“Fuck it,” he mutters, downing his drink in one go. He strips with shaking hands, revealing a body that’s softer than the other athletes’ but still strong.
When he climbs the platform, Gerard whoops encouragingly. “Show them what you got, Paisley!”
Nathan’s chest expands with a visible inhale, his eyes narrowing in determination. His pale body launches horizontally, arms and legs splayed, before smacking against the yellow plastic with a sound like a wet newspaper hitting concrete. Water erupts six feet high on either side, drenching nearby spectators, who howl and shield their beers. Nathan’s body skips across the slick surface, each impact punctuated by agrunt and spray of water until he skids to a stop, his nose inches from Gerard’s thick toes.
“Holy shit,” Nathan gasps. “That was?—”
“Incredible!” Gerard hauls him up into a naked bear hug that has Nathan turning crimson. “Five points to Nathan!”
“Is Nathan enjoying this?” Jackson asks.
We watch as Nathan, still bright red but grinning now, gets back in line. When Gerard high-fives him—their hands making a wet slapping sound—Nathan only looks 80 percent like he wants to die instead of the usual 100 percent.
“Character growth,” I observe.
A lanky guy with a tribal tattoo launches into a cartwheel that collapses halfway, sending him spiraling sideways with his junk flopping. Beside me, Jackson winces with sympathy. A shaggy-haired sophomore follows, dropping to his stomach and writhing forward in what might generously be called “the worm,” if worms had dislocated shoulders. Then Oliver mounts the platform, his abs rippling as he flips upside down. His palms slap against the wet plastic, and he slides the entire length in a perfect handstand, droplets cascading off his inverted naked body.
But it’s Gerard who remains the undisputed king. He launches himself horizontally, one arm extended, water parting around his naked form. Minutes later, he’s on his back, sliding feet-first while firing finger guns at shrieking spectators. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he bellows, stumbling to the platform again, “watch and learn!” He turns his back to the slide, crosses his arms over his chest, and falls backward. Several wide-eyed freshmen at the bottom scramble to catch his plummeting body, their expressions shifting from determination to horror as they realize exactly what parts of Gerard they’re about to touch.
“Your turn, lovebirds!” Gerard shouts suddenly, pointing our way. “No boyfriends left behind!”
The crowd takes up the chant, and Jackson gapes at me with panic in his eyes. “Drew, no. We can’t.”
“Why not?” I’m already pulling off my shirt, high on the energy of the night. “Come on, Jacky. When’s the next time we’ll get to do a nude slip-and-slide?”
“Never! Never is the correct answer!”
But I can see him wavering. Jackson’s come so far from the nervous guy who could barely handle fake dating. If he’s not ready for public nudity, that’s fine, but?—
“Fuck it.” He’s stripping, and holy shit, I love him. “But we’re going together.”
“Together?”
“If I’m doing this, you’re suffering with me.”
We climb onto the platform hand-in-hand, and the crowd goes absolutely feral. Gerard’s jumping up and down with excitement, Nathan’s staring deliberately at the fence, and Elliot’s rolling his eyes but smiling.
“Ready?” I ask Jackson, squeezing his hand.
For a second, the noise fades away. It’s just us, standing naked in front of everyone, but somehow still in our own bubble. His eyes are soft, fond, and full of something that makes me want to hug him and never let go.
“With you?” He grins, that crooked smile that killed me the first day we met. “Always.”
We sprint forward, fingers locked tight. My heel slips on the wet deck, but Jackson’s arm yanks me upright.
Three steps. Two. One.
The yellow plastic rushes up to meet us, and cold water shocks my balls as we slam down together. Jackson yelps in my ear. His elbow digs into my ribs. My knee scrapes his thigh. Chlorine stings my nostrils. Water sprays into my open mouth. The fence looms ahead, growing larger by the second. Jackson’shand squeezes mine as we crash. The crowd’s voices blur into one deafening roar.
And then Jackson kisses me, deep and desperate, and I can taste chlorinated water and beer. When he pulls back, we’re both grinning.
“Beautiful!” Gerard’s voice breaks our moment. He’s standing over us with tears in his eyes, still naked, still wearing the Viking helmet. “Love wins! Spring break wins! Everybody wins!”
“Gerard, babe, you’re dripping on them,” Elliot says, appearing with towels. He throws them at us without staring directly at our nakedness. “Try not to fuck in the yard.”
“No promises,” I say to watch him scowl.
As Jackson and I dry off and hunt for our clothes, the party continues. Gerard convinces Oliver and Kyle to do a synchronized slide. Nathan’s laughing at something, his earlier embarrassment forgotten. The night air is full of music and splashing and the kind of joy that only comes from absolute ridiculousness.
