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“Heart Crusher? Sounds like a missing Avenger.”
“More of a villain, really.”
After another fruitless glance into the dark, I shrug. “Judging from what Rico’s into, it’s not likely his heart’s in it at all, anyway. I wouldn’t pity him too much. He’s a tough cookie.”
“Tough cookies snap easier.”
I study Kent for a moment. “I get the sense you aren’t very fond of your twin.”
“Don’t get me wrong. Family’s all you got sometimes.” He snatches a stick off the ground and tosses it into the flames. “But he’s proven more than once that blood isn’t thicker.” He glances at me. “Heard you helped my little bro at the Elysian. Something to do with an overpriced cabana you almost rented for him and his friends?”
I stare at him in confusion—then click it all together. “Little brother? You mean the guy with the skateboard? I knew there was something familiar about him!”
“Weird, that my younger brother looks more like me than my twin, huh?”
I laugh. “I guess so. Wow. How many brothers do you have, exactly?”
“Three. Skipper, Adrian … and then there’s Brett, who couldn’t get away from here fast enough. Just like Dad.” He turns away from the fire. “But that’s a whole other story. Don’t worry about Skip and the way Beckett treated his friends at the Elysian. They’ve got bad blood. Besides, my bro’s a hamster. He gets spun around in that little wheel from time to time, but always finds his way on top.”
Forgive me for getting lost in Kent’s eyes a moment. I didn’t expect all of this soul baring by the fire suddenly. I feel like I’m meeting a totally different person tonight.
“Look, don’t let me distract you,” he goes on. “If you’re here for a good time, it isn’t gonna be with me. There’s all kinds of fish on Sugarberry Beach. I’ll introduce you around if you want. All the locals love the travelers who dare to come to this side of the island.”
I give him a look. “Having a ‘good time’ with the locals isn’t what I’m here for. I’m not some easy lay like—” I stop myself before I say Rico’s name, and cringe inwardly for stooping. Didn’t I say I’m happy for Rico going and doing whatever he wants? “—like … others around here. More power to them. It’s just not my thing.”
“Not your thing. Hmm.” Kent nods slowly, appraising me. “Guess that makes two of us.”
I bite my lip, then fold my arms. I’m guessing this is when I’m supposed to apologize for calling him a player back at the Blue Coral Bakery. “Hey, uh … I’m sorry I—”
“Want a beer?” He kicks open a nearby cooler—which begs the question why Adrian had to go off so far to get me and Rico drinks—and fetches a pair of cans. He tosses me one before I give an answer. “Nothing goes better with a beachside bonfire than a cold beer.” He cracks his open and takes a swig.
And I’m left standing there gazing at the beautiful, inspiring sight of Kent as he kicks back that helpless can of off-brand beer like he’s shooting a commercial for it. His Adam’s apple dances with his chugging, all masculine and self-assured and throaty, ringing with the confidence of a guy who’s lived a fun, carefree, reckless life on the beach.
In other words: everything I envy about other people far less uptight than myself.
Kent lowers his can, then gives me a funny look. “Do you think they’re fucking yet?”
Something about his dry delivery makes me crack a smile. “Round two, if Rico’s involved. I’d put money on it.”
“Hmm. Now I’m starting to wonder who’s worse. My brother, or your friend.”
“It’s a neck-and-neck race.” I crack open my own beer and, after a moment’s hesitation, take my first sip. I notice him watching me and stop with a frown. “What?”
He snorts. “What are you doing? Sipping your beer? It isn’t meant to be sipped. It’s not a fine wine. This stuff is cheap, locally-brewed beach piss. You chug it.”
“Yikes. Remind me not to hire you as a salesman for literally anything.” I take another sip, then give in to half a gulp. “This beer is repulsive, by the way.”
“It’s not made for its taste. Wanna walk around, make fun of people, and not go have sex on the beach?”
“Literally the worst beer I’ve ever tasted, and yes, I’d fucking love to go for a walk with you and shit all over everyone’s dreams.”
Kent smiles, then leads the way. After one last glance at wherever Rico went off to—and a tiny misgiving making itself known in my heart—I decide once again to go with my own gut and take a stroll with Kent, the local funnel cake boy with the pouty eyes and windswept hair.
We’re some distance from the bonfire, walking along the wet sand, when he says, “Y’know, you still haven’t told me your name.”
