Gabe
Tate’s door squeaked as I slowly edged it open with the sneakiness of an errant teenager, twisting the knob with an ultra-slow motion, aiming for silence. A memory of returning home at seven, long after curfew, surfaced, and my facial muscles ached from the grin I couldn’t hold back. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d smiled this much.
Yeah, those big blue eyes were stunning, as was that mouthwatering cleavage. And yes, I’d spent seconds here and there, or minutes, fantasizing fondling those luscious tatas. After all, at heart, I’m a breast man. But…the girl made me laugh. Those fuzzy socks and loose flamingo pajama pants. My ex-girlfriend wouldn’t have been caught dead in that outfit, but Poppy had no shame.
I glanced outside before closing the door. Poppy’s cart had stopped on the street, and she had swiveled in the front seat, toward the house, watching me. The moment I turned, she zoomed off. Busted. Yeah, one thing was absolutely certain—she and I would pop that friend’s seal.
With optimum stealth, I pressed the latch in smoothly. Silently. Movement in the perimeter startled me, and I fell back against the door.
“Have a good night?” Tate asked. He sat at the kitchen bar, sipping his coffee, reading something on his phone. I kicked off my loafers and let them slap the floor with a loud tap, since the sleuth game was up.
I poured myself a cup of steaming black coffee and inhaled the rich aroma before answering, “It was good.”
“Awesome.” He tapped the counter with his fist then headed back out to the porch, leaving me alone in the kitchen. What the hell?
I located sweetener and milk then followed him out.
“Poppy is something else—”
“Don’t want to hear about it.”
I side-eyed him as I settled into the Adirondack chair. He seemed miffed.
“Why’d you tear out of there last night?”
He dropped his phone onto his lap and stared at me. I stared right back. I had no idea what his problem was. He and I were way past curfew age. Hell, we were pushing thirty-five.
“What is she? A porn star?”
My coffee spewed all the way across the porch, filling a few screen holes with light brown liquid. “Shit. That’s what you thought you saw? No, she’s not…she doesn’t do porn.” I opened my mouth and stretched those sore facial muscles. Ah fuck, he must’ve seen the photo of her lacy bra. Sexy as fuck, by the way. “That’s what you thought? A porn star? That’s funny.”
“No. It’s not.”
“Have you ever heard of OnlyFans?”
“No.”
“Well, it’s like, you can see nudie pics and stuff like that. You can also sext. It kind of took off during the pandemic, when bars were shut down and social distancing was in effect.”
“And she does that?”
“Yep. I’d actually seen her ads before. Never clicked. She’s kind of, you know, more of a plus size model.”
“Are you going to date her?”
“Date? Like girlfriend? Nah. I live in New York. She’s here. But I like her. She’s…” I trailed off, resting my head on the back of the chair and closing my eyes, thinking of her full-on belly laugh and snort fest during the movie last night. The girl had the best laugh. Unencumbered. And she put me in my place.
“Man, if you are gonna sit there and replay last night, go in another room.”
I opened my eyes and studied my moody old friend. “Last night was fantastic. But we didn’t do what you’re thinking.”
“Are you trying to tell me the two of you didn’t have sex?” He sounded incredulous.
“She said she doesn’t do one-night stands. Can you believe that? A girl who makes a living selling nudies.” Seemed pretty unbelievable to me, too. I’d kind of expected she’d cave, that maybe she was playing hard to get, but then she fell asleep. She’d washed her face, and without the make-up she almost appeared innocent.
“But it was still fantastic?”
“Oh, yeah. Fanfuckingtastic. I’ll be back to visit you again.” I grinned.
“She’s young, you know that, right?”
“She’s what? Twenty-five. Out of college. When did you become such a prude?” I didn’t see his issue at all.
“I’m not a prude. I’m just saying, we’re older now.”
“She’s the same age as a lot of the girls I date in New York.” My most recent ex accused me of breaking up with her because she’d gotten too old when she turned twenty-nine.
“Seriously?” His judgmental frown bordered offensive.
“I don’t target younger women, but I suppose the places I go often—”
“You mean strip clubs?”
I choked out a laugh and nodded. Busted. He frowned. He seriously needed to lighten up.
“So, does Luna do that, too? That app thing?”
“It’s not an app.” I took it from his scowl he didn’t care about specifics. “I don’t think so. Pretty positive no. I thought about asking Poppy, but I didn’t want to sound like I was into her friend.”
“Considerate of you.”
“Yep. But here, we can look for her.” I slipped out my phone from my back pocket. “Wait. She wouldn’t use her real name. We’d need her screen name to find her. Or look through a shitload of—”
“That’s okay.”
“I doubt she does it.” I breathed in the ocean air as I recalled my brief conversation with Poppy about the site. She seemed a tad defensive. Not embarrassed, necessarily, but I got the sense I’d get farther with her if I showed an interest in her and not in her pseudo celebrity. “Poppy stumbled into it when she lost her bartending job. She might have sold Luna on it. But Luna’s got a job, and she’s in grad school. I doubt she’s doing it on the side. Poppy’s dream is to own a cafe or a bar. I offered to be an investor, but she turned me down. Probably a good thing. I’m not sold investing in a restaurant on this island would be smart. I’d need to see the numbers. I’d imagine there’s a pretty stiff drop-off in the winter.”
Tate stared straight ahead, and I waited, curious if he had any thoughts about business out here. It had to be a tourist economy.
“Don’t look to me. I’m about to spend my first winter here. Right now is shoulder, you know, off-peak, and from what I’ve heard, weekends stay pretty full through Thanksgiving with weddings. Then it’s dead. Only locals around until the spring wedding season kicks in, maybe around March.”
Restaurants could succeed, I guessed, but any business was tough with an entire season of low income. The resort island didn’t allow automobiles, and without car exhaust and traffic noises, combined with palm trees and the lulling sound of waves, it did feel a world away from reality. I’d traveled all over, but I’d never forgotten this place. It wasn’t hard to see why families came back year after year.
“You wanna catch some waves?” He stretched, reaching skyward, clearly ready to end the conversation. Glad he let go of the sharp chip on his shoulder, I relaxed against the chair.
“Sure. For a bit. You and I still need to catch up. Then I’ve got to head back.” There’d be a ton of industry news to catch up on. Texts came through in bursts around here, all thanks to weak signal. Drove me fucking nuts. And my nature loving friend here moved to this isolation full-time. Vacation? Sure, I got it. Year-round? Insanity.
“Did you drive my golf cart back here?”
“What?”
“You left the cart at Jules, didn’t you?” Oh, shit. He did say he left it for me. I’d been so hot to ride home with Poppy I’d totally forgotten. “Don’t worry. I’ll ride one of your bikes down to get it.”
He rolled his eyes, all attitude and annoyance. A gorgeous woman caught my attention—sue me.
Monday morning, the alarm sounded at the early hour of four. A new day, a new week. My morning surfing felt distant. As if it happened a week ago, not just yesterday.
All looked good in early morning London trading, so I hit the gym by four thirty, and flipped the light switch in the office by six. I was knee deep in a review of my fund’s current positions when Reed tapped the door and plopped into my visitor chair. If it wasn’t for the fresh cup of coffee he slid my way, I might’ve chewed him out, as it annoyed me to no end he always assumed I had time for him.
“Tell me about this chick you met.” His eyebrows raised and wiggled, only he couldn’t control his right one, so whenever he pulled that move, he looked like a total buffoon. “Hot, right?”
Yeah, I texted Reed from the ferry. But only after his Saturday night text from a strip club came through, telling me how much I missed out on.
“I’ve already subscribed. She doesn’t do action. Or nudes. Kind of lame, if you ask me. There are way better porn stars to follow.”
“I didn’t send you her photo so you’d subscribe, you fuck.” I sat up straighter in my chair and stifled an urge to throttle the fuckwad. I wasn’t quite sure why I sent it. It was just the way Reed and I had been for years, but the idea of him scrolling through her photos, it didn’t sit well with me.
“Hey? You realize she has over twenty-five thousand subscribers, right? Which, again, I don’t get. In general, to me, if you want to get off, PornHub’s a better option. But she’s got some grade-A boobs, I’ll give you that. How was she to fuck? Are those breasts real?”
Reed might qualify as an old friend, but on some days, he truly grated my nerves. “Out.” I pointed at the door.
“What’s up with you?”
“Markets open soon, and I’ve still got updates to get through.”
“They open in over an hour.”
“Out,” I repeated through gritted teeth.
He didn’t get my annoyance. Probably seemed like any other day to Reed. I didn’t like being interrupted pre-market opening, and he liked to jerk my chain. He rarely succeeded in getting me flustered. I loosened my tie and paced the room. Located my stress ball behind the monitor and bounced it against the wall. I hated I shared her account with him. That truth annoyed me because regret wasn’t an emotion I liked to harbor.
Last night, lying back on my sofa, I’d scrolled through her feed. Held the phone up in the air one-handed while I coaxed myself, jerking off to the hint of nipple in the photo. I’d been surprised she didn’t have nudes in her premium feed. But she was still hot as fuck. And I had to go and share her with Reed.
I threw my stretch ball back and forth against the wall. Thud. Thud. Thud.
A slight rap on the door broke the repetition, and my assistant entered.
“All okay?”
“Yep.”
“Here’s the analyst report you asked for.” She placed a thick folder on my desk. “Have a good weekend?”
I nodded, and she backed out to answer a ringing phone. I lost myself in market analysis. Once the bells rang, I didn’t give Reed another thought. Nothing out there could top the rush of a morning playing the trades.
I wrapped up with significant gains thanks to some shorts I made that worked out just right. I checked the calendar and smiled. No business lunch today. As if sensing my day had turned around, Reed tapped my doorframe again. Only this time my ex trailed him.
“Caroline? Did we have an appointment?”
“Oh, my god, Gabe. Why are you so formal? No, we didn’t have anything scheduled. But I have lunch with my dad and thought I’d swing by and say hello. See if maybe you wanted to join us.”
Caroline’s dad worked for Silverman Katz. I’d spent most of business school gunning for Silverman, but then Belman came in with an offer I couldn’t refuse. Just as well. I broke up with Caroline after a year or two at Belman, and had that happened if I worked for her dad, well, it would have been awkward.
“No, thanks.” The thought of a stuffy lunch with Caroline and her dad, a lunch that would no doubt be the equivalent of an informal interview, because that was how the man framed everything, deserved a hell-to-the-no.
Caroline’s coy smile as she approached my desk unsettled me. She trailed her long, manicured nails along the back of my visitor chair, and I waited.
“Reed tells me you had an interesting weekend.” And there it is.
I shot him an icy glare. He thrust his hands in the air and chuckled. “What? You met a celeb.”
“She sounds lovely. In a southern kind of way.”
They both heehawed at their little joke. With a shake of my head, I lifted my phone off the charging dock and squeezed past them. Let the little shits have their fun.
In front of the elevator bank, I repeatedly pressed the down arrow as Caroline’s voice trailed through the hall. “I hope you got your money’s worth.”
“Shut it,” I snapped. The last thing I needed was unsavory interpretations floating around the office.
“Oh, come on, now. Don’t get testy.” She sidled up to me, full of glee. The elevator door dinged. Rather than end up trapped with Caroline and Reed and relentless innuendos, I spun around, passed the elevator bank, and slung the stairwell door open. Sixty-two floors. With each step down, I cursed Reed. Which didn’t make any sense at all, because we’d shared photos before via text. It was just a guy thing. But his leering, making her a joke—it felt wrong. She wasn’t just a chick from a party. By the time I reached the ground floor, I’d resolved to never speak of her again to Reed. The guy was basically ADHD. By tomorrow, he’d be on to a different shiny object.