Single In Sarasota by Loren Mayo

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Saturday night concluded with a steamy make-out on Main Street.

OK, so it wasn’t exactly my make-out session, but that of my new BFF and her Texas millionaire. She does the whole nickname thing too — this guy is appropriately named “Houston.”

Houston comes in a boxed set with four cars, a mansion, a boat, the AmEx Black Card and two friends he’s had since age 5: Matt and Mark. They’re all 35 years old and single (supposedly, anyway).

The festivities began with the boys picking us up from Bradenton Beach in what was originally described to me as a yacht, but a yacht it was not. Not that I’m complaining, since I’d gladly hop aboard the rustiest dingy should someone promise me a trip to the nearest sandbar. We headed to Beer Can Island, a locale I haven’t visited in probably 10 years, maybe more. The weather was hot, the water was cold, and the beer was lukewarm.

After a few sand-in-the-face football passes (OK, so I could use some practice), Amelia’s run-in with a cluster of sandspurs embedded so deeply in her foot that I winced when she pulled them out and watching some rowdy teenagers jump the bridge and try not to land on top of each other, we set sail for higher ground: Mar Vista — where they serve shrimp as big as lobster and heavenly banana daiquiris. Maybe they’re known for their tequilarific margaritas and not the aforementioned chick drink, but tequila does not make this girl’s clothes fall off.

Someone decided we should head back to Houston’s mansion and relax before dinner. The house was incredible, and the view from the back was even better, but I had to laugh at the décor — especially the hideous little turtle sculpture in the shower. As Amelia and I soaked up the sunset from our lazy chairs and watched the dolphins swim the bay, I wondered if life really got better than this.

Then a mosquito bit me.

We went inside to get cleaned up (I had to shower with the damn turtle checking me out the whole time) and then headed over to LAN for sake martinis. My new fav is the chai, which is every bit as good as Epicure’s strawberry-basil but shares no similarities whatsoever. It’s served in exquisite little potion bottles that take me way back to the movie “Hocus Pocus” starring Sarah Jessica Parker and Bette Midler.

Like everyone else in Sarasota, we had the same idea for a late-night watering hole, and it took forever to navigate through Ivory. I can handle this place for happy hour, but at night I just get frustrated. The boys kept the drinks coming, so that shut me up until I felt a hand stroke my back.

I whipped around to face Mark, who began to list all of the reasons why he thought I should sleep over at Houston’s house. Yuck. He had already been briefed on my relationship status and apparently didn’t care.

Removing his hand, I assured him I’d be sleeping at home and no, he could not join me. His requests continued even after the bar closed and our group walked back to our cars. Amelia and Houston embraced for a romantic moment next to a light post while I stared, not at all amused, at the moving jaw before me.

“You really should come over.”

“No …”

“I just think it would be really nice.”

“No. Thanks, but no.”

“I mean, we could just go to sleep. You know I have a girlfriend, right?”

“I am not coming over. And what? Why are you asking me these questions if you have a girlfriend?”

“Oh, well, I don’t think kissing counts as cheating.”

I’d like to say I told that 35-year-old to grow up and get a life, but the night actually ended with me shaking my head and taking a step toward Amelia’s car right at the exact moment she decided to chuck a cup of water out the passenger window into a trashcan behind me. Go team!