist.

“Vivian, you’re supposed to be assisting me!” Screeched an all-too-familiar voice from a nearby bandstand where the aforementioned egotist fiddled with a laptop. “What’s taking so–oh, it’s him.”

Tahlia couldn’t have piled more derision into her tone if she’d used a shovel.

The haughty brunette had dressed down from their first meeting in the auditorium, wearing white leggings and a flowy peasant blouse with billowing sleeves. The leggings clung to her shapely lower half like a second skin while the top hung from her conspicuous cleavage.

She might be a bitch, but she knew how to flaunt what she had. Hazelnut hair cascaded across bare shoulders while jewelry glinted on her ears and neck.

Tahlia was every bit the entitled rich girl, heaping indignity on those she deemed below her.

“Nice to see you too.” Cole sighed, and Vivi sagged in disappointment. For her sake, he resolved to make an effort. “What are you two working on?”

The bandstand sheltered different geometric shapes cut from simple styrofoam carefully assembled into stacks. Wires coiled around the timber supports connected projectors affixed at various heights and angles pointed inward, amounting to what Cole guessed would eventually be a motion graphic exhibit.

“Not that I expect you to understand, meathead.” Tahlia’s nose couldn’t rise any higher. “But I’ve devised a dynamic visual display using graphic technology to create art in motion. It’s revolutionary.”

Her laptop emitted an unhappy ding. The snobby brunette scowled at the screen.

“It’s a work in progress,” Vivi said meekly. “We’re both putting in long hours, but I can offer so much given the medium…”

She trailed off, looking helpless, clearly out of her depth and comfort zone. Cole rested a supportive hand on her arm.

“She’s your study partner, not your boss. Find your voice. Don’t let her walk all over you.” He murmured, pulling out his phone. “Here, let’s trade digits. Message me whenever you feel unheard or overwhelmed. Us classicists gotta stick together, yeah?”

Tears welled in the corners of her eyes as she nodded. “I wish… I wish the pairings had gone differ–”

“Vivian! Stop wasting time on that hack and help me!” Tahlia snapped, jabbing at the keyboard. “Do I have to do everything myself?”

Vivi flinched but took a second to bump her phone against Cole’s, sharing her contact information and activating his screen. It displayed a text notification featuring a preview of plump naked breasts, presumably Rachael’s.

She flushed beetroot red before scurrying away.

“Talk soon. Thanks, Cole!”

Face-palming, he stalked off, praying his day wouldn’t get more cringe-worthy.

---

Giovanni's was a classy Italian joint, though utterly unrelated to the Renaissance painter.

The dining room combined rustic elegance with a cozy, welcoming atmosphere. Cole felt like an imposter, surrounded by warm wooden furniture, soft lighting, and a backdrop of exposed brick walls adorned with vintage Italian artwork and wine racks. To the right of the hostess’s station was a quaint bar, including a bow-tied bartender mixing cocktails.

The Olive Garden, it was not.

Krystal had made the booking after Cole asked for ‘fancy as fuck’ dinner recommendations, him knowing squat about fine dining. The place had a weeks-long waiting list, but she was somehow acquainted with the owners, wrangling him a last-minute seating.

At some point, Cole ceased questioning how his MILF lover performed small miracles and went with the flow.

“Oh, oh, this is choice!” Rachael enthused, following the hostess to their table. “I read the reviews online. Everybody raves about the food. Not bad, Romeo, not bad.”

The exuberant half-pint had put in the effort to dress for the venue. Her street clothes were swapped for a backless scarlet evening gown, slinky to the **** with a low swooping neckline and side slits that ran high on her voluptuous hips.

Even her golden hair was different, gathering into a bouffant updo that Cole suspected Ebony may have fashioned. Fly-away strands deliberately framed her adorable face.

“Thank you, Miss.” The hostess gave Rachael a genuine smile. Her name tag read ‘Bianca’ and she didn’t seem to mind the younger woman’s unrestrained chatter. “We take pride in our authentic cuisine. Please enjoy our hospitality and peruse the menu at your leisure. All the pasta is handmade. The chef recommends the truffle risotto. I have received instructions to begin your meal with our signature antipasto.”

She pulled back a chair for the bubbly blonde, leaving Cole to take his seat.

“Wow, this is primo service. Thanks!” Rachael hopped up and let Bianca drape a linen napkin over her lap.

“It’s our pleasure, Miss. May I compliment your lovely dress and how handsome your date looks tonight?”

“Compliment away. He’s a total dreamboat, am I right?”

Cole blushed. He’d worn the waistcoat and slacks Lita had mentioned with a crisp ivory button-down. The outfit hugged his athletic build but didn’t seem noteworthy.

Yet, several female customers tracked his path through the dining area with undisguised interest.

“As you say, Miss.” Bianca tittered, passing Rachael a menu. “I’ll fetch your aperitifs.”

Champagne flutes filled with bubbly and sliced fruit were quickly delivered, followed by a platter of cured meats, pickled vegetables, and toasted bruschetta with a selection of cheeses and dips.

Taking his date’s lead, Cole forked several appetizing morsels onto a plate. Rachael tucked in immediately, and the appreciative noises she made were borderline inappropriate.

“O.M.G. This is great!” She effused around a mouthful of prosciutto. “Bringing your A-game tonight, eh mule boy? Well, if you keep it up…” She winked lasciviously at her own innuendo, “Who knows where the night will end?”

A foot brushed his calf under the table, giving Cole a hint as though he needed one. Rachael had all the subtlety of an air-raid siren in a library.

He cleared his throat, opening a menu. “I’m glad you like the restaurant. Truthfully, I’ve never eaten anywhere like this. It’s way outside what my parents could afford.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re the local boy who caught the lucky break, aren’t ya? Dragged yourself outta the gutter by your bootstraps and all that jazz.”

Her tone wasn’t mocking or condescending, sounding genuinely interested. Glancing up from the frankly appalling prices on the menu, Cole found Rachael waiting attentively.

Despite her brash manner of speaking and lack of a verbal filter, the buxom blonde possessed an endearing openness and infectious energy.

“I’m nothing special—simply a guy who loves painting and got scooped up by an, um… eccentric college dean.” He said sheepishly. “Nobody was more surprised than me when he offered the scholarship.”

“Von Gloot is a top-tier creep, but he has a keen nose for talent.” Rachael waggled a cheese knife at Cole. “If he bagged you, there must be a spark worth nurturing. Watch out, though. He’s renowned for his indiscretions as much as for his art.”

“How about you?” Cole asked, steering the conversation away from his dubious patron. “I know you sculpt in clay. What guided you to that medium?”

Rachael squirmed at the question, suddenly bashful. The unexpected change was beyond cute.

“It’s silly, really. Growing up, Ma was a dancer. I was fascinated by the human form and tried capturing her movement however I could.” She toyed with her food, avoiding his gaze. “We traveled a lot. Crayons, pencils, pens, you name it, nothing resonated with me. Until the day she took me to the Met in New York City. They were hosting a Neoclassical exhibition featuring history’s most iconic sculptors. Sergel, Pajou, Schadow, and yes… Antonio Canova. That’s when I realized my calling.”

Cole remembered her mentioning Canova’s ‘Cupid and Psyche’ at orientation. A powerful source of inspiration, but the masters she listed worked in marble, not clay. He said as much.

“Oh, I can chisel and shape stone now. Only, it’s not something a little girl can hump across the country in the family station wagon. Ma bought me sticks of modeling clay instead. We didn’t stay anywhere long.” Rachael said, pushing food around her plate. “Had to go where the job took her, especially after Pops ditched us.”

“I’m sorry–”

“I’m not. The bastard can rot for all I care. I had an awesome childhood. Life on the road, seeing new stuff every day. Ma was–and still is–a headlining exotic dancer.” The feisty blonde’s grin was a sunrise lighting up her cherubic features. “My school teachers were bouncers, club owners, bartenders, and showgirls. I got one hell of an education. We never went hungry and she scraped together my college fund fleecing randy rubes in high-end titty bars.”

“She sounds amazing.” Cole remarked, impressed. “Quite the fearsome lady.”

“Ha! You don’t the half of it.” Rachael snorted, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. “This one time, a club owner tried stiffing her on tips, so Ma staged a revolt. She led the entire staff outside and formed a picket line on the sidewalk. Most of the girls were half naked, but they invented chants about the douchebag’s tiny prick and barred entry until he caved.”

Cole nearly choked on a piece of cheese as he laughed. Rachael crossed her arms in satisfaction, pushing out her sumptuous breasts.

“Best of all, everyone received extra remuneration after the customers joined the protest. No one fucks with my Ma. We celebrated that victory with late-night pancakes. The next morning, she bought me my first block of pottery clay.”

Any lingering tension was dispelled when they toasted Rachael’s mother. Bianca returned to take their orders, and the discussion returned to safer topics.

The effervescent short-stack flirted brazenly, playing footsie beneath the table and drawing Cole’s eye to her cleavage whenever possible. She chewed her bottom lip, shooting him smokey, boner-inducing stares.

He shifted in his seat, trying to ease the bulge extending down a trouser leg. Otherwise, the tension simmered, and their conversation devolved into small talk until their meals were delivered.

“Okay, dish already,” Rachael demanded after cleaning her bowl of mushroom risotto. Cole’s cacio e pepe had been excellent. “What’s the sitch with Miss Laurier and Lita? Y’all are fucking, yeah? I recognize the signs.”

The unexpected question almost had him spraying his drink across the room.

“P-pardon?” He spluttered.

“C’mon, Cole. I’m not blind. Ya waltzed into Farrah’s store with a flower on each arm, pleased as punch. The others are naive, but I know better.” She gave him a wink. “It’s cool. I understand. You’re a hot commodity, enjoying the attention. Nothing wrong with that. They’re both outstanding women and artists.”

“I have to agree, but it’s not–”

“You don’t need to hide anything from me, mule boy.” Rachael’s dainty foot tickled his knee, sliding higher. “I know a player when I see one. Ma attracted greaseballs like flies to honey, and you’re nothing like them. I can see the respect and affection you hold for those ladies. I’m certain you ain’t toying with their hearts because they’d rip off your nuts if you were.”

Toes glided onto his thigh, not traveling far before curling over the outline of his bulbous tip.

Her grin turned vulpine as she purred, “Mule boy, indeed.”

Cole rocketed to his feet, covering his stiffened state with a napkin. The square of fabric was entirely too small for the monumental task.

“I’ll be right back.” He croaked, limping away.

“Wait, where are you going?” Rachael called.

“To the restroom!”

---

A big thank you to the anonymous supporter who commissioned this fun tale. You know who you are. Chapters are posted on my BuyMeACoffee page weeks in advance. Supporters can read them for the price of a single cuppa joe. Cheers for reading!