Adrift

by Isabel Jolie

  “Ten years.” I sipped my beer, set it down. He watched the game. “You’d go months with no one hearing from you. What’d you end up doing? CIA? Were you kidnapped? Like, we had a million theories.” CIA. Say CIA.

  “I’m not sure where to begin. I started out on the Panglossian.”

  “Greenpeace. And we all got it, at first, that you didn’t have a way to call home. And tracked boats that were violating international fishing law? Did you catch any bad guys?”

  “We stopped two of the big offenders.”

  “So, you saved lots of fish?”

  “These fishing ships nowadays. Did you know they have nets that can trail two miles back? Freezers that let them haul catch for months? They’re depleting the oceans.” As he went on, it occurred to me he may no longer eat seafood. But he’d recommended this place. “It doesn’t matter. You stop one boat, another three set sail. Until governments care, and someone tries to police the ocean, it’s…and even if they care, it’s not something that can be solved easily.”

  “You giving up on our planet?” He didn’t look like a happy man, that much was certain.

  “No. Not giving up. Well, maybe. I don’t know. Aside from the fish, which I know you don’t care about—”

  “Hey, I care about the planet. Just because I didn’t join Greenpeace doesn’t mean I’m an ass.”

  “Aside from the planet, it’s the living conditions. The humans.”

  He continued, and I searched for a conversation changer. “What’d you do after Greenpeace?”

  “Helped an organization get women out to sea so they could have abortions. It’s an organization that helps women in countries with no rights.”

  “Damn. I guess I can see why you didn’t want to tell your folks about that.” I was fairly certain his family was Catholic.

  “Yeah. I did that for less than a year.”

  “And then? Ten years,” I reminded him. None of this would solve Gregg’s issues.

  “I started working for a man based out of Mississippi.”

  “Let me guess. Saving whales?”

  Tate slung back the rest of his beer and slid it forward for a refill. “Hardly. Stealing boats behind on payments.”

  “No way. A repo man.”

  “Yep. Paid good. That’s about it.”

  “Your dad considered hiring contract help to find you, but they weren’t even sure where to start. Said the GPS tracker they’d bought you stopped working your first year.”

  He froze, and I followed his sight line to the bar entrance. Two drenched blondes filled the doorway. One reminded me of pretty much every girl Tate had ever had a crush on. Athletic, all-natural. But the other girl oozed sex. Voluptuous curves, the slightest smear of mascara beneath her eyes, and her white…yes, white…sundress drenched from the rain. The tops of her luscious breasts might as well have been fully exposed. A thick white bra provided a semblance of coverage, but dark shadows hinted at large, saucer-sized nipples. The bra held those babies perfectly, creating deep cleavage. Perfect for motorboating.

  I welcomed the women over with a broad smile. We dispensed with cordial greetings and whatnot. The other blonde apparently knew Tate, and she sat beside him. I centered my attention on the curvaceous one with a semi-transparent dress, and pulled out a stool, leaving the shapely blonde no choice but to sit by me.

  “Poppy, do you have a last name?” Her full pink lips spread into a smile, off-setting spectacular crystal blue eyes.

  “I do, but I don’t share it.”

  “Is Poppy your real name? It sounds like it could be a stage name.” I’d only meant it as a tease, but those cheeks transitioned from a dusting of pink to a full-on rouge. Interesting.

  She settled onto her stool and released a girly giggle. I slid my stool forward, closer to her, creating a bigger divide between Tate and her friend. I smiled, full enough my dimples popped. Girls loved the dimples.

  “Have you ever heard of OnlyFans?” A slip of her tongue wet her lower lip. Sexy didn’t begin to cut it. I couldn’t believe my luck. An OnlyFans girl. Come Monday, Reed would never believe me.

  Chapter 2

  Poppy

  * * *

  That grin. Talk about having you at hello. When those lips stretched into a full-on smile, dimples popped on both sides. Forest green eyes and dark hair. The man had more appeal than a hot fudge sundae on a diet day.

  “Have you ever heard of OnlyFans?” His mouth dropped open when I asked, and I couldn’t squelch my laugh. Yeah, he’d definitely heard of the site where I earned my income.

  “Where are you from?” If he was local, I couldn’t share much. I’d hidden the account from everyone, kept it as my deepest, darkest secret forever. But I’d let my guard down with Luna recently. And she’d been cool…

  “Let’s back-up to OnlyFans. Your internet business.” An all-dimple assault ensued. Danger, Will Robinson.

  “I haven’t seen you around before. Is this your first time here?” I reached out and touched his knee, as if he were an old friend, then snapped my hand back as my brain caught up. You. Don’t. Know. Him.

  “Nah. I grew up coming here every summer.” He angled a thumb in Tate’s direction. “Old friends with that guy. Here for the weekend. So, what’s your story? Is Poppy your OnlyFans name?”

  My OnlyFans account ran under the name Blue Poppy. I kept my Fans profile and my real life separate. And this stranger, meeting the real me, didn’t need to know my full name. My acquisition brain kicked in. He could become a profitable subscriber. His expensive watch said he might not mind a monthly fee he’d forget about.

  His gaze fell to my cleavage, and I weighed my options. Luna and Tate would eventually be an item. She didn’t know that, but they went all goo-goo eyes for each other. Add to the fact there were a grand total of three single year-round residents our age on the island, and it was kind of a no-brainer. By my math, I’d be seeing Gabe again, although most likely rarely, as he probably wouldn’t visit Tate all that frequently. Luna knew about my OnlyFans business, and Gabe might be a source of new subscribers–potentially. I’d been losing those. My Instagram ads were becoming less effective at pulling in new subscribers.

  Will, the bartender, leaned over the bar. “Poppy girl, you want your usual?”

  “Yes, thank you. How’re you doing?” Will’s expression darkened, and he grimaced before walking away. Will and his wife were going through a divorce. Will didn’t gush about his own problems, even though he heard everyone else’s. I’d have to come back and catch him one on one.

  “Should we order dinner?” Gabe asked as he held a paper menu in the air. “Maybe start with some calamari?”

  “Sshhh,” I warned him. “Don’t ever suggest calamari near Luna. Doesn’t go over well.”

  “Are they endangered?” His puzzled expression amused me.

  “Apparently the octopus is quite brilliant. You should not eat them.” I learned forward to whisper, “Especially in front of Luna.” Although, really, all it took was about ten minutes of lecture about the playful problem-solvers and she converted me. I supposed my internal organs thanked me for one less dose of fried food, too.

  “Ah. She’s one of them,” His grin returned, and with it that little dimple on his chin.

  “Yeah, she is.” I smiled fondly at my nature loving friend, then ordered my standard rabbit fare. After consulting with Tate, Mr. Gorgeous ordered grilled lionfish.

  With our order out of the way, those tempting greens focused on me. My cheeks burned, like physically burned, as if the room hit a hundred and five degrees. My giggles wouldn’t quit. You’d think I’d downed three cocktails.

  I fidgeted with the napkin on my lap and sent a silent plea for Luna to join our conversation. All it would take was one other single lady in the bar and Gabe would be all “Poppy who?” I looked to the hallway, certain some college girls would walk through it. They’d be too young for him, probably, but it would defray attention from me.

  Gabe didn’t not
ice my wistful hallway glances. He scrolled through the OnlyFans site on his phone, searching for me, testing different exotic-sounding porn names. Real accounts actually showed. Names like Oral Annie and Betsie Onnerback were just laugh out loud funny. Then he hit a little too close to home with Veronica Star.

  Exasperated, I snatched his phone and pulled up my profile and dropped it on the bar with a clatter. It’s just a website.

  “If you’d like, you can subscribe.” My heart jittered around. You’d think I was asking him out on a date the way my body reacted. It felt like my heart was gonna pop right out. Or maybe break a rib.

  All those dimples exposed his amusement. He flipped through photos, pausing a few times as he scrolled when he came to a lingerie shot. I don’t do anything bad. My throat tightened, and that burning face singed. I dabbed my cheeks with my ice-cold fingers. I stared at his shoes and cursed my big mouth.

  Putting up photos on the internet for strangers was one thing. The internet served as a privacy cloak. Sure, I tended to watch nonstop until the likes rolled in. I’d been known to remove a low performing post. It was my business. Of course I tracked the likes. But sitting next to someone, holding my breath, waiting to see if he’d click the like button—absolute inside churning agony.

  When I finally got up the nerve to stop staring at the floor, he remained glued to the phone, scrolling through posts. Entranced, in a good way. Like, he looked at those photos the way I imagined fifteen-year-old boys flipped through Maxim.

  Of course, the photos he liked leveraged good angles and well-researched lighting. All my photos were carefully edited. Every now and then I fantasized about sending off some of those photos to old high school classmates. Let them choke on those fat jokes. But I left that small town behind me eight years ago. No point dredging up the past.

  Tate got up from his stool and crowded between us. Gabe held the phone up for Tate to better see. If a hole had opened up in the floor, I would have belly flopped into it. I searched for Luna, wondering if she’d be annoyed the guy she liked had an eyeful of, well, me.

  “What’re you doing?” Tate asked. He sounded mighty pissed.

  “Discussing business with Poppy. That’s all.” Gabe continued scrolling through the feed. The heat on my face threatened third-degree burns.

  Tate dropped cash on the bar and headed for the exit.

  Gabe called out, “Man, our food isn’t even here yet.”

  Tate halted. “I’ll leave you the cart.”

  The pissed off tone caught Will’s attention. He watched us from the far end of the bar, probably waiting to see if he’d have to play bouncer and break up a fight. I could barely swallow.

  “We’ll be done in fifteen, or twenty,” Gabe countered, totally calm, like there was nothing unusual going on. Like photos of me weren’t on the phone in his hand. And he didn’t just show them to his friend.

  “I need to get out of here,” Tate grunted. “Walk will do me good.” He disappeared down the hallway.

  The lightning had abated, but the rain still poured.

  “What did he see that got him upset?” Luna asked. “Poppy?”

  Oh, lordy. “He saw my OnlyFans account. But why would he get angry? Is he religious?” I looked to Gabe for an answer. I mean, yes, Gabe freely showing his friend me in lingerie was mortifying as all hell, but anger wasn’t what I’d expect. Leering, mockery, laughter…sure, that fit. Not anger.

  Gabe scratched his head, flummoxed. “Nah. I mean, he wasn’t. But who knows now? He’s a different guy, like night and day. The old Tate, he’d know everyone’s name, be laughing with everyone. He was everyone’s friend. Laidback. Loose. Now, he’s, like, I guess… he’s aged.”

  Luna leaned over to see. The screensaver had gone into effect, and I held my breath. Like watching a terrible reality TV show, I couldn’t blink. I held my breath, frozen, waiting to see if Gabe would enter his code and let her peruse the blasted site.

  Luna didn’t give him the chance, though. She held out her credit card to me. “Here, use this to pay for me. I’ll get it back from you later. I’m going to go give him a lift home.”

  Gabe blocked her card. “Nah. Don’t worry about it. I got it. Tell him I’ll be home later.”

  She rushed down the hall in the direction Tate had gone. I took a large gulp of my Blue Moon. Mortification settled over me like frost on a chilly morning, coating every single blade of grass. It’s not that what I did embarrassed me—not exactly.

  When the pandemic hit, I would’ve had to go crawling back to one of my parents if I hadn’t discovered OnlyFans. And for a girl who used to be mocked, it was pretty fucking fantastic to learn that there were men who liked curvy girls. At first, I got a bit of a high from checking my follower count and seeing those likes. The tips blew my mind.

  Yes, they liked me with photo editing, good lighting, and at the right angle. But still…I would’ve never thought. And I told myself over and over, I’m not doing anything wrong. I needed the income. The liquor bottles lined against the mirror along the back of the bar goaded me. One day, 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.

&nb
sp; “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.”