Adrift

I wanted that. I didn’t want to just bartend. I wanted to own my own bar. My own restaurant. And one day, I would, thanks to OnlyFans. Fuck the haters.
“Hey, you okay?” Gabe brushed my cheek with his finger, and only then did it register nasty tears had escaped.
“Oh, yeah. Beer went down the wrong way.” I fled to the restroom with my hand over my chest, miming choking. Beer went down wrong. That didn’t even make sense. What a mess. A squishy, big, fat hearted mess.
In the restroom, I locked the door and gave myself the once-over.
An emotional twat faced me in the mirror. Black mascara smears set off blue eyes. So much for waterproof. Blonde curls hung limp and deflated, and the line of my mega bra stood out through the thin fabric of my sundress. The thick straps squeezed down on my shoulder fat, and the sundress straps didn’t adequately cover it. Why did I pick this dress?
A strong desire to be at home, with furry socks and a thick blanket, surrounded by candles and a delicious glass of wine overwhelmed me. The guy sitting out there at the bar, yeah, he was a cutie, but I knew his type. He lit up like Vegas at the mention of OnlyFans. He probably wanted to brag to his friends. I knew better.
I swiped away my cheap drugstore mascara, fluffed my hair, corrected my posture, and with a determination to salvage my Saturday night, returned to the bar.
“Hi. Ahm, I think I’m gonna head home now.” I slid my credit card across the bar to Will, catching his attention as I did so. I played it casual, pointedly not sparing the vacationer a glance.
“Oh, no, I’ve got it.” He shoved a black Amex into Will’s hands and dropped my card back into my bag so quickly I couldn’t fight him without making it awkward.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” I fumbled inside my bag, searching for the credit card so I could place it back in my wallet, slightly annoyed he’d haphazardly dropped it inside. “Do you know how to get back to Tate’s?”
Our food had arrived, and I noticed he hadn’t yet taken a bite of it. Waiting for me. A pluck of guilt tweaked my heartstrings.
“Do you mind if I come back to your place and hang for a bit? Tate’s doesn’t have electricity, and I don’t think he’s going to be great company tonight.”
He gave me this little, sexy grin, and the chin dimple formed. Those delectable greens warmed me, chasing off the AC chill.
“Please?” he asked.
I stared up at the ceiling, searching for polite words.
He broke out into an enormous, panty busting grin. “Come on. We’re getting to know each other.”
I pointed at him and told him in a serious tone, “Nothing is happening.”
He held his hands up, defensive, but still with a wide, sexy, boyish grin splashed across his face. “No expectations. I’m stranded on an island. You’re helping me out. When you visit Manhattan, I’ll return the favor.”
Not likely, but never bad to make connections.
“You still need to eat.” I pointed at his plate. My appetite had disappeared.
“Why don’t we get our meals to go? Is the AC too cold in here for you? I did ask him to lower it.”
His consideration didn’t go unnoticed, but still, I didn’t verbally acknowledge it. “Once I get home, I’m putting on fuzzy socks and pajama pants and getting under a giant blanket. And nothing is going to happen with us. At all. Are you sure you want to come home with me?”
“Did you miss the part about him not having electricity? He warned me the place has a mildew smell. Plus, he’s in the process of ripping up floors. Movie night at your house sounds worlds better.”
“You don’t know anything about my house. It might smell like mildew, too.”
“You smell good, so I don’t think so.”
Against my better judgement, I gave in to the sexy stranger. He asked Will for to-go boxes and ordered two bottles of red to go.
“I have wine. A girl doesn’t get these curves without some indulgences.”
“What kind of guest would I be if I didn’t bring wine?”
Will offered a knowing smirk as Gabe signed the receipt. I squelched the urge to tell Will nothing was going to happen and to stop smirking. The judgmental prick.
Gabe pushed the stool back as Will’s eyes bulged. Mr. Sexy tipped well. Shocker. Walls up, Poppy girl. You got this.
The rain fell in a steady pace, and we hustled out for the shelter of my cart.
“Do you live far away?”
“Not at all. If it wasn’t raining, I would’ve walked.” The reverse buzz on the golf cart rang out, then we jerked forward. The lights on one yacht docked in the marina were on, and warm yellow light emerged from three of the homes surrounding the marina. Electricity had returned.
In under two minutes, I pulled into my little golf cart garage and led Gabe into my home from the marina side. He stood out on the porch, stomping his flip-flops, as if cleaning them, while gazing across the harbor.
“Nice view.”
“Yeah, it is. Thanks.” I loved the place more than anything. But I wouldn’t be here long. Mrs. Rittenhouse gave me a deal in exchange for a one-year lease. She liked having someone in her place and not dealing with multiple renters. But even with the deal, I couldn’t afford the rent. One day I’d have to leave. That knowledge may have made me love the two-story home even more. I took care of all her window boxes and the flower beds along the white picket fence. Even though I rented, I showered this place with the love of an owner.
I opened the door and surveyed the place. Blankets and throws littered the sofa and armchairs. A few dirty dishes lined the counter near the sink. An old pizza box ready for recycling sat out on the counter. Shoes lined the floor near the stairs.