Kingston: The one on my left…Echo Meter?
I know of the girl to his left, and want not only to make sure he understands, but to up my repartee to make things more interesting. I Google quickly just to confirm my usage is correct, then reply.
Me: She’s a strumpet. Definite 0. Maybe even -1.
Kingston: Strumpet, you say? Bloody brilliant!
Me: You’re too good to be a punter.
Oh, he’s impressed. And I know this because he turns in his seat, links our gazes, and dazzles me with a pleased smile.
There’s no sense in denying the fluttered breath that whooshes past my lips, and I bow my head quickly to hide my blush.
Kingston: And the one to my right?
Me: Is. My. Brother’s. Girlfriend.
Kingston: I know that. Does SHE?
Me: Yes. She’s just a flirt, and trying to keep up with all the other girls hogging your attention.
Kingston: I’d feel safer if I came back there and sat by you.
I scoff out loud, and hear his responding chuckle from across the room.
Me: You’ll be fine.
Kingston: Doubtful. But if I survive, wait for me after class?
Me: Okay, but just you. By my truck. Lose the harem.
Kingston: Done.
~~~~~
Even though I sit in the back row, I’m the first one out the door when class is over. Savannah told me earlier that she was going shopping with one of the girls in class after, so I could jump in my truck and hightail it out of here right now.
If I wasn’t anxious to see why Kingston wanted to meet.
“Love.”
He saunters up to me, alone, wearing a smirk that oozes with saucy confidence. He’s dressed in a dark-green button-up that highlights those peridot flecks in his eyes that once you notice the first time, you notice every time.
“Text addict,” I reply, earning his deep, hearty laugh. “To what do I owe this impromptu meeting?”
“I have an idea, to which I’m hoping you’ll agree.” It’s subtle, but he moves in closer, and his voice drops to a sinister octave. “Let’s go do something fun tonight, just you and me.”
“Like?” I’m sure the skepticism in my tone matches my expression, but I also know it certainly contrasts that of my inner excitement.
“Lady’s choice.” He takes my hand and brushes his plush lips over my wrist lightly. “You’re even more radiant than usual today—playful. I’m inclined to prolong that for as much time as humanly possible.”
“You’re pretty ornery yourself today.” I don’t know what I’m doing with my voice and body language that feels foreign—possibly a really pathetic attempt at flirting?
My mood instantly sours, though, my face crumpling in disappointment. “You’re forgetting one thing: my parents.” And I’m forgetting that Kingston is off limits.
“Echo,” he responds with a laugh, “how much trouble can possibly be found on a Monday night—especially by you? Give your mum a bell and ask. She’ll say yes.”
“Okaaay,” I drawl, pulling out my phone. I’m pretty sure whatever he just said means call her.
Luck seems to be on my side, as my mom is the one to answer on the second ring. And when I throw in words like “studying” and “calculus,” she readily says yes.
I just stare at the phone after I hang up, feeling amazed…and way too eager.
Kingston’s chuckle snares my attention back to him, his face alive with amusement.
“Was I right?”
“Yes, but we have to talk about calculus at least once, so I didn’t just completely lie to my mother.”
“It’s a bloody shame we don’t take chemistry together.” He cocks his head to the side and grins smugly, awaiting my reaction.
I roll my eyes, ignoring the flare of sparks going off in rapid succession inside me but unable to keep myself from smiling just slightly. “Stop.”
“It’s sorted, then,” he responds, ignoring my last comment. “Where to?”
Chapter 12
“I’ll drive,” I say firmly.
To my surprise, Kingston doesn’t argue as he opens my door for me and gives me a look of understanding from beneath his thick lashes. “Of course.”
Without words, we agree that driving my truck around town will go much more unnoticed than his, and we might just manage to enjoy some privacy. Doubtful, since the females of Kelly Springs seem to have hormonal GPS on his whereabouts at all times, but this plan definitely increases our odds—not to mention, my father would not be happy to find out I rode with the self-proclaimed speed junkie driving.
Kingston gets in and casts me a sidelong smile, everything he’s not saying stirring in his gray eyes.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. I’m simply eager to see where you’re taking me is all.”
Hmm. The fact that I’ve never been on a date, or any social outing alone with a guy—especially one where I led—does pose a problem. And since this town isn’t exactly a thriving metropolis of entertainment, I’m a little stumped on where to go.
“Perhaps we could eat?” he suggests.
I release my lip I’d been chewing on in contemplation. Again, not a whole lot of choices around here. There’s the mom-and-pop diner, but without our senior-citizen discount, I don’t think we’d fit in. And the one burger/ice-cream joint will be bursting at the seams with all the people our age. No, thank you.
“You in a hurry?” I ask. The place I suddenly have in mind is about thirty minutes away.
“Not at all. Do with me as you will—the night is ours.”
His voice is swathed in lightheartedness, but his eyes…they’re hooded, and unapologetic about his deeper insinuation.
“Okay.” I clear my throat and fidget. “I happen to know of a hidden treasure a couple towns over. Sebastian took me a few times, and now…I’m gonna take you. Buckle up.”
“Just you and your brother, then?” he asks, securing his seatbelt. “You’ve never been with anyone else?”
There’s something besides simple curiosity twined in his words—not undetectable, but certainly not definable.
“Nope, just me and Sebastian. Why?”
“No reason.”
That’s a lie. There’s a reason behind it I desperately want to press him for, but I don’t. I’m afraid he might answer honestly, and I might lose the fight against succumbing to it.
“So,” I continue, my voice shaking with anxiety yet again as I try to fill the gaping silence, “you want to listen to the radio? I mean, I doubt the Spice Girls will be playing, but surely we can find something else you like.”
His head falls back with his bottomless, husky laugh. “Since the Spice Girls are the only group from the UK?” He clicks his tongue. “For shame, Love. You know we breed the finest. It’s understandable to be a bit jealous.”
“Such as?” I challenge, ticking off at least five answers in my head. But rather than share my knowledge, I await his answers anxiously.
He shifts in his seat to face me with one brow raised, just like the corner of his mouth—a look I’ve deemed as “signature” on him.
“Music it is, then—an excellent way to get to know each other better, I agree. I’ll name a brilliant band born of the UK, and you tell me your favorite song by them. How’s that sound?”
“Interesting,” I agree promptly, thrilled with the easy way we segue into new, intriguing conversations.
The rest of our trek is seamless, and as much fun as I can ever remember a trip being. Rarely do our choices of “best song” match, but they reveal much about each of us. I always choose the slow, romantic ballads; he, the faster, adrenaline-driven hits: the songs of our personalities.
As we’re debating Coldplay, we arrive.
“We’re here,” I announce as I park. “And the correct answer is ‘Fix You.’ Sheesh,” I tut, getting out of the truck.
He walks around to my side, stopping toe to toe with me, so close I can see his pupi
ls dilate. I smell the mixture of cologne and his natural, masculine scent, feeling the energy radiating off his tense frame.
“Absolutely nothing to fix.”
His eyes drift slowly down the length of me, then rise again to meet mine.
“‘Paradise’ is definitely my answer,” he adds in a rasp, causing my skin to prickle.
If a girl were looking to fall in this exact slice of frozen time—caught in those reverent, silken words from the mouth of this man, his breath warm on her face—she’d be done, having fallen at his feet, never to get back up.
But this isn’t my fairytale moment, nor are my feet leaving the ground. Kingston speaks words that belong in the most romantic of novels and poems because he’s practiced, having perfected the art due to the fact that he’s addicted to the prize it gets him: smitten girls, shamelessly willing to do anything he wants. And when he’s satisfied, perhaps even bored, I have no doubt he leaves them behind…just as he’ll do to me at the end of the school year.
And I already know I’ll miss him, so I’m not about to add a whole other, irreparable dimension to that inevitable pain.
“Echo?”
My name is a tentative whisper on his lips. I shake my head and blink, refusing any further thought on silly matters that aren’t an option for me, and look up at him.
“What were you just thinking about?” He raises a hand, moving to cup my cheek, but I back away quickly.
I speak my next words as though confident and mischievous instead of the splintered and tempted way I actually feel.
“That I’m about to buy you the best pizza you’ve ever had—and not because I’m a super-nice person, but because it’s the least I can do to make up for the brutal ass-kicking I’m going to inflict on you after.” I laugh and grab his hand to drag him inside. “Come on.”
We pick a booth in the back and sit across from each other. Kingston looks everywhere, taking in the space, and I giggle. “Trying to figure out where and how you’ll meet your demise?”
He smiles, intrigue gradually moving up his face until his eyes twinkle with mirth.
“I see no boxing ring, or mud pit.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Not that I’d complain. But yes, I’m a bit curious about the details of this arse-kicking you’ve promised.”
“You’ll see.”
I wink just as the waitress arrives at our table. After a full minute, she’s literally yet to even speak let alone take our order. She’s too busy gawking at Kingston like he’s a zoo exhibit.
My eyes roll instinctively, but she doesn’t notice since she has no idea I’m even sitting here. Yes, he’s beautiful and captivating without even trying, but really? It’s rude. I’m in an exhilarated mood, though, so I decide to not settle for invisibility and have some fun instead.
“Hi!” I say loudly enough that she can’t possibly continue to ignore me. “I’ll have the monkey-brains salad and a large goat’s blood to drink, with extra ice please.”
Kingston’s eyes bulge, and his tanned complexion goes ashen.
“W-what? Echo, I’m all for new adventures, but you can’t be…” He stops, his eyes narrowing as his mouth starts twitching ever so slightly. “Serious. And you’re not.” He exhales and relaxes. “Thank Christ.”
“Just seeing if anyone,” I say, giving the waitress a cheeky smile, “would even hear me.”
Now she deems me worthy of acknowledgment, and her face sours. “What’ll you really have?”
“My hopelessly devoted boyfriend and I would like a large deep-dish Fool’s Gold and two large Cokes,” I say to her, before leaning across the table toward Kingston and batting my eyelashes. “That sound okay to you, honey bunny?”
His eyes turn molten, like swirling pools of melted steel. “Anything you wish, my sweet lil’ kitten,” he rumbles, never breaking our stare.
“Hmph,” the waitress replies, making sure to sound her displeasure before she storms away. I assume she storms away, anyway, because I’m not looking.
Kingston hums his approval. “Nice claws. You’re fuck-all sexy when you’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.” I laugh through my lie and sit back. “I’m insulted. What if I really was your girlfriend? She’s supposed to take our order, not ignore me and have eye-sex with you!”
“Eye-sex?” He chuckles. “I believe the term is ‘eye-fuck.’”
Oh, sure, that lingo he knows.
I shrug. “I know. I was trying not to be crude. You should give it a whirl once in a while.”
“If you really were my girlfriend…” Now he leans across the table toward me, speaking in a dark decadence that has my thighs quivering. “I’d have all kinds of dirty, crude things coming out of your mouth and directly into my ear—repeatedly.”
I drop my eyes immediately, praying my face isn’t as bright red as I’m assuming based on the fire burning inside me. “Kingston, stop. You can’t—”
The waitress saves me by returning to slam our drinks on the table. “Your pizza will be out soon. Anything else?”
When I make no move to raise my head or reply, Kingston answers her. “I believe we’re fine for now, thank you.”
I need a drink—something to cool me down, and quench the dryness in my mouth—but I remain frozen in embarrassment.
“Echo,” he says gently, “please look at me.”
I lift only my eyes, gauging his sincerity while remaining guarded for another onslaught of blatant sexuality.
“Forgive me—too far, I know. I often lose my head around you, and I apologize for that. I’d never purposely offend or embarrass you. It’s just…I’m a man, and you’re…” He blows out a frustrated breath and runs one hand through his dark hair.
“I’m what?” I’m pretty sure I ask aloud.
“You’re everything everyone else is not, and I’d be wise to remember that.” Why does he look so sad as he says it?
“So,” he continues, forcing a casual smile in what I assume is an attempt to ease the tension, “tell me something I don’t know about you, sweet Echo.”
The sudden change in subject, and lack of flirty infliction, jerk me out of the trance I’d been falling into. “Um, like what?”
“Hmm.” He rubs his jaw, thinking. “What about your plans after graduation? Do you have a uni picked out? A major?”
“No and no,” I groan, looking at him fully. “Pathetic, I’m well aware. It’s just…I’m torn.”
“Between what?” He sips his soda, and my eyes follow every movement of his lips.
“Well…” I blink and take a big drink myself, choosing my next words carefully. “I adore my family. And just between you and me, I feel bad anytime I think about leaving them.”
“They would want you to be happy,” he says immediately. And I know it’s the truth, but the pang of guilt remains.
“That’s why I’m torn. I’m loyal to my family, but I’m also a free spirit who’s never had an actual taste of freedom. Does that make sense?”
“Absolutely.” His smile is soft, understanding, and without judgment.
I can’t help my tiny, grateful return grin before adding, “I love artistic things: words, expression, movement. I want to see and breathe beauty somewhere bigger than myself, where everywhere I look there’s inspiration.”
I’m about to apologize for my rambling when our food arrives.
“Um, I think they forgot the cheese,” Kingston deadpans, and I laugh so hard I snort. I find myself doing that a lot lately, and never once has he teased me about it or seemed put off.
It’s funny, because a Fool’s Gold is just that: a gluttonous pile of six different cheeses that only a fool would think is gold rather than an inevitable clogged artery. It’s delicious.
And he must agree, because after we both take our first bites, any and all conversation ceases to exist.
~~~~~
Kingston leans back, rubbing his abs and moaning. “Was that the arse-kicking you meant—filling my stomach to the point of severe pain?”
“I told you not to have that third slice,” I scold.
“I thought that was the contest! You had two, so I had to beat you. Evil, Echo.” He shakes his head. “Evil.”
“Nuh-uh. You psyched yourself out on that one. I said nothing of the sort. Your ass-kicking starts now.”
I grin and scoot out of the booth, extending my hand to help him out of his side.
He brushes it away and glares at me playfully. “I’m still capable of standing by myself.”
And he does. But then, once beside me, he finds my hand he’d just refused and squeezes it. “I’m ready. What’s next?”
“Follow me,” I taunt, leading him to the room in the back of the pizza parlor that’s concealed by black drapes.
“And the beautiful temptress led him blindly into a private room in the back, cloaked in curtains, yet he gladly followed.”
His hand flexes around mine, and I look over my shoulder to find that his sultry expression indeed matches the suggestive tone in his voice.
“Settle down, sex fiend. The only action you’ll be getting back here is…” I drop his hand to throw open the curtains with flair. “The wrath of Echo, Queen of the Arcade!”
We walk farther into the room and I focus on his face, delighted by the wonderment in his eyes and emerging smile as he takes it all in. Every old game you can imagine is before us: Galaga, Pac-Man, Centipede, Joust, and Q*bert (my personal favorite), as well as various pinball machines, air hockey, Skee-Ball, and—wait for it—Whac-A-Mole!
“Pick your poison, Mr. Hawthorne,” I challenge. “I can, and will, conquer you in any choice you make.”
I throw in an evil “Ah, ah, ah!” laugh, which admittedly falls short since it sounds more like The Count on Sesame Street tallying peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches than anything remotely resembling evil.
He takes both my hands and pulls me toward him, his hard chest pressed against the sudden fluttering in my own. He bends his head so our foreheads touch, licking his lips slowly, then murmurs, “What’s the prize?”
I swallow—an action that should be soundless, but isn’t—as I attempt to control the breathiness in my reply.
Filthy Foreign Exchange Page 9
