His plea is accompanied by a pouting lip and big, sad eyes—which, on any other guy, would look pathetic. But on Kingston Hawthorne? Not so much—not even in the realm of pathetic, unless I’m mistaken on the definition of ‘pathetic’…and ‘intoxicating.’
I try to imagine how it must feel to be in a new country, with no friends or family as security, and finally surrender a smile.
“All right. Truce.”
I stick out my hand. But rather than shake it, he takes it gently in his own and dips his head. I’m expecting for him to kiss my knuckles, like all the other “tarts,” at which time I fully intend to knee him in the groin and never forgive him.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns my hand over and softly lays his lips on my wrist—right over the pulse he no doubt feels fluttering. “Thank you.”
“Y-you’re welcome,” I stammer. “If you promise to keep your entourage away from me, and resist the urge to pilfer through my panty drawer, I promise to be nicer. Deal?”
“Deal. Now,” he says, lifting his head and offering me a vivid smile, “would you be so kind as to show me to this truck your father told me to unload?”
I can’t contain the excitement in my response. “The equipment truck’s here? Yes, come on!” I start dragging him by the hand. “That’s our new bars, nets, and silks. Oh, I can’t wait to see! Hurry up!”
~~~~~
“I think I’m supposed to be doing that,” Kingston says, watching me unload the truck like a chubby kid at Cake Camp.
“You’re helping.”
I smile and turn to hand him another box, promptly using every ounce of strength I possess not to drop it. Kingston chooses that moment to reach behind his neck to pull off his T-shirt with one hand, and I’d swear the rest of the scene unfolds in slow motion.
I know I’m staring, but I can’t help it—the lone bead of sweat that trickles down his breastbone, between two very pronounced pecs, is spellbinding. I don’t dare let my eyes wander lower, for fear I might choke on my own tongue—or worse, air my approval aloud and humiliate myself. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, clearing away both the real vision and the ones I’m elaborating on in my mind.
When I open them, Kingston’s wearing a knowing smirk as big as his biceps. “You were saying?” he asks, unapologetic flirtation in his tone.
“Oh, um…be careful with this one,” I utter, blindly handing it to him since my gaze is cast at my feet. “It’s my crystal hoop. Very fragile.”
“Echo, get out of that truck!”
I cringe at the sound of Clay’s voice.
“I’m here now. I’ll do the heavy lifting, baby girl.”
I grab another box in response.
Kingston chuckles. “Good luck, mate. She wouldn’t let me do it either.” There’s a pause before he adds, in that debonair timbre I’m becoming familiar with (and a little too addicted to), “Savannah. Lovely to see you again.”
I turn and nearly trip over a bundle of ropes, shocked that Savannah’s here. I’ve seen more of her since Kingston’s arrival than when my brother, her actual boyfriend, was home. Really going to need her to lose that newly developed, nasally giggle she lets out every time Kingston talks, too. And he’s going to need to stop kissing her hand, along with the hands of every single female he crosses. Who knows what germs he’s picking up and bringing home.
“Ah, Echo here can be a stubborn one,” Clay says. “With new folks, anyway.” He grabs the rope at my feet and glances up with a creepy grin. My return smile couldn’t be more forced.
“She really can be,” Savannah adds, giving me a dubious look that I counter with one just as iffy. “But we still love her.”
Kingston glances between her and me, then hitches the box he’s holding up higher on his shoulder before asking Clay to lead the way to the storage shed.
I want to believe Savannah’s here because she knows we need to talk, what with the whole her-ignoring-me-in-class-and-me-ditching-her-after catastrophe looming between us. But alas, her sole focus remains steady on the backs of Clay and Kingston, casting doubt on her intent. It’s not until they enter the shed and the door shuts behind them that she remembers I’m standing anywhere in the vicinity.
“Damn, don’t you wish the guys around here were more like Kingston?” Savannah gushes. “Fancy, smooth, kisses on the hand. So romantic.”
“Sebastian does lots of romantic things for you,” I grunt as I move cartons toward the front for the guys, who are now returning. “Heads up!”
I throw a box at Kingston that he catches effortlessly, with a cocky tilt to his lips and an amused twinkle in his eye. I ignore the zing his impressed expression sends through my entire body, shuffling around the truck and returning my attention back to Savannah.
“It isn’t a bad thing that Seb didn’t go around taste-testing the germy hands of every girl in town, Savannah,” I advise her once Kingston’s back at the shed and out of earshot.
“No shit,” says Clay as he joins me, uninvited, in the back of the truck. “Watch yourself, Savannah, or Echo here’ll turn a hose on you. I got that, sweetie.” He nudges me. “Lemme get the rest. You’re gonna hurt yourself.”
I not-so-gently nudge him right back. “No. And I’m gonna hurt you if you ever think about calling me ‘sweetie’ again. You hit your head today?”
Kingston’s deep and husky laughter announces his return. It’s not the worst sound I’ve ever heard.
“Ah, there’s the Echo I thought I’d lost. Welcome back…” He pauses. “Love.”
Our eyes meet, and he knows that I know what he just did there. And now he’s waiting, with a questioning haze in his unfaltering stare, to see if I’m going to correct him on his term of endearment, like I did with Clay. And judging by the animosity I can feel rolling off Clay, so is he.
“Well, I’ve had enough of this fun.” I roll my eyes and jump to the ground. “All I wanted to do was unload the truck, but I’d rather watch paint dry than any more of this. You guys knock yourselves out—and don’t break anything!”
“Wait up!” Savannah is at my side a moment later. “Listen, I know I owe you for helping me land the calculus class, and I appreciate you driving me there, but leaving me? And knowing my phone was dead…”
Crap. I’d forgotten that her phone died in my truck on the way over. Yep, I’m officially turning into a bitch.
I stop cold and turn to look at her, shame undoubtedly written all over my face I can feel twisting with regret. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“Me, or that I had no phone?” Her hands rest on her hips, one side cocked in irritation.
That defiant stance, after I’ve just offered an apology—something I’ve yet to hear from her, notably—sends any guilt sailing from my body, considering I have my own frustrations with her actions in the classroom earlier.
“The phone,” I grit out, then start walking again.
“So you’re okay with leaving your best friend on a campus full of strangers?”
“Thought you had lots of ‘friends,’” I respond without looking back or ceasing my retreat, raising my arms to trap the last word in air quotes, “at the college. So many, in fact, you couldn’t get away from me fast enough!”
I feel her close in on my back right before her hand grabs my shoulder to slow me down, but her gesture only speeds me up. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. So go strut back to the guys, and—”
Suddenly she’s in front of me, blocking my path. “Stop! I’m not sorry I got excited on our first day. I’m also not sorry I wanted to hang out with some girls we used to go to school with.”
My eyes widen, lips hardening in a tight, angry line. I’m shocked at her words.
“But I am sorry that I wasn’t a good friend, and ignored you in class,” she continues. “And that I got so sucked into the whole crowd that I didn’t stop to think about how you’d feel. I never thought you’d actually leave me there, though. But when I saw your truck was gone, I knew it
was my own fault.” Her face finally crumples with some guilt of her own.
My irritation drains away, and I feel my expression soften. “Sava—”
“No. I get wrapped up in myself sometimes. You know that better than anyone else. But I’d never purposely hurt you. I hope you know that too. I’m sorry.”
She leans in for a hug, which I pull her in closer to willingly return. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have left you. It was just overwhelming…having Kingston there, causing absolute chaos.”
She pushes out of our hug, and we head toward my house together.
“Yeah, the guy is definitely causing a stir. Rumor has it he was already seen making out with two different girls earlier this morning, and asked a different one out for this weekend.”
“Wow. He’s not wasting any of his time here, is he?” My words come out in a weird mixture of unimpressed laughter and slight disappointment.
Savannah shrugs. “Rumors could be bullshit. Who knows. He hasn’t made a move on me yet, and—”
My head jerks in her direction. “You already have a boyfriend—one whose room Kingston is currently occupying! If he makes a move on you, he’s not only classless and disrespectful, he’s dead! Hell, if I can’t kill him, I’ll sic Clay on him to finish the job.”
Her resulting laughter is choppy. “I know that, silly. That’s what I’m trying to say: Don’t trust rumors, because I’ve been told that some people think Kingston and I are becoming a thing, and that’s not true. He barely speaks to me. So the rest could be BS, too.”
“He better watch himself, that’s all I’m saying,” I tell her. “A whole lotta good ol’ boys around here are gonna start having issues with their girlfriends fawning all over him.”
Savannah nods. “Speaking of which, I better go rescue Kingston from Clay, or at least be there to mediate if needed. You know the ego on that man.”
“Which one?”
“Clay!” she responds with a snicker.
“We really calling him a man now?” I ask, watching her walk away. “‘Cause I’m not seeing it.”
“Funny, Echo! Don’t let him hear you say that. Might just break his heart.”
“I’ll take the chance!” I call out, but she’s already too far away to hear me.
As I continue home, a sudden, all-consuming need to talk to my brother hits me hard. And seeing as how I’m running out of spots to go to for privacy, I decide not to try any of them…and hide right out in the open.
On my front porch.
Chapter 7
I dial Sebastian, smiling when he answers on the fourth ring. Just hearing his voice, the simple “Hello,” has my eyes prickling with bittersweet tears.
“Hey, brother,” I say softly, battling against any sadness trying to reveal itself. “It’s me, Echo.”
He laughs. “Echo who?”
“Stop,” I respond with a snicker. Guess I probably didn’t need to identify myself after calling him ‘brother,’ not to mention my number popping up on his phone. “How are you?”
“Bloody fabulous!” His attempt at an accent fails, turning my snicker into a full laugh.
“Please tell me you’re kidding. You know you don’t have to talk like them, right?”
“I am kidding, so you can stop rolling your eyes,” he responds, reminding me just how well he knows me. “Seriously, though, I’m great. You’d love it here, Echo. It’s got an artsy kinda feel that reminds me of you.”
“But you miss home,” I manage through a gulp, “don’t you?”
I know him just as well, so without seeing it, I’m sure he’s shaking his head at me right now. “Of course I do. I told you I’m not interested in staying here forever, so you better not be worrying about that. Correction: You better stop worrying about that. Now, how is everyone?”
Has he not talked to anyone else here since leaving?
“Pretty much the same. Sammy and I have been working on his magic. He’s really hoping Dad will let him perform it at one of the holiday shows.”
“You better video it if he does. Promise me.”
“Of course.” I relax against the step behind me. “Mom and Dad are…Mom and Dad.” I laugh. “Have you not talked to them?”
“Just for a sec to say I landed.” The guilt is thick in his reply. “I need to call Mom after I hang up with you. Don’t tell her we talked, okay? I want her—”
“I know.” I purse my lips and ask, “What about Savannah? Have you called her?”
He makes a hemming-and-hawing noise, his non-answer my answer.
“Really?” My exclamation is so loud there’s no way he missed my shock.
“Hey, she hasn’t called me either!” he defends himself, albeit with a surprising lack of concern in his tone. “Why open that can of worms?”
Can of worms? What does that even mean? Is he being serious right now? Nearly inseparable for the last couple years, those two could never keep their hands off each other. I thought absence made the heart grow fonder…and yet, we’re discussing worms?
“Oh, I don’t know,” I finally respond. “Maybe because she’s your girlfriend?”
“You’re my little sister—my favorite person in the whole wide world—and I haven’t even called you. I feel much worse about that.” God, I love my brother. “So, tell me about Kingston. How’s that going?”
It’s my turn to hum, stall, and choose my words very carefully.
And apparently take too long.
“What, Echo? If that motherfu—”
“Calm down,” I say, cutting off his rant before he pops a blood vessel. “Kingston is fine. He’s done nothing you’d kill him for—in fact, I think you’d have been quite proud of how he handled Camden at school earlier.”
Stupid, Echo! What was I thinking?
“What’d that piece of shit do? I’ll kill his dumb ass!”
I’m surprised my parents can’t hear him screaming all the way inside the house and haven’t run out here by now.
“He made some lewd comments, basically being himself. But Kingston shut him up within about ten words.” I can’t help smiling with pride for my new housemate—and maybe a pinch of flattery for myself.
“Good. He’s gonna sleep in my bed, he’s gonna make bloody sure not a single person messes with you. Maybe I’ll call him too.”
I bite back my giggle. “Nope, you can’t even pull off their lingo when you’re mad. Sorry, bro.”
“Just you wait. I’ll have the accent nailed perfectly by the time I get home. Then I’ll be using it on all those American girls.”
“First off, you’re an American, so let’s try and remember that, okay? And the only girl you should be thinking about using anything on is Savannah.”
“Yeah, yeah. So you put Kingston in his place, like you always try to do with me?”
It doesn’t get past me how quickly he again changes the subject from Savannah, but I decide not to pry. That’s their business. I just want a conversation with my brother.
“What do you think?” My private grin is smug.
“I think if you haven’t already, he better prepare himself. Guess that’s something else I better let him know if I talk to him.”
I don’t bother wasting my breath arguing. If I tell Sebastian not to call him, it’ll just make him want to do it that much more.
“Do whatever you want. Just be safe, and call me to check in once in a while even if it’s only to say hi and let me know you’re alive. Can’t cost that much for a few minutes. Mom said she changed your plan.”
“I will.” His voice grows distant, as if he’s distracted, and a moment later I hear him speaking away from the phone to tell someone to hang for a second.
“Seb, it’s fine, I can let you go. I just missed you. I wanted to hear your voice, and make sure you didn’t forget us.” I close my eyes, wishing so badly that I could hug him right now. “I love you, Sebastian.
“Love you more, Echo. You swear to me you’re okay? How you been sleeping?”
“So the tea is helping? I bought more than enough, so drink it every night.”
“Seb, I got it. You won’t live with me the rest of our lives. I have to be okay handling it on my own, and I am.”
“Promise?” His skepticism weighs over the line. “Nothing you’re not saying? If you need me there, I’m as good as home. You know that.”
“I don’t ever lie to you, Sebastian. I’m fine. Promise me that you won’t worry.”
“I won’t if you’re telling me I don’t need to. If that changes, I better get a call. I mean it.”
I know he does, but I’d never do anything to screw up his time there. I’m a big girl, and plan to prove it.
“You will. Be good—don’t get into any bloody trouble.” I force out a small laugh.
“No promises on that one.” He chuckles. “Love you.”
“Love you more. Bye.”
I stare off into the distance after we hang up, replaying the call in my head. There was so much more I wanted to ask him: about Kingston’s father, what Kingston’s room is like, and why he seems unconcerned about Savannah. But then again, I’m glad I didn’t. I really just wanted to connect with my big brother, and that’s exactly what I did.
“Were you really proud of how I handled that Camden wanker?”
“Jesus!” I screech, dropping my phone before turning to face him. “You have to quit sneaking up on me. And eavesdropping? Not very gentlemanly. You’ll have to kiss at least fifty more hands now to re-convince me.”
Thankfully, my sass hides any disappointment I might have, and absolutely cannot entertain, in seeing he’s put his shirt back on.
“That really seems to bother you. Might you be jealous?” He raises a brow, waiting for my comeback.
I don’t know why he tries so hard to charm all those girls, since all he needs to do is flash them the smile he’s wearing now.
I pick up my phone—luckily for him, it’s not broken—and stand.
“Ha. Right. No, I’m just concerned for your health. Trust me, you don’t want to know where some of those tarts’ hands have been.”
Filthy Foreign Exchange Page 5
