No Regrets

by Roxy Queen

  “What the hell, dude?” Tate asks, scrambling to his feet.

  “This. No way you’re getting anywhere near Zadie in that bikini.” The hint of possessiveness in his voice makes my stomach flip.

  I take a step forward. “Look, we already went over the ground rules. Tate’s going to behave. I say we just have a good day and once this is over, it’s over.” I lower my voice. “No one is going to touch me but you. I promise.”

  Henry’s jaw tenses but he nods. He drops his towel and shirt on the chair next to mine before announcing he needs a drink. He wanders off. I lie back on my own lounge chair and stretch out. A pledge walks over to Tate with some sort of fraternity business. They walk off together and I close my eyes in an attempt to gain some peace. One positive of my summer of being around noisy kids has given me the ability to shut out a lot of the noise around the pool. I’ve successfully zoned out, until I feel cold dripping water across my abdomen.

  “Ahh!” I shout, sitting up. I open my eyes and find Jackson standing above me in board shorts hung loose around his hips. Water rolls down his chest. He holds a blue party cup in his hands.

  “Long time, no see,” he says with his charming smile. This guy must give Tate a run for his money.

  “Jackson,” I say. “How are you?”

  “Better, now.”

  I ignore his flirting and search for Henry. I spot him talking to Charlie and Shelly near the volley ball court.

  “You need a drink?” Jackson asks, sitting in Henry’s chair. He leans back and places his cup on the ground next to mine, making himself comfortable. “Food? Pool supervision? Suntan lotion on your back?”

  “I’m good. Thanks.”

  “You’re a bit of an enigma.” He tilts his head in my direction.

  “How’s that?” I wonder.

  “Winning over Tate for the summer. He’s usually hard to pin down.”

  “Tate and I go way back, maybe that made it easier.”

  “Maybe,” he muses. His hair dries quickly in the heat and I can see the loose, blond curls starting to appear over his ears. His eyes narrow and he leans forward. “Don’t move,” he says quietly. I freeze and he places his hand on my neck. I think he’s going to kiss me but he only rubs his thumb over my skin. “Mosquito. These bastards are vicious.”

  Jackson pulls back and I touch my cheek. “Thanks.”

  A long shadow crosses over the two of us and I look up. Henry’s returned with two cups. From the look of the beer foam at the top, both are for him. Whatever he needs to get through this day. “Hey,” he says. “You’re in my seat, Jackson.”

  “Nice of you to crash, Henry,” he says. “I guess we’re not good enough to be your brothers anymore but good enough to drink our beer.”

  “Sounds about right,” Henry says, unaffected.

  “I was just checking on Zadie to see that she’s being attended to.” He has the thickest southern drawl that I find disturbingly appealing. The expression on Henry’s face suggests he’s not impressed.

  “I’ll keep her company until Tate gets back,” he says. There’s an underlining tension between them but Jackson just nods and walks off. Two seconds later he’s jumped into the pool, splashing some girls.

  “Are you friends?” I ask.

  “Not really. Not anymore, at least. We pledged together. He couldn’t understand why I left the fraternity. Admittedly, it’s a bit of a social blunder for me to be here. I did walk away. But Tate’s got enough pull that if he says it’s cool for me to be here then no one will really question it.” His eyes roam down my body. “Good thing I showed up. No way I’m letting you out of my sight in that thing.”

  We stare at one another, the energy building. I may need to jump in the pool and cool off myself.

  Dammit.

  I reach for my drink and turn away, taking a big gulp. “Don’t look at me like that,” I say, keeping my eyes anywhere but on him. Shrieks from the pool catch my attention and I see a couple of girls in a chicken fight. They could be straight out of a porno.

  “Like what?” he asks innocently.

  “It’s like a bad movie.”

  He takes a sip of his beer. “It’s college and it’s fun. Relax and enjoy yourself.”

  “When I do that I tend to make a mess of things. Like the superhero party.” He doesn’t know about Elton and the video and I’m not about to take this as the opportunity to tell him.

  “Do you think Neal Cassidy or Hunter S. Thompson worried about what people thought about them? They spent half their lives in a drug addled haze and called it life experience.”

  “I’m not saying I don’t appreciate their work, but I’d rather not have to be an addict to be successful.”

  “I’m not suggesting you turn into an addict, Pip. I just think you need to chill out and see where life takes you.”

  “Things are different now, with video and photos everywhere. I don’t like being exposed like that.”

  “Don’t you think they would have been cool with the exposure? They documented everything else? Then they fictionalized it—working the story with their own twist.”

  It’s a weird argument—or discussion, and I’m torn in my views. Thankfully a hulking shadow casts over the two of us, interrupting our conversation. “Hey, man.”

  Tate sits at the edge of my seat and I nurse the drink he brought me earlier. It’s sickly sweet but I’m thirsty. It’s so hot I’m beginning to feel a little light-headed. The girls chicken-fighting in the pool squeal, and we all look over. One of their tops has fallen off and she’s making a big show about covering herself.

  “Seriously?” I ask. “This is how we’re spending our night off?”

  “We can see the fireworks from downtown from here,” Henry offers.

  “Fireworks?”

  “Yep, it’s right after the wet T-shirt contest,” Tate chimes in.

  “You’re kidding.”

  Henry shakes his head and Tate doesn’t even pretend he’s not into it. “See those sprinklers over the deck? The girls stand underneath and water comes out. Jackson organizes it.”

  “Big surprise.”

  “You should totally enter. The girl I came with last year won.” Tate lifts his eyebrows suggestively.

  “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

  “You’re not naked or anything, just in frat shirt over your bikini. You’d win.” He glances at Henry. “Right?”

  My boyfriend reluctantly nods. “Yeah, you’d win. Hands down.”

  I’m disturbed at how flattering that sounds, since it’s obviously so disgusting and offensive. “You’ll have to pick another ringer, I guess, because there’s no chance in hell.”

  They fall into some fraternity gossip and I leave to get another drink. I’m hit on by no less than three guys as I walk through the crowd and again, I find myself confused by the attention. Maybe it’s the girl to guy ratio or something. Then again, this suit in this environment begs for attention, and that brings out conflicted emotions of anxiety and excitement. Maybe I can push past this fear once and for all. I can be part of the crowd. I’m not doing anything these other girls aren’t doing as well.

  At the bar I find Shelly, clad in a red, white, and blue suit. “Hey girl,” she says, giving me a hug. “Love your suit.”

  “It’s kind of a joke,” I explain.

  “For your man. I get it. He loves weed and he loves you. Two punches,” she tells the bartender.

  “I’m not drinking,” I say.

  She looks at me like I have three heads.

  “Not tonight. I just need to keep my head level and lately I’ve made some stupid choices. Like those photos you took. God, I looked like a whore.”

  “Why, because you’re making out with your boyfriend? That’s not being a whore. You two are in love. It’s sort of inspiring.”

  “Pictures of Henry’s hands on my ass while I dry hump him in front of a room of people isn’t inspiring.”

  “It was erotic.”

  “Tacky
porn at best.”

  She shakes her head and laughs. “You judge yourself too harshly. No one else sees it like that. We’re young and having fun.”

  I’m doubtful but say, “Maybe.”

  “There’s no maybe about it. You need to lighten up. Have a good time.” She turns away to gather our cups. “Here,” she presses one in my hand. “This one’s yours.”

  I sniff it. There’s no alcohol in it. “Thanks.”

  Shelly leads me through the crowd and introduces me to some of her friends. They’re nice and I start to loosen up. Tate comes around, handsy but following the rules. Everyone thinks we’re together. Shelly doesn’t ask questions, which is weird since she knows all about me and Henry, but maybe she doesn’t care. Maybe she sees through the games. Maybe, like she said, she’s not into judging. I could be more like this, I think. I could have more fun.

  “Zadie, come on!” a girl calls. Cassie? Camille? They want me to join them, and I do. Just as I enter the photo booth with the girls, I catch Henry’s eye. He’s shiny and bright, like a star, and I fight the urge to go to him.

  He smiles and tilts his head, my last image before I disappear behind the curtain.

  *

  The sun set a while ago but it’s not dark yet. We’ve got about an hour before the fireworks and Jackson’s rounding up girls for the wet T-shirt contest. Shelly grabs a shirt.

  “Why not?” she says. “I’ve been prancing around half naked all day.” She pulls the skin-tight shirt over her head. “You in?”

  “Me?” My skin feels electric and my mind fuzzy, which doesn’t seem right. I’ve stuck to my no drinking policy but everything has a glimmery sheen. A shiny Jackson holds out a shirt and I’m tempted. The encouraging grin on his face isn’t helping my confusion. Shelly looks pretty sexy and I wonder if her lips taste like candy.

  “Zadie?”

  Henry’s voice pulls me away. “Hi,” I say, snaking my arms around him. I move against him, wanting to dance to the music rushing through my ears. “No frowning,” I tell him. “I decided to make some friends. They’re nice.”

  “I’m sure they are.” He’s frowning, which seems ridiculous. I decide to remove it and get on my tip toes, pushing my tongue into his mouth. I hear a strange sound.

  “What’s that noise?”

  “What noise?”

  “It sounded like a cat or a squirrel or something.”

  “That was you,” he laughs.

  “Me?” That’s embarrassing.

  “Babe,” he says. “I need you to calm down.”

  His statement makes me angry. And sad. And why isn’t he touching me anymore? Maybe I need to get his attention. Or better yet, someone else’s attention. I bounce on my toes and turn to Jackson. “Can I have a shirt?”

  “Of course,” he grins.

  I lift up my arms for him to place it on my head but find myself spinning around and facing Henry. His eyes are cold and hard and challenging Jackson. “Hands off, man,” he says, then gently pulls the shirt over my head. He smoothes my hair back over my ears and I feel a tremor run across my skin. “Zadie, I think we need to go.”

  “But we promised Tate,” I say.

  “I think he’ll be okay with it.”

  “We made a deal and I’m sticking to it.”

  He tugs on my shirt. “This wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “I’m having fun with my new friends,” I whine. Shelly grins and winks. “It’s not a big deal.”

  Shelly tosses an arm over my shoulder. “Stop being a downer, Henry. Just go up top and enjoy the show.”

  I nod and he throws his hands up. “Don’t blame me for this,” he says and walks away.

  “Whatever,” I say.

  “Seriously,” Shelly agrees. “He’s just mad the other guys are going to be ogling and talking about you later.”

  “Who cares what they say.” Again I’m watching her mouth and her lips are really pink. “I bet they taste delicious.”

  “What?”

  “Your lips. They’re so pink. Do they taste like Starbursts? Jolly Ranchers?” I’m so curious.

  Jackson calls our names and she links her fingers with mine. We file on to the make-shift stage to loud cheers and whistles. I feel short, since many of the girls are wearing sandals or heels, but I’m barefoot and the deck feels rough under my feet. I search for Henry but can’t find him in the crowd. Tate, on the other hand, is perched on the life guard chair and shouts my name. I wave and blow him a kiss.

  He pretends to catch it and everyone yells louder.

  “Want to really make them crazy?” Shelly whispers in my ear. Her blonde hair looks like a halo and I reach out to touch a long strand.

  “Yes.” At that moment I’d do anything she, or anyone else, asked me to.

  She grabs me by my hips and pulls me close. Her lips press into mine and they’re supple and yummy. Not cherry, but strawberry. The feeling is weird, no not weird, different? I’ve only kissed guys before, and she’s too soft and not quite right. Not for me. I hear a rushing in my ears and break away to look up. Cold water pours down my face and I shut my eyes.

  “They love it,” she laughs through a mouthful of water. She grabs my boobs, covered in the drenched shirt. My nipples harden at her touch and the cool chill from the water. I’m overwhelmed by the sensations and lift my arms over my head, reaching for the sky. Everything is too much but not enough. The water and roaring crowd. The flashing lights in the dark and the way my skin buzzes. Shelly brings me in for another kiss and I cave, sinking into everything.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The rest of the night passes in a blur. Henry’s concerned face. Tate’s angry fists. Shelly’s confused eyes. Fireworks set the backdrop and I watch them burst into the black sky from over Henry’s shoulder. Accusations fly, with the words ‘dose’ and ’how much’. Henry keeps checking my eyes. All I know is they’re ruining my night and I want them to stop. I want to dance and have sex. I want to strip off these clothes and pull down Henry’s pants, but the expression he wears stops me.

  Decisions are made and during the grand finale of a gazillion fireworks, we leave. Heavy bass echoes against the houses as we pass celebrations in the night. Henry’s got me in his arms, carrying me because my legs stopped working somewhere near the big Greek letters in the yard. It’s okay with me though, because I can see his face this way. His eyes are stormy. I run my hand down his jaw.

  “You need to shave.” He ignores me, but I don’t care. I’m focused on how everything feels sticky and wet. My skin prickles where it used to feel nice.

  “My voice sounds weird,” I say, feeling my lips with my fingers. “Does yours?”

  “No,” he finally says.

  “It does. But it also sounds sexy.”

  We’ve reached the car and he deposits me in the front seat. “Don’t move,” he says. I wait, frozen in my seat, while he gets in the driver’s side. Henry straps me in with the seat belt and I kiss his neck and tug at his shirt, but he moves my hands away.

  “You don’t want me?” I pout.

  He rolls down the window as we drive away. His pretty face is marred by heavy creases on his forehead. The tiny lines near his eyes are nowhere to be found. The wind rushes in the car and whips my hair and the lights stream by. I forget about sex. “It feels like we’re flying,” I squeal, hanging my head out the window.

  *

  “Why can’t we?”

  “You’re too wasted.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are.”

  “I didn’t drink anything.”

  His hands find my face in the dark. Once we got out of his flying car he lured me in the shower, where steamy water warmed my bones. My bikini hit the ground with a splat and I tried to get him in with me but he shook his head and kept his eyes lowered to the floor. He dressed me in one of his T-shirts, the black one with a space monkey on the front, and some flannel pants. Now we’re piled on blankets in his room and he’s been trying to calm me down
for what feels like hours.

  “You didn’t,” he agrees. “But someone put something in your drink, remember?”

  I think back. “Sort of.”

  He strokes my hair and it’s the wrong thing, or the right one, and I move fast like a cat over his body. “We can’t.”

  I press down, hard meeting soft. “You want to.”

  “I always want to, but no.”

  “Stop trying to be a gentleman and give me what I want.” My lips find his mouth and he surrenders, at least briefly to a kiss.

  “I’m not being a gentleman. I’m just trying really hard not to be an asshole.”

  His words get past my lust and I press my nose to his. “You’re very sweet, Henry Fletcher.”

  “I try, Zadie Parker.”

  “Am I too wasted to tell you that I love you?”

  “Probably.” I feel his mouth turn into a smile. “Are you too wasted for me to tell you that I love you?”

  Noses still connected, I shake my head slowly back and forth. I whisper, “No.”

  “I love you, Zadie Parker. Every crazy, neurotic, adorable part of you. I always have. I’m pretty sure I always will.”

  I roll to my side and wrap my arms around his waist. I love him, too.

  *

  I recovered from the Ecstasy. Yes, X. I’d never done it before and the effects rolled over my body like a freight train of euphoria. Going up was amazing. Coming down, horrific. Henry sat by my side, massaging my muscles and watching Buffy with me all night.

  Once I gained some coherency, he told me that he and Tate suspected Jackson had dosed me and Shelly earlier in the night. While my boyfriend kept me and Shelly from making out on the stage in dripping wet T-shirts, Tate punched Jackson in the face. Jackson, bloody and adamant, denied doing anything. Tate didn’t believe him and dove at him, busting his nose and jaw. I wanted to be mad at Jackson, but the drug was still coursing through my veins, so none of it mattered to me right then. I did, bizarrely, worry about marring his beautiful face.

  Now? I’m not feeling so generous.

  “What should we do?” I ask Henry a few days later. We’re alone under the shelter during a break while Tate checks the chemicals across the pool. Lisa hasn’t been seen since the Fourth, but maybe she served her husband with divorce papers like Tate said.