Gabe
The buzz of her vibrating phone piqued my curiosity. The low hum reverberated through the thin cloth material of her clutch. Her handbag lay resting on the side of the table, close to her beverage glass. I might have been losing my mind, but it appeared the vibration sent ripples through the sparkling water.
By the time our entrees arrived, I’d determined someone called her every two or three minutes. Was she a phone sex operator? Was that a part of OnlyFans I’d missed when reviewing the website? Were these calls from her supposed friend?
Her rounded cheeks bloomed pink, offsetting those gorgeous blue eyes. Her blonde hair fell in a mix of ringlets and loose curls. The longer strands fell over her decolletage, highlighting those ample breasts. She chattered on in a way that implied she might be nervous, and that ongoing blush gave the illusion of innocence. But she couldn’t be innocent. She made her money off nudes. Well, actually, not nudes. I checked her account regularly, and her images ranged from a TikTok fully clothed “here’s how to apply eyeliner” version to the occasional Sports Illustrated or Maxim sexy shot. How she had paying subscribers—that piece I didn’t understand.
“So, what brought you to Haven Island?” The question risked falling in boring first date territory, but given I’d been questioning my recent decision to move to this remote location, it remained on the tip of my tongue for any year-rounder.
She licked her lip, catching a slip of buttery sauce from her pan seared scallops. She dipped her head and dabbed those plush lips with her napkin, and I shifted in my seat, needing a readjustment. In an unsure tone belying her youth, she mumbled, “Excuse me.” I’d almost forgotten my question by the time she sipped her water, dabbed those lips once more, and got around to answering me.
“A friend of mine went to UNC-Wilmington, the school that’s over in Wilmington.” She pointed out the window, over the darkening ocean. I supposed she aimed to point in the direction of the mainland. I nodded for her to continue. “Well, I came here, and I loved it. I worked in Wilmington for a while at a restaurant, and then one of the waitstaff said something about openings at restaurants over here that paid well. I’m a small-town girl, and even though Wilmington isn’t exactly big, it has traffic, and it’s more or less a college town. There’s something peaceful out here on the island. It’s like being in another world. I can go over to Wilmington, or Southport, any time I like, but I love the day to day here. Slow and easy. Do you know what I mean?”
“No,” I responded immediately and smirked as her mouth dropped into a delectable little oh. “I’m coming out of my skin. It’s too quiet. I can’t sleep.” I had thought I would experience what she described, but peace remained elusive.
“That doesn’t make sense,” she said, skeptical.
“I know. I came out here as a kid and it didn’t happen. It didn’t happen when I visited earlier.” Come to think of it, I couldn’t sleep back in New York at the end either. “But it’s as if the more time I spend here, the quiet is getting louder? Does that make any sense?” I could tell I confused her. “Anyway, Siri plays sleep sounds for me now. I found an option with city noises, you know, automobiles, sirens. It’s helping.”
Her phone vibrated once more. The name Drew flashed on the screen as she turned the phone to check it. The prior caller had been Ben. This one read Drew.
“Is it important?” I clenched and unclenched my fist, stretching out my fingers.
“No. They must all be out together tonight. Drinking.”
“So, these are the Louisiana friends?”
“I wouldn’t call them friends.”
Interesting. “How often do you go back?”
“Never.” She held down the off button. “I’m sorry. I thought they’d stop calling.”
“Does your family live there?”
“Some do, some don’t.” She sipped her wine. When she returned her glass to the table, her long fingers stroked the stem suggestively, and I had an entirely different visual of those fingers stroking something else. “What about you? Where’s your family?”
“All in Connecticut.”
“Is that far from where you live?”
“No. They basically live in the suburbs of the city. I see them quite a bit. Or I used to. My mother is threatening to visit soon. I think she misses our weekly lunches.”
“Tell me about her.”
“She’s your classic mom. She loves my sister and me. She’s big into volunteering. She’s a good wife. Loves my dad. Now that we’re out of school, she has a small interior design business.”
“You sound like you miss her.”
“Do I?” Those oversized blue eyes stared back at me. “I guess I do. I enjoy our lunches. And we’re a pretty close family. But I’ll be back soon. This is temporary.” My mom had been spoiled having my sister and me so close. “For a long time, we’d get together on weekends for dinner, but that slipped off the calendar years ago. But we’re all pretty competitive. In the summer, we’ll get together and play mixed doubles tennis. We usually get away for at least one ski trip each winter. Does your family—”
She shook her head with a quick jerk before I finished my question. The two of us had different backgrounds, that much was certain.
“How long have you been on your own?” She looked up to the ceiling, and I followed her gaze, expecting to see the remnants of a spiderweb.
“A long time. I’m independent.”
“You are.” The thrust of her chin underscored her pride in that statement. I understood, to some degree. But I couldn’t help but think she hadn’t had a choice, and that struck me as sad.
After dinner, I followed her out, mesmerized by the sway of her hips. Her silky dress hugged her full curves. I longed to grip those curves and pull her up against me. My ex, like many of the women I slept with, was lean and fit. I yearned to feel Poppy’s soft curves, to press my hard planes against those hills and valleys. The skin and bone look had its place for sure, but I found myself tantalized by Poppy’s fuller figure. I itched to cup those breasts. To see them bare.
As I followed her, I thought through my strategy. If I played my hand right, I could have her out of that dress very, very soon. I couldn’t wait to see her lingerie. I wondered, would I have seen it before? In a post? Or did she wear something new tonight? Just for me?
I planned to peel back her bra and suck on one of those delectable nipples, to squeeze what I felt quite certain were large natural breasts. She posted these tempting shots that spawned countless fantasies. Eager to play one out tonight, my cock strained against my pants.
I parked outside her cottage. As I followed her up to her door, I counted. Three more weeks until she’d be moving into my place, which would be so much more convenient. Then, when we had date nights, I wouldn’t even have to leave the house. She’d be downstairs—readily available for any kind of play.
“Are you starting to pack yet?” I asked.
“No…not yet.”
“Let me know if you need help. I can get you boxes. We could even hire movers to pack you.”
She stopped at her door and turned, placing a hand on my chest. Her touch set wheels in motion. I dipped low and pressed my lips to hers while I wrapped an arm around her waist. Her soft curves caressed me, welcomed me. My hand gripped the right globe of her ass and pulled her closer so I could rock my painfully hard erection against her.
Pressure against my chest intensified. With a shove, she broke the kiss. I searched her face, confused. Her palm pressed hard against me, the pressure both calming me down and holding me at bay.
“Thank you for dinner. I had a good time.”
Come again? “You’re welcome.” My arm remained wrapped around her, and I dipped once more to claim her mouth. To tempt her.
She ducked, opened the door, and closed the screen door in a nanosecond, leaving me alone on her porch. Cold air infiltrated my clothes where her body had warmed mine.
I pointed at her through the screen. “Does this mean you’re not inviting me in?”
“I had a great time. But I’m not the kind of girl who invites a guy in after the first date.”
“You have an OnlyFans account.” I didn’t mean to be condescending, but in a manner of speaking, the girl used sex for a living.
“And?” she asked, eyebrows raised up to her hairline.
“I’m sorry. Maybe I don’t understand. Are you more of a third date kind of girl?”
“Goodnight, Gabe.” The blonde curls swung as she closed the door in my face.
“Does Luna talk about Poppy much?” I propped my beer on the armrest of the Adirondack chair, aiming for as nonchalant as possible. Tate and I had planned to go surfing, but the waves were so flat we ended up sitting on my deck with cold ones.
“Not too much, no.” He rested against the back of his chair, face up to the sun.
“I went out on a date with her last night.”
“Yeah, how’d it go?” He didn’t even open an eye.
“Fine.” My comment earned a smirk.
“Doesn’t sound fine.”
“Do you see her with many guys? I mean, I know she just got back from being away, but before that. Did she date a lot?”
“Wasn’t paying much attention. Why?”
“Guys were calling her during our date. Curious.” I swallowed long and hard on my beer.
“Maybe her work extends to—”
“Phone sex? She says it doesn’t.”
Tate said nothing else. For a few minutes, I suspected he’d fallen asleep. Too hot under the blazing sun, I stood to move under an umbrella. Tate picked up his beer and followed me.
“If you want, I can ask Luna to invite her over here for dinner with us.”
“Yeah, do that.”
He tapped out a text to Luna. She was spending the day in the marsh collecting soil samples for a research project. He set his phone down in the shade then studied me.
“She doesn’t strike me as your type. If you’re using her, Luna won’t forgive you. And then we’ll have an issue hanging out.”
“I’m not using her. I like her. For real. And what, exactly, do you see as my type?”
“Tall, skinny, Ivy background. Like the sorority girls from college. A northeast girl. The kind of girl you dated in undergrad.”
“Fuck off.”
“You think you’ve changed?” He chuckled. “Name one girl you’ve dated who doesn’t fit into that description.”
“You’ve been gone for ten years. How would you know?”
“Name her. Show me a photo.”
“I don’t date anyone seriously.”
“That’s not true. At least it wasn’t true. You weren’t the random hook-up guy. You’d date them. Do the restaurant thing. Movies. You’d date them for a while. Until they wanted to get serious.”
“For someone who’s been gone a long damn time, you really are presumptuous. You think in ten years’ time you’re the only one who changed?”
“Nah, Gregg and I don’t have much to talk about, so he’s filled me in on you.”
“That’s what Gregg said about me?” Tate’s brother and I had stayed friends when Tate went gallivanting around the world. I’d done my part to help them reconnect when Tate first returned, but sitting here, I began to regret it. “Why would he say something like that?”
“He didn’t mean it negatively. I think I asked him if you’d dated anyone seriously or something.”
“Why would you ask him that?”
“Because I have nothing to say to him. And come to think of it, you were texting me about Poppy. Asking me where she was. That’s why it came up. Over Christmas. So, what’s the deal? You can’t use her. I’m telling you, if you do, it’ll cause issues.”
“Use who?” Reed plopped down in a chair near us. I’d flown out and picked him up earlier that morning. He claimed my Cessna vibrated too much and made him nauseated, so he’d gone downstairs to the guest room to take a shower and nap it off.
“Reed, this is my friend Tate. Tate, this is my colleague I told you about. He and I started at Belman around the same time.”
“Nice to meet you. How long are you here for?”
“Not sure. I don’t know if I can get back in that little plane. I might book a commercial flight to get home.”
Tate chuckled. “Yeah, those little planes take a bit to get used to.”
“I’m not one to get seasick or anything, but man. I thought I was going to lose my breakfast.”
“Whatever. It’s a free flight,” I said pointedly to Reed. My plane gave me wings. Not metaphorical wings—real, tangible wings that allowed me to soar. I’d tested the waters a few years ago and became addicted. While it became one of my favorite hobbies, I discovered it was also often a solo hobby. Not too many people loved getting into the kind of plane I was certified to fly. And whereas I found it comforting to go over our plan should our single engine die, I’d noticed no one else took comfort in the fact the plane turned into a glider.
“Have you ridden with him?” Tate nodded as answer to Reed’s question. “Plane shakes like a tin can in the wind. Loud, too. Took forever.”
“We ran into turbulence. It’s not like that every time. And I hate to break it to you, but you won’t get a direct back. You’ll have to connect if you go commercial. My little plane is a helluva lot faster.”
“Your plane is a death trap.”
I flipped Reed the bird, and Tate chuckled.
“No, you don’t understand.” Reed’s tone took on an urgent quality. “He held a sample of fuel up to check for water or some crap. We had to push the plane out of the hangar. Then, when we landed, we pushed it back. Like, held on to a wing and pushed. The guy’s loaded. He should have a private jet and a stewardess.”
“I like flying my own plane. It’s fun. I’m not licensed to fly the bigger planes, and I’m not sure they’d be as much fun. Suck it up, Buttercup.”
“Not again. I’m not getting back in that single engine tin can.”
“Fine by me. Look, I’m going to order some food for dinner tonight. Tate, will Jasmine be joining us?” Tate’s adopted daughter, Jasmine, came over quite a bit for dinner. She always stuck her nose in a book. So quiet, you’d forget she was in the room.
“No. She left this morning for the Outer Banks with Alice. They have tickets to the outdoor Blackbeard show.” Alice, a grandmotherly kind of woman on the island, had bonded quickly with Jasmine. If I were Tate, I might be a little hesitant to let my daughter spend so much time with the odd bird. But given Jasmine arrived from Somalia and spoke in stilted English, I supposed making friends with other thirteen-year-olds might be challenging.
I stepped inside the house and called Shelley to request a catered meal. She asked about tablecloths and candles. If it had been only me and the guys, I would’ve declined. But I liked her suggestion and even told her I’d pay for them to string up some lights over my deck for ambience. After getting a screen door to the face, I decided I needed to up my game. I had zero intention of giving up on my little fantasy. My fingers ached to get a hold of those breasts.
I returned to the deck with a bucket of ice loaded down with beers and a bag of Doritos.
“Tate tells me you’re still seeing that OnlyFans girl?”
“Yes.” I side-eyed Tate, wondering what the hell was wrong with the guy that he chatted about me with all these dudes.
“I want in.” Reed leaned forward, so casual you would have thought he was saying he wanted in on an investment.
“You what?” I asked, stepping forward into his space.
“Hey, I’m already a subscriber. She’s hot. She’s one reason I came down here. How much does she charge?”
“She’s not a prostitute.” Reed overlooked my balled fist.
“Yeah, right. That’s what they do. You gonna tell me you haven’t yet used her services?”
I flinched. His innuendo knocked me back because he’d been with me to Singapore and London. Tate might think I didn’t hook up with randoms, but Reed had been with me at some wild parties. Admittedly, those prostitutes were paid for by our host, and it was more or less a part of the scene, and nothing I’d ever admit to someone like Tate’s big brother, Gregg. I glared at Reed, silently telling him to shut the fuck up. What happened overseas stayed overseas. And while I might have fantasies about Poppy, none of those fantasies involved sharing her.
Tate piped up and quelled the rising tension with a simple, “So, Reed, do you like the Yankees or the Mets?”