"It's your date," he says.
"You're jealous," I say. I'm standing behind Hendrix. I want to reach out and touch him, spin him around to look at me, but I don't.
"Is that what you want me to say, Addy?" Hendrix growls. He finally turns, grabs my arms, and I drop the umbrella. I want him to kiss me the way he kissed me before he left for the Marines. But he doesn't. His grip tight, he pushes me against the tree, and the rough bark digs into my skin. The rain pummels us, and Hendrix's clothes are completely soaked through, his t-shirt half-transparent, the fabric clinging to his skin, outlining every inch of his muscled chest.
"It's the truth," I say. "You're jealous because someone else is interested in me. Say it."
"No shit I'm jealous," he says. "Some douchebag in a suit doesn't get to have you, Addy."
"Oh, but you do?" I ask. His hands on me, my breath comes in short gasps, my emotions confusing and overwhelming. I want him, but I can't forgive him. I want him to leave, and I want him to stay. "And if you don't have me, you'll just pretend you did, right?"
Hendrix furrows his brow and steps back, but his hands are still on my arms. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," I say. "Forget I said it." Suddenly, I want nothing more than to get out of here, but Hendrix doesn't move.
"Screw forgetting," he says. "Say what you have to say."
"I heard you that night." I blurt it out, feeling shaky and vulnerable.
"Heard what?" Hendrix looks confused, rain running down his forehead. I realize how stupid I am, standing outside in the pouring rain, drenched from head to toe, barefoot and mud-splattered. Even more stupid because I'm fixated on something that happened five years ago. "Goddamnit, Addy, say it."
"I heard you talking about me," I say. "That night. Your graduation party."
"So?" Hendrix asks. "I'm sure you've heard me talk about you all the time. I don't get it."
"I heard you tell your friends you fucked me."
A look of realization passes over his face, and he lets go of my arms. "Oh."
"Yeah. Oh." I cross my arms over my chest, and wipe water off my forehead, which does me a fat lot of good. I can see black smudges on my hand, and I realize my mascara must be running down the sides of my face. I probably look like a clown.
"And you've been angry about this for five years?" Hendrix is smiling at me now.
"Stop laughing about it, you asshole." A surge of irritation runs through me. I could slap him right now for being so smug and obnoxious, but instead I step forward and push him as hard as I can. He grabs my wrists and I struggle. "Let me go, you...jerk-face."
"Jerk-face again, huh?" he asks. "You get so obscene when you're angry."
"I tell you that I know you were a total asshole, and you make fun of me," I say angrily. "Not a damn thing about you has changed, Hendrix."
"No," he says, his gaze intense. "Not a damn thing has changed."
"Let go of me."
"No."
"Screw you."
"I said I fucked you, Addy."
"I know you did," I say. "I just told you I heard you say it."
"You knew me, though," Hendrix says. "You knew me more than anyone else in the whole damn world, but you didn't think to maybe ask why I would have told my friends that? You didn't think I maybe had a reason?"
"The things you said were crude."
"They were supposed to be," he says. "High school boys are douchebags, and one of them wanted to bang you."
"So you had to what, let them know you marked me as yours?"
Hendrix pulls me against him, his arm sliding around my lower back, and his hardness presses into me, sending a surge of heat through my body. "You are mine, Addy. It's a fact. But when I mark you as mine, you'll fucking know it."
"You want me so you can have bragging rights," I say, but I don't move away, either.
"Any man who wouldn't want to brag about being with you is messed up in the head," he says. "But I don't intend to say anything to anyone." He moves a wet tendril of hair away from my forehead. His hand follows the tendril as he tucks it behind my ear, and then, as if he's unable to control himself, he grabs my hair just like he did in the hallway, yanking my head back. Then he brings his mouth down on mine.
My resistance fades away, and I feel myself melting into him, into the kiss, as his tongue finds mine. And I don't feel the rain anymore. I only feel Hendrix. His hands sliding along my arms, his lips pressing against mine, his tongue finding my tongue, tentative for a second and then hungry.
His hand is under the fabric of my shirt, and then his palm is on my breast, and my nipple hardens against my bra. I want to feel his hands on my skin, and the thought makes me moan.
It seems like forever that I'm lost in the kiss, until I pull away, gasping for a breath. My lower lip feels swollen, bruised from his kiss, and I run my tongue along it, tasting blood.
Hendrix reaches up and presses his thumb on my lip. "I'm sorry," he says.