“How do you know her?” Pearl watched Bridges and Akil exchange a look, hide smiles. Tristan started bouncing the ball off the clay, catching it. “Am I missing something?”
“Nothing. It’s just . . . everybody knows her. She’s”—Bridges carefully avoided her eyes—“one of the townies who comes to the parties. You know.”
Pearl flexed her fingers. “Townies. Right.”
“I don’t mean—not like you.”
“Tell her the nickname.” Akil took a few practice swings. “Go on, Bridge, don’t be such a goddamn southern gentleman just because your girlfriend’s here. Say it.”
“I’m not saying it.”
“Okay, eww. I’m done.” Quinn stood, brushing off her white denim skirt, nudging Hadley with her foot. “Tell your little conquest stories after we’re gone.”
“Whatever.” Akil smiled. “You just wish you were in one.”
“With a walking hard-on like you? I don’t think so.”
A murmur of laughter from the kids nearby. Akil glanced over, laughed along sharply. “I meant Bridges. Pretty sure you guys never even made it to second base—or wasn’t anybody supposed to know that?”
A quick, naked flash across Quinn’s face, a glance at Bridges, who turned away, running his hand back through his hair. “Wait,” Quinn said to Akil, “just so we’re clear—you’re trashing me for not putting out when I was fourteen?” Akil snorted, shrugging her off, but she followed him. “Seriously, what does a girl have to do to earn a vote of approval from you guys? Or is that even possible?”
Akil dug into his bag. “Just forget it, Quinn.”
Hadley touched Quinn’s back. “Let’s go.”
“No. I want to hear what he has to say.” Quinn folded her arms as he gave her a sidelong look. “I mean, it’s obvious you think you can do whatever you want because you’re a guy. It’s okay to act like a heartless horndog slut, because later, all your buddies will buy you beer and tell you what a stud you are, right?” She raised her voice for the benefit of their audience. “I think you should have to explain why it’s not a karmic issue for you to have a random hookup on a boat named after your dead ex, who—let’s face it—only ever got with you as part of her Get Back at Daddy campaign. Any thoughts on that?”
Half a second of shocked silence. Hadley’s face was white. Akil swore, threw his racket to the side, and went for Quinn.
Bridges slammed into Akil’s chest, catching handfuls of his shirt, moving with him. “Dude, no—”
Akil shoved at him, tried to twist around him, still locked on Quinn, who gave a bring it on gesture, stepping lightly back.
“Stop it!” Hadley’s voice broke. “Quinn, let’s go! Please!”
“I’m shaking. Really, Akil. You’re such a badass. You have to beat up a girl to make her be quiet?” Quinn allowed Hadley to tug her toward the gate, calling back at them, “Nobody’s impressed. Just so you know.”
Bridges held on to Akil, kept talking him down until Akil finally ripped free, turning off balance to face Tristan.
Who was leaving. He was already through the gate and onto the walkway, bag over his shoulder, moving at a steady pace toward the parking lot without looking back.
Akil swore a final time, grabbed his things, and left too, shoving by Pearl and heading in the direction of the club.
Bridges watched him go for a moment, then sank onto the ground into a sitting position, hanging his head. Pearl walked over and sat beside him. “That was fun.” She glanced toward the parking lot. “Will Tristan be . . . okay?”
“Tristan doesn’t really need people.” He was quiet a moment. “Akil’s the one who’s freaking.”
“Quinn had a point. About the boat.”
He rubbed his face. “I know. Akil knows it, too. That’s the whole reason he did that with Hadley. To prove something about him and Cassidy.”
“And he had to prove it with your ex-girlfriend?” Bridges didn’t answer. “Was it true, what Quinn said about Cassidy using Akil to get back at her dad?”
“Cassidy wasn’t like that.” He released a pent-up breath. “I dunno, maybe it was a little bit true. But it wasn’t like she planned it. I mean, Akil came on to her hard, right from the beginning. Said stuff most guys wouldn’t say to somebody’s sister. Not that Tristan seemed to care.” He looked at her, his expression pained. “It wasn’t like she had a lot of experience, you know? Last summer was the first year she started hanging out with us. She just kind of showed up at the parties, had a few drinks, whatever. We were always Tristan’s friends before that . . . she stayed away. I don’t know if David made her or what. I don’t think she’d ever had a real boyfriend before Akil.”
Pearl pushed her hair behind her ears, watching a nearby match without really seeing it. “Tristan didn’t mind that his little sister was tagging along with his friends?”
“I guess not. They didn’t talk much. She always found her own rides places, things like that.” Bridges paused. “She said she was on a break.” He shook his head. “I don’t think I heard her playing at all last summer. Weird. Usually her music was all over their house.”
A silent piano. A suddenly full social calendar. And a video of someone breaking a door down. Pearl wanted to keep pushing, to reach into Bridges’s mind and rake through what he’d seen, what he knew—he’d been there, in the Garrisons’ house, at the Little Nicatou parties—but she was on the verge of prying too hard as it was. She picked up a pebble, tossed it away through the fence. “Think Akil really would’ve hit Quinn?”
“Everybody wants to hit Quinn. But, nah. You’ve got to know by now that Akil’s ninety percent talk.”
Interesting, considering how fast Bridges had gotten between them. Pearl looked off at the club, picturing Akil’s face on the other side of that door on the Islander, his shoulder slamming the wood. “Would he have hit Cassidy?”
“Are you kidding? He treated her like a princess—for him, anyway. Akil’s not stupid. He knew he was getting crazy-lucky. I mean, Cassidy Garrison? That’s like . . .” Bridges hesitated, got to his feet. “Well, lots of guys would’ve traded places.”
Pearl plucked at her racket netting, feeling the slight twist of—not exactly jealousy, but a resurgence of what’d she felt the night before Christmas Eve when she’d watched Cassidy’s poise and grace and known with a hollow certainty that she’d never, ever have that. Not even close. What did it take to inspire awe in people, to be the kind of girl that guys treated like royalty?
“So . . . do you ever check your mail?”
Pearl looked up sharply. “What?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to say something, but you should’ve gotten it a couple days ago, so . . .”
She stood. “How’d you manage that, anyway? Those invitations were mailed by the club.”
He grinned. “Are you saying you’ll come? You don’t have to work it, do you?”
“No. I’m working lunch that day.” Going as Bridges’s date would mean total exposure, see-and-be-seen by both members and staff. Word would almost certainly get back to Dad. It was a risk. “I don’t know. Hoity-toity people in diamond tiaras . . . ?”
“I’ll leave mine at home, promise. Come on, my gramps is making a big deal out of it. The whole club’s going to be there. He really wants me to go. And he likes you. I can tell.”
“All I did was bring him some scones.”
“It’s because you were cool. You didn’t try to kiss his ass. He respects that.” Bridges stood up. “So . . . do you have time to get a dress before Friday?”
She gave him a look. “I’ll get my designer right on it.”
He loped over and picked up the tennis ball, reminding her a bit of a golden retriever puppy, shaggy-haired and guileless. “Still feel like learning to play?”