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“Which is … ?”
I try to think of a diplomatic way of putting it, but Bridget beats me to the punch with: “That she wants to climb into his pants. ”
Yes. Those words actually come out of her mouth.
“I am going to kill you,” I whisper.
I can’t look at Quinn. I might possibly never look at Quinn again.
She clears her throat. Taps her foot.
God. I have no choice. I look.
She’s still got that eyebrow up. There is no tiring her eyebrow. It is an endurance athlete.
“Do you?”
I don’t know how to answer the question. I mean, yes. Yes, of course I want to climb into his pants.
And no. No, no, no, I don’t want her to know it, or for West to, or for anyone alive to, basically, up to and including Bridget.
I say something that comes out a lot like Hnnn?
She grins. “I’ll be sure to tell him that. ”
“I will hurt you if you do. ”
“Man, you are all over the threats. First that guy Nate—oh, shit, is he the one who published your naked pictures?”
She says it straight out, without any sense of shame or the least hint that it’s a thing we’re not supposed to talk about.
It shocks me so much, I just say, “Yeah. ”
“No wonder you’re so full of rage. You know what you should do? You should play rugby. Are you fast?”
“Um, no?”
Bridget says, “She is so fast. ”
Quinn is smiling. “You can tackle people to the ground. It’s awesome. ”
“That sounds awesome. ” Bridget again.
“We practice on Sundays at eleven. You want to come, too? We could use a new hooker. ”
“Thanks, but I have to save my athletic awesomeness for track. ”
“Oh, right. I’ll settle for the blow-job queen here, then. ” Quinn says this completely without malice. She rubs her hands together. “Now, are we dancing or are we going to stand out here jerking off for the rest of the night? Because you know if we don’t get back in there inside of two minutes, Krishna’s going to have his tongue down some poor girl’s throat. ”
Bridget wrinkles her nose. “He is. And I want him to dance with. He’s so pretty. Like a Christmas decoration. ”
“He would make the world’s most beautiful gay boy,” Quinn agrees. “Let’s go reclaim him. ”
I’m not really done with the rugby conversation, but Quinn sticks out her elbows, so we link arms and kind of half-run, half-skip down the hallway like drunken Musketeers. We wave our wristbands at the security guy, who is so, so bored with his job and utterly unfazed by us.
By the time we get back on the dance floor, I’ve got another beer in my hand, and I’m laughing, thinking of Quinn and Bridget and Krishna.
Thinking of my phone in my back pocket and that screenshot I took.
