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I let out a little growl of dissatisfaction. All I want is to make out some more. "There's a third point? How many points in all?"
"Not sure yet."
I press my lips to his. "Okay. Make as many points as you want. I'm listening."
"Thanks. Three. You're not a pity fuck. You'll never be a pity fuck. You're not a pity anything. So get that out of your head right now. I adored you back then. After that party I wanted you to be my girlfriend."
"But you understood why I pulled away, why I refused to go to prom," I whisper fiercely.
"I do now. But back then, I was angry. Angry that everyone labeled you a slut, angry I'd gotten into a fight and was suspended, angry that you wanted nothing to do with me. I was a little prick."
"I thought I was doing it for your own good. Because if you kept fighting on my behalf, you'd either be arrested or not graduate or both. I didn't want to be the one to screw up your future."
"I wanted to spend the summer with you. Wanted a future with you. As much of a future as two eighteen-year-olds could have."
I prop myself up. "Oh, no. Now I really feel bad. We never talked about it back then. Not like this. But I guess teenagers aren't the best at expressing their thoughts and feelings."
I'm not sure I'm any better at expressing my feelings now, but I don't tell him that. Because this conversation is making me tremble inside. He's being so intense. I had no idea the depths of his feelings until now.
"No. I definitely wasn't good at expressing myself back then. I'm way better at it now, probably because I know how fucking short life is. So I'm going to be honest here. I stilladore you. You haven't changed, you know? You're still the amazing girl I knew ten years ago."
I am? The silence in the wagon hangs heavy. He does? "I thought you'd forgotten all about me."
"No, babe. I went into the Marines, and you went to Chicago. But I never forgot about you."
"I never forgot about you, either." There. That's as far as I can go tonight. Ever, probably. I don't want to let myself fall head-over-heels for a guy who'll probably be gone in a month or two. As shitty as my life's been lately, I don't think I can handle heartbreak on top of everything else.
But a sweet-hot hookup? I can totally handle that. I think.
I let out a satisfied sigh and press my face into his stubble again. So many emotions are swirling around, laced with lust and need and memories. Screw it. The best way to push past all that is to keep kissing this beautiful man.
It feels too incredible to stop.
Since I want to steer the conversation away from all serious topics, I launch myself into kissing him with everything I've got. He responds in kind, with hard, punishing kisses that leave me trembling with need.
"I can't fucking resist you," he murmurs.
We spend the next half hour making out in the wagon. Teasing each other with bites to the lips, furtive caresses over clothing, barely satisfied sighs. My shorts ride up my butt, and I squirm while on top of him.
"You okay there?" he asks.
"I'm a little uncomfortable. My shorts have crept up in the back..."
"A wedgie?"
I hum a yes. His hands go to my butt and squeeze.
"Here." He tugs them down at the hem. "That better?"
"Yep. Thanks for fixing my wedgie."
"I will gladly help you with your butt anytime you want. All you need to do is ask."
I dissolve into laughter as sheer joy washes over me. I'm making out with Damien Hastings in the back of a vintage wagon late on a Thursday night in an empty parking lot. No angst, no worries about high school assholes, no regrets. Only pure lust and happiness.
The certainty of feeling wanted.
The rush of kissing a (sort of) new person.
