And even if it did, real sex has never come close to my fantasies. Without fail, I get in my own head, too focused on whether I’m doing it properly. Being sexy without being needy. Loud, but demure. Pretty enough, generous enough. When my influencer career took off, it became impossible to find a guy to hook up with who wasn’t already aware of how I looked and presented myself online and expected the curated version of me once we were together.
The first time I slept with Ryan, he told me he thought I’d be more of a freak in bed because I had no problem baring my body online. I still don’t know whether he intended it as an insult or a compliment. Either way, after that I struggled to stay in the moment every time we were intimate, worrying that I was letting him down.
I don’t want to find out what Jack would expect, only to inevitably disappoint him.
I stand, rearranging my nightgown. It’s warm, but I wrap myself in a blanket after I use the bathroom. I inch up the steps to the deck, tensing at the way they creak. Jack is asleep on the bow, the same way he’s been all week, an arm flung over his eyes. He’s stripped down to a pair of boxer briefs that cling in all the right places. Even in the middle of the night, the heat in the air lingers.
I wet my lips as I stare at him. He looks like a statue carved from marble, hard and lean and decorated with beautiful swirls of ink.
I wonder what kind of women he goes for. Has he had sex since he came back to Florida? Would he have gone out for a drink tonight and brought someone back to this houseboat if I wasn’t living with him?
He turns over with a groan. I scurry below deck before he notices me.
It’s suspiciously easy to fall asleep again, with the sheets smelling like him.
I hurry alongside Jack as he weaves through the West Palm Beach Greenmarket, trying to keep up with his purposeful strides while texting Julia. I didn’t mention the dream—for obvious reasons—but the fact I’ve been shacking up with Jack is definitely newsworthy.
Me:Thanksgiving can’t come soon enough
Julia:You don’t really think that
Me:Ugh
Julia:You’re enjoying yourself, I can tell. I’ve been watching the Fable updates. Love the website design!
Me:I had to fight for those pink accents. Totally worth it
Me:But I’m still convinced this ends in a double murder
Julia:No way. You like him
Me:Take that back
Julia:And he likes you
Me:What
Me:Jules, no
Julia:The way he looked at you on that island? I mean, come on
Me:I told him to smile for the camera
Julia:If you say so
Julia:Mom and Dad miss you
Julia:How long are you going to dodge their calls?
Just as I thought, the video of him fishing—shirtless, as requested—made the rounds on social media. He’s becoming a celebrity chef against his will. Our followers aren’t just potential patrons; big players in the food media space have taken notice. My eyes nearly fell out of my head when I noticed that Gordon Ramsay started following us. We’re in a perfect position to announce the pop-up.
“Poppy,” Jack says, his voice scattering my thoughts. “I thought you said you wanted menu input.”
I shove my phone into the back pocket of my jeans. “What? Yeah.”
“So pay attention to what I’m saying.”
“Sorry.”
