Adrift

put on make-up. I patted all around my head, feeling for loose strands of hair. I sucked my stomach in. I tried to focus on the rich, hot liquid in the mug. Heat rose along my chest and neck and up across my face—a twenty-something version of a hot flash.
He stepped closer, and I sipped my coffee, both hands gripping the ceramic mug for protection. His bare toes pressed against the tips of my fluffy socks.
“Thank you for last night.”
I lowered my mug, confused. Did I get drunk and black out?
His lips fell to mine, and my entire body tingled. Soft, warm intense. His kiss whirled through my senses, and my chest tightened and my heart, it kickstarted into an erratic tempo. The whole kitchen faded to black. I was on the verge of shouting out ‘take me now’ when he ended the kiss, dropped his forehead to mine, then rubbed the tip of my nose with his.
“When can I see you again?”
I inhaled, gasping for air like a guppy out of water.
“Poppy?”
“What are you doing, Gabe? Come on, let me get you back to Tate’s. I’ve got a full day of work.”
“It’s Sunday.”
“Yeah, well, that’s a busy day for me, my friend.”
Those eyes remained calm, intent, and heart-racing sexy. He shook his head once, then twice. “Poppy?”
“Huh?” I asked as I tugged off my fuzzy socks so I could slip on some shoes and usher him out the door.
“There’s no way I’m letting you friend zone me.”
I rolled my eyes. He full-on smirked. With eyes like his and not one dimple but multiples, yeah, no, there was no way I was gonna bite. I learned my lessons.
I rushed him right out the door, and when we arrived at Tate’s, almost pushed him off the cart.
The cocky son of a bitch just gave me his slow, sexy grin, pressed his thumb to his lips, then to mine. His hot, steamy gaze made me feel as if he could see right through my sweater, to the white jumbo bra I slept in last night, and right to my completely out of line nipples that might possibly have turned into pointed headlights. As I pressed the accelerator, he somehow turned it up a notch, and the sexy grin transitioned to panty-melting. My fat, sappy heart whimpered.

Chapter 3
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