The Rules of Regret

by Megan Squires

  Lance: At the bottom of the escalator. I’m really glad you still wanted to see me.

  I ignored Torin and slipped through an opening in the crowd, pushing my way past security. Torin was fast—and determined—because he successfully edged his way around the knots of airport congestion and was at my back within seconds. Lance’s text was weird, but I ignored it, because in all honesty, Torin was weirder and that demanded my immediate attention.

  “Is that him?” With the tip of his index finger, Torin pointed toward the landing at the base of the escalator. Sure enough, Lance was there, his eyes wide, his hands holding a bouquet of long-stemmed, red roses.

  I nodded.

  Torin didn’t do me the favor of masking his smirk under a false smile, and instead wore it bright and proud on his face, like those maniacal funhouse clown grins. He bent over to whisper in my ear, “And you’ve been together six years?” His warm breath left a trail of goose bumps along the curve of my neck. “I’ve only known you three weeks and already know you’re all structure and concrete. Definitely not flowers.”

  I swiftly elbowed him in the gut.

  “Babe!” Over the tops of the heads of those that separated us, Lance called out as I stepped off the escalator onto the marbled floor.

  “Babe?” Torin echoed quietly to himself, but loud enough that I could hear. It was completely intentional, so I intentionally made the choice to completely ignore him and raced toward Lance’s outstretched and open arms.

  With a move that rivaled those seen in romantic comedies, Lance engulfed me and swung me around, my legs trailing out behind me as he nuzzled my neck. Those goose bumps were still there and I worried that somehow he’d know what originally triggered them. But he didn’t seem to have any clue and continued twirling me, his cologne sweeping through my nostrils. It almost burned and my eyes watered on cue.

  “Babe, how was your flight?” He placed the flowers into my grasp. “Any turbulence?”

  “Oh, it was pretty turbulent.” Torin stepped up to my side and answered for me like maybe I was mute or something and needed his vocal assistance. “Hey, I’m Torin.” He jutted a hand toward Lance.

  “Hi Torin.” Lance flashed his award-winning, blinding smile. He really was ridiculously good looking. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I can’t wait to introduce you to my parents—I think you’ll really like them.”

  My stomach tumbled and Torin cocked his brow, trying to figure out what that must have meant, I was sure. I interjected quickly, firing my words into the empty air. “So, the big fundraiser’s tonight?”

  “Yes.” Lance slipped my carry-on bag from my shoulder and transferred it to his. “And that’s why I really wanted you here. It’s Mom’s biggest one yet. One of those galas that will be heavily photographed. Can’t have my mug end up in the newspaper without your beautiful face next to it. You’re obviously my better half.” He swept a soft kiss across my forehead.

  Behind me, I caught Torin’s gaze right at the end of his exaggerated eye roll. I had to give it to him; Lance could be pretty cheesy. Either that or hopelessly romantic. I chose to favor the latter description. Unfortunately, so did many of the other girls that came in contact with him.

  “Our driver is outside and will take you both to the hotel.”

  In the distance, the bags from our plane rotated around the luggage carousel, and I spotted my large pink duffle as it dropped onto the conveyer. Lance left us to retrieve it, knowing exactly which one was mine because it had been stowed on the top shelf of our closet for the past nine months.

  “So that’s him, huh?” Torin slid his thumbs under the straps of his backpack like he did so often and scanned Lance up and down from afar, giving him a very thorough once-over. “I wasn’t expecting him to be so…”

  “Handsome?” I offered, because that was the go-to definition when it came to Lance. Seriously, both Lance and his brother were Kennedy material with their good looks and alluring prestige. Once, when we were in high school, GQ came out with a cover that had a twenty-something actor on it that was the spitting image of Lance, or rather Lance of him. I couldn’t even remember what Hollywood icon it was, all I knew was that specific cover propelled Lance from high school homecoming king status to model material. Even his crew of friends started calling him GQ for short. He was no longer a boy, but a man, and had the gorgeous doppelgänger to match.

  “No, not handsome,” Torin continued, still trying to find an adequate description for Lance. “So… so happy to meet me.”

  My mouth twitched. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

  “I don’t know.” Torin’s childlike grin fluttered my heart and made me feel like I was spinning around in circles again in Lance’s arms. “I was hoping he would view me as a threat or something. I mean, I did just spend the last three weeks with his girl.”

  “He doesn’t view you as a threat.”

  Torin worked on a swallow and said, “Why not—”

  “All set to go?” Lance returned and fell in step with us, my pink bag adorning his shoulder. The McIverson’s personal chauffeur was perched against a black Range Rover just outside the exit doors, the SUV’s windows tinted almost as dark as the finish of the paint on the vehicle. “Let’s get you both settled in.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I folded the last piece of clothing into the dresser and tossed my duffel bag into the towering wardrobe, latching the mahogany door back into place.

  “I still don’t see how this is okay with him,” Torin chimed from the front of the hotel room. I heard the slam of a drawer first and then his footsteps as he entered the room. Lance had gotten us a suite, so I took the room in the back and Torin claimed the fold out sofa as his own. And now he stood in the doorway separating the two spaces, his tanned arms zigzagged over his chest. “I don’t get how he’s alright with us sharing a room.”

  “You heard him,” I said, taking my toiletry bag to the adjoining bathroom. The mirror stretched all the way to the ceiling and the lights that hung on it glittered against the glass like amber stars. Even the hotel bathroom was excessively ornate. Seriously, all you were supposed to do in here was pee. It really didn’t call for gilded drawer handles and golden encrusted faucets. Oh, the McIversons and their overstated tastes.

  I settled my makeup bag onto the marble countertop and stared myself down in the oversized mirror. I looked sort of awful. That was fitting, because I felt sort of awful. One day (okay, maybe two) of deception and the lying had taken an obvious physical toll. By the end of the trip, I’d look like death warmed over. “We have to share because he said there was only one room available.”

  “So why aren’t you staying with him?” Torin plopped onto the foot of my bed, his legs tucked up under him. He was tense, and the muscle that pulsed at the back of his jaw did this tightening, then relaxing, thing that made me grit my teeth in an attempt to steady my erratic breathing. I’d never felt asthmatic before, but Torin did something strange to my respiratory system.

  “He can’t have guests at his apartment. Something to do with his internship. I don’t know.”

  “I know it doesn’t bug you, but I’m starting to feel a little insecure about him being so okay with me hanging around.” Torin flicked his head to shake the hair from his forehead. He was way overdue for a haircut. Maybe I should add that to our agenda today: lose the disheveled, untidy mane. “I might not be a McIverson, but I don’t think I’m repulsive.”

  I bracketed my hands on the curved ledge of the bathroom counter and laughed lightly. “You’re not repulsive, Torin.”

  “No. I just make you gag.”

  After placing my toothbrush in a glass near the sink, I exited the bathroom to join him at the foot of my bed. “You don’t make me gag.” Well, he did, but not for the reasons he thought.

  “That’s not true. It’s happened twice now.”

  I dragged in an extended breath and closed my eyes, knowing things were about to get seriously awkward. “I may or may not have told Lance th
at you might be gay.”

  There was a long, uncertain pause. Someone just dropped a pin over on Pennsylvania Ave, I’m fairly sure I heard it.

  “That’s very confusing, Darby. You may or may not, might have? What is that supposed to mean?” That muscle along his jaw thrummed again. “Your boyfriend thinks I’m gay?”

  I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it was the size of a tennis ball and I choked instead. “Lance is not the understanding guy I’ve made him out to be,” I explained, twisting a strand of hair around my thumb until the fingertip looked like a swollen grape. I felt my pulse beating in it. “He’s actually sort of the jealous type. He’d never be okay with you flying out to D.C. with me. I had to come up with something.”

  “And telling him I was gay was the only option? How am I going to pull that off?” With an unexpected smile, Torin tapped his fingers on his mouth like he was actually trying to figure out how to make this whole thing work.

  “Pull that off?”

  “Well, yeah,” he said, nudging my knee, giving me a sidelong glance. “You took a risk bringing me here. I’m not going to throw you under the bus for that, Darby. So how do I pull this off?”

  “Well, for starters, you’re going to have to dress a lot better than that.”

  Shifting his gaze, he surveyed his clothing. His black V-neck shirt was so faded that it looked more gray than ebony, and his jeans had about five holes ripped through the tattered fabric, like he had gotten into a fight with a feral cat in some dark alleyway. “What’s wrong with the way I dress?”

  “Nothing,” I giggled, covering my mouth with my palm. “If you’re homeless.”

  “It’s comfortable.” With his thumb and index finger, he pulled at the hem of his shirt, exposing his taut stomach slightly, reminding me of the day on the rock when he laid there bare chested next to me. I really wished he wouldn’t do that. To go with my recent asthma self-diagnosis, I was about to write myself a prescription for an inhaler.

  “It’s not presentable. You can’t go to the gala tonight wearing something like that, Torin.” When I realized I was unintentionally fanning myself with the end of my braid, I dropped it like it was on fire, hot potato style.

  Leaning in closer than he should, Torin said, “Well then. I think we have some shopping to do.”

  ***

  “Your boyfriend is freakin’ hot.”

  I was used to hearing that phrase. If I had even just a penny for every time I’d heard it, I’d likely be able to pay my own college tuition, and my education came with a hefty price tag. The only thing was, this girl was not talking about Lance.

  “I think I like this last one on him the best.” She smacked a pink wad of her gum between her teeth and swiveled her perfectly curved hips as she made her way back behind the register.

  A few feet away, the dressing room drapes fluttered. Torin reached a hand out to draw the curtain back all the way, and it was like one of those slow motion dramatizations in a soap opera. Or maybe it was the fuzzy feeling in my head that seemed to slow everything down, like the world spun just a little more lazily on its axis.

  I crisscrossed my legs, the sweat on my thighs slipping over them. The east coast during the summer was hot, humid, and all kinds of uncomfortable.

  “Do you know how to do this?” Torin emerged to stand immediately in front of me, outfitted in a tailored, charcoal gray suit, the flat-front pants looking like they were made just for his body and the jacket tapering perfectly over his angular shoulders. A thin, black tie hung loosely around his neck and he flipped the end of it up. “I’ve never worn one of these.”

  I peeled myself from the chair and stood on unsteady legs.

  Torin looked amazing. Like one of those unbelievable before and after transformations. The only thing was, the before was already pretty incredible, so the after took him to a whole different level. He was all sun-kissed hair and tanned skin and sleek, tailored lines. Total model status. A status I was completely uncomfortable with, especially when I realized this was the same guy I’d kissed just hours ago. I suddenly felt out of my league, which was an odd sensation considering I was actually dating a guy that was literally in a league all his own.

  “Can you help me out with it?” Torin flicked the tie, wrapping it clumsily over itself in a pretzeled knot.

  “Yeah.” All of my syllables got twisted together in my mouth. “I can help.”

  I’d tied a tie a hundred times at the very least. But as I grabbed ahold of the silken fabric draped around Torin’s neck, it was like my fingers forgot how to move, how to function in any sort of manner that would make tying a tie even possible. I was all thumbs. In that moment, I wouldn’t even be able to tie my own shoe to save my life.

  “It’s not a noose, Darby.” Torin smiled, a lopsided sort of grin. “Try not to strangle me. Though I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to. I probably deserve it after that stunt on the plane.”

  My eyes lifted to his as my fingers slowly recalled how to work again. I tugged the wider side of fabric through the loose knot and pulled it tight, sliding it up toward his throat, wriggling it back and forth slowly in a rhythm that made the whole thing seem strangely sexual, kind of like the whole cootie catcher disaster. A slight sheen of sweat pooled at the divot where Torin’s collarbone and neck met, and I fought back the urge to sweep it away with my fingertips. Well, in reality I fought back the urge to lick it off first. And when I realized how inappropriate—and slightly gross—that was, I fought the urge to wipe it off. Like he could somehow sense this ridiculous internal struggle of mine, Torin’s Adam’s apple lifted up and down as he quietly cleared his throat, ripping me out of my hormone-driven state of being.

  “I don’t want to strangle you,” I said, reclaiming my right to my own composure, but my voice was too hushed and almost raspy.

  Peering down at me, Torin wrapped his fingers over mine on top of the knot at the base of his neck. “Thank you.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.” He narrowed his eyes at me, slivers on his face, almost like he was trying to read my thoughts. But even if he could, he wouldn’t discover anything. My brain was fuzzy and empty, like I’d been sucking a balloon filled with helium.

  With his chin tucked, his head leaned forward an inch. My natural instinct was to press up on toe to lessen the gap, but I didn’t. I fought it; I fought the pulling sensation in me that wanted to kiss him again. And it was so weird, because there was this charged chemistry between us that—under other circumstances—would lead to kissing, eventually. In fact, I was sure it would lead us to a lot more than that. There was an undeniable rush of excitement that filled me when Torin was close. I didn’t have this with Lance. And it wasn’t one of those situations where I used to have it with him and after six years, it slipped away. I’d never experienced this, so it was unnatural to fight it off when it was the most natural thing my body, and my brain, had ever known.

  I wetted my lips, not intentionally, but it did something to Torin. There was a shift in his demeanor, and a shift in his posture. His fingers tightened around mine, and they were still placed on his necktie, though there really wasn’t a need for them to be there anymore. There wasn’t a need for me to even be in this dressing room with him, let alone the store. Torin didn’t need me, but for some reason, I needed him. Or at least this felt like need.

  That pull between us took on an intense electricity. The three full-length mirrors behind him were angled in a way that created an endless tunnel of reflections and he was all I could see: his image repeated infinitely over and over. It was almost too much, but I didn’t think it was something I could ever tire of looking at, because it was mesmerizing.

  “Darby,” Torin muttered, his tone rough. My body did this weird thing as my pulse strummed brutally under my skin. My ears started to ring and my vision blurred until those reflections began to morph into one solid image. It was almost like I was going to pass out, but it was almost as though everything had finally become cle
ar. Like the blur before the focus. “Dance with me, Darby.”

  “What?”

  “Dance with me,” he said again. “I have to see if I can even move in this suit. It sorta feels like a straightjacket.” He tugged on the hem of his coat. “There will be dancing at the thing tonight, right?”

  Oh yeah. The gala. The whole reason we were here.

  I nodded.

  Suddenly, Torin yanked me close so our chests pushed up against one another, and he hooked one arm around my waist while he kept our hands pressed between us on his tie. For as many times as I’d made fun of him for growing up in the wilderness, dancing with him retracted any of those ignorant comments. Because as his body started to sway, as his feet shifted and his hips moved, there was absolutely no credibility in my past statements. He wasn’t some inexperienced backwoods kid. In fact, he was clearly very experienced when it came to knowing his body and how to control it. And it appeared he was just as experienced in knowing how to control mine as he guided me softly back and forth, rocking on our heels across the gray dressing room carpet.

  I dropped my head to his shoulder and a shudder ran the length of Torin’s body.

  “Mrs. Robinson, are you trying to seduce me?” Torin smiled, imitating rather than being authentic, once again. I was beginning to think it was easier for him to plagiarize someone else’s thoughts rather than declare his own, because the frequency in which he spoke another’s words was much higher than any other nineteen-year-old I’d ever known.

  “Please, Torin. I’m only two months older than you. And I’m not seducing you. You’re the one that asked me to dance.”

  He swiveled his head. “Fair enough,” he conceded quickly. “Do you like it? The suit, I mean.”

  “Mm-hmm,” was all I got out.

  “Do you think I’ll be able to convince Lance with it?” he laughed, flicking his head back to toss away the hair that slid into his eyes. I was going to cut that hair of his.