It takes a minute, but then he calls out, “My pleasure, Love,” in response to my message written on the shower door: Thank you for the tire job.
~~~~~
Wednesday starts with a shower note waiting for me—Happy Hump Day—and I have to laugh. Seems our international visitor is picking up more American slang than I realized.
And it’s slang he finds worthy of further examination, if my first text of the day—a picture of an actual camel— is any indication.
As I stare at it, a goofy grin on my face, his words come back to me: You delight me.
Yeah, he kind of delights me too. Silly, uncomplicatedly, delights me.
Kingston: Hump also means to have sex, correct?
Me: It can, why?
Kingston: Absolutely nothing sexy about a camel.
Me: LMAO (that means Laughing My Ass Off). And agreed. Not sexy. But “Hump Day” means making it over the hump of the middle of the week.
Kingston: Ah, that would explain it. So no sexual connotation?
Me: No, not everything is about sex.
Kingston: You can see how I’d be confused though?
Me: Yes, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt on this one.
So, before I explained, was he worried all us Americans had to find someone to “hump” every Wednesday? I shake my head and laugh to myself. Oh, Kingston.
My next picture arrives at lunch. This time, it’s more of what I’m used to: a girl. Except this one is actually striking a pose for him! No joke—she’s got one hand on her hip and the other over her head, her boobs pushed so far out they’re almost popping through my screen.
Me: Did you ask her to POSE?
Kingston: Sadly, no. Nor did I request she say “cheese.”
I snap a picture of the cheese on my sandwich and send it back.
Me: Cheesy. She gets a 2.
“Did you just take a picture of your sandwich?” Savannah asks.
“Nope, just the cheese,” I reply through a snicker, not looking up from my phone.
She doesn’t let up. “Why?”
But my focus is hanging on the next ding of my phone.
Kingston: I was thinking 1.
Me: 1 it is.
“No reason.” I shrug, glancing Savannah’s way with a secret smile.
My phone dings again, and this time Savannah snatches it out of my hand so fast I can’t stop her. Shit!
“Um, Echo? Why did Kingston just send you a picture of a whale?”
My smile is so wide my cheeks sting. Because they, too, have humps.
“Give me that.” I snatch my phone back, surprised with how annoyed I am at her intrusion. “Don’t worry about it. Inside joke.”
“I don’t get iiittt,” she whines, her face riddled with puzzlement.
“You’re not supposed to. That’s why it’s called an inside joke.”
Wow, that came out way too snippy. I set my phone down, ready to apologize, but I’m too late.
“Geez!” She holds up both hands. “Excuse me. Didn’t know a picture of a whale was so personal. I’m out.”
She stands up, once again stomping away from another of what used to be our friendly lunches together.
“Savannah, wait!”
I try for an apologetic tone, but she’s gone without a single look back.
I sigh, picking at my sandwich. I don’t want to fight with Savannah or hurt her feelings, but damn. Can I not have this one thing—this unexplainable, fun thing—to myself?
Yes. Yes, I can. And I can even throw in a curveball of real enjoyment. After all, what’s good for the Echo is good for the Kingston.
I jump up, setting out on a mission so foreign to me I almost can’t believe I thought of it. Walking discreetly through the crowd, I search for the perfect target. People are loitering in the halls, done with lunch but not yet due for class.
And that’s when I spot exactly whom I’m looking for: Craig Farrister.
If a girl was able to ignore the fact that his ego is as big as his list of “conquests” and that he’s a lunchroom bully, she wouldn’t mind looking at Craig. He’s a total jackass, but he’s one of the best-looking guys in school.
Which is the only purpose I need him to serve. Gotta start with a bang.
I’m not about to get near him, so I pull up the camera on my phone and zoom in, ensuring my finger’s in position to push the snap button before yelling, “Hiii, Craig!”
He turns my way, and—right on cue—gives me the cocky smile, complete with the lecherous, hooded stare he’s known for, and that I was counting on.
Snap. Perfection!
“Well hello there, Echo Kelly,” he blathers in what I’m guessing he thinks is a sexy tone, slithering toward me. “‘Bout time you took notice.”
No, no.
I jerk my head left, then right; I’m fully surrounded by conversing hordes of classmates. This is why I don’t dabble in deception: a lack of expertise in escape plans.
He stares blatantly down at my breasts. “You’re looking hella fine today, as always.”
“Um, thank you.” I start to back away, bumping into someone or something. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to bother you. I, uh…thought you were someone else.”
As soon as I spit out the last sentence, I turn and literally sprint down the hall. Thought he was someone else? You called him by name! Good God, Echo!
Oh well. Total humiliation is a small sacrifice to make for the end goal. Back to all smiles, I type out my text and attach the snapshot before sending.
Me: He seems nice. Your turn: meter-reading, please.
My eyes are glued to my phone, a giddy little dancer pirouetting in my stomach while I wait for his response.
Which isn’t a text. I jolt with a squeal when the phone in my hand rings!
I rush to the bathroom for some semblance of privacy, but answer on the way.
“Hello?” I bite back my snicker, striving for innocent boredom.
“Who’s your mate?” he growls in my ear, sending rippling shivers down my legs.
“I don’t ask you that—I just give you a rating. So, what’s yours?”
“Chatting you up, is he?”
“He spoke to me, yes.” Not a lie.
“He looks dodgy to me. His eyes weren’t that of wanting to get to know you, Echo. A man knows what that look means on another one. He’s on the pull.”
Ah, the “on the pull” thing again, which I’ve since discovered to mean “looking for sex.”
The bell rings, giving me the perfect excuse to leave Kingston stewing for a while.
“Oh, dang. So sorry, Kingston, gotta go. But I’ll see you this afternoon.”
“Ech—”
“Bye!” I grin as I hang up.
Just as I take my seat in my next class, a text comes through. It’s a picture of a doorknob, and he’s right: Craig is definitely comparable.
Oh, this is fun.
Kingston: -5. No!
I start to reply, but stop. Let’s see just how long Mr. Hawthorne can stand the taste of his own medicine.
~~~~~
Apparently no longer mad at me, Savannah chatters about Craig the whole way to calc. It seems he sought out my best friend to ask about me after the ruse I’d pulled. That’s the thing about taking a shot, I guess: Gotta watch for the backfire.
She doesn’t run off and leave me today when we park, instead hooking her arm through mine and continuing to gush all the way into the classroom about how I should pursue Craig. For the twentieth time, I tell her it was an accident, before starting toward my seat in the back.
But then I stop and stare, suddenly motionless.
In my back row waits Kingston, alone. The intensity rolling off him as his brooding eyes bore into me has my heartbeat whooshing in my ears. There’s no tamping down my nerves, so I do the only thing I can: continue to my seat, setting my books on the desk right beside the one he’s taken up residence at.
“What are you doing back here?”
I ask as jokingly as possible, avoiding direct eye contact.
“Preparing to learn calculus, of course.”
The twist to his mouth is cunning, and the spark in his eyes is practically pleading with me to play along and give him an opening to next say whatever it is he’s obviously dying to.
But our game is a private one, and I refuse to continue it in front of his entourage—the likes of which will come and sit back here as soon as they figure out he’s staying put.
“Kingston…” I glance around apprehensively, just waiting for the girls to pounce. “You promised. I don’t want—”
“Trust me. We won’t be disturbed.”
I roll my eyes and laugh shrewdly. “Yeah, right. I’m surprised they’re not already tripping over themselves to get back here.”
“I assure you, it won’t happen.”
“How can you possibly assure me of that?”
“I have my ways,” he replies with a wink. “Now please, do have a seat. There are pressing matters we need to discuss.”
Chapter 15
The way Kingston fidgets in his chair, huffing repeatedly while his face twists from an aggravated scowl to straight-up crimson in irritation, is positively entertaining. His plan to “discuss matters” with me is ruined by our professor, and the format of today’s lesson: a nonstop, completely interactive question-and-answer seminar. He doesn’t turn his back to the class once, robbing Kingston of any chance to talk to me about “matters.”
And when we’re dismissed, I rush to the door just as fast as the girls rush to him.
“Echo, wait up!” Savannah hollers, chasing me across the parking lot. “I need a ride!”
I slow down, waiting for her to catch up. I’ve gotten so used to her rarely needing a ride home with me anymore it didn’t even cross my mind.
“Sure. And hey, since you’re coming with me anyway, want to work on our routine?”
“I wish I could—really, I do,” she says as we reach my truck. “But if I don’t study tonight, I’ll fail Marshall’s bio test tomorrow, and I already have a D in there. Raincheck?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, climbing inside the cab. “Raincheck.”
I’m not sure if it’s the trying to keep track of her lies or my schedule that’s tripping her up, but I have Mr. Marshall for Biology as well…and there’s no test tomorrow.
I should call her out on it, but I settle for silently brooding as I drive her home. Why would she lie about that? Is she afraid to tell me she just doesn’t want to do the routine, or is she hiding something bigger?
“Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She climbs out, waving over her shoulder as she hurries toward her house.
I continue to stew the entire way home, and by the time I get there, I’ve worked myself into a frenzy of dark thoughts. My mother’s ominous comments about Savannah swirl in my head, and for a moment, I debate calling Sebastian. But what would I say? I have no proof of anything, just a bad inkling in my gut. And I can’t upset him over what might be nothing.
So I decide to clear my head the best way I know how. I run to my room, change quickly, and head for my tree. I climb so high up my silks that no troubles or worries can reach me, then swing, flip, and contort my body until I haven’t a care in the world.
After an hour or so, I feel more at ease, so I descend slowly and head to the house.
My mother greets me from the kitchen. “There you are! You just missed a call from Sebastian. Here, drink.” She hands me a glass of ice water. “Been working on the new routine?”
I nod with a smile as I quench the dryness in my throat. “How’s Seb doing?”
“He seems to love it, but says he misses us. I’m happy he’s getting this experience, though. Everyone should have a chance to see even a small glimpse of this big world.”
“Yeah,” I respond, wondering if I’ll ever get the same opportunity.
When I set down my glass, I change the subject and ask, “Where’s Dad?”
My mom grins in amused suspicion. “At the pavilion, fixing some wiring. Oh, and Sammy and Kingston are helping him.” Her mouth twitches. “Just in case that was your next question.”
“It wasn’t.” I divert my gaze to the opposite wall, lying to it rather than my mother’s face. “But that’s cool. Okay, I’ll be down after I wash up.”
I hop in the shower, and because I only expect them in the mornings, I almost miss the note on the glass door, rising from the steam.
Tonight, we talk.
I can’t decide if it’s a threat or a simple statement of fact, but either way, it sends a shiver of anticipation up my spine.
It also makes for the longest dinner I’ve ever endured. Have my father and Sammy always talked this much? And did my mother use every dish in the kitchen? It’s never taken this long to clean up.
When I am finally done and have excused myself to go finish my homework, my dad throws in another, totally out-of-character roadblock, and asks Kingston to join him in watching a game on TV. Kingston accepts, of course. But he sends me a discreet glance, his own impatience bristling in his eyes.
My reaction is heady, and I climb the stairs on wobbly legs.
~~~~~
I’m woken later with a gentle shake to my shoulder.
I didn’t even realize I’d fallen asleep, and it takes me a second to gather my bearings before I realize Kingston’s standing over me, at the side of my bed. With a silent yawn, I blink several times, just to make sure I’m actually awake and not dreaming up the mesmerizing image of him donned in nothing but plaid pajama pants that rest sinfully low on his hips. I pinch myself under the covers to confirm the scene is, indeed, real. He’s in my room, cast in the perfect amount of moonlight, and showcasing a lot of firm, defined flesh.
Heat coils in every body part below my neck, and I swallow down the lump in my throat. It obviously gets lost somewhere between my best judgment and shyness, though, because I’m somehow able to whisper “Have a seat” as I scoot over to make room for him.
Even in the near-darkness, I can make out a glint of satisfaction in his eyes, and the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. Every deep groove mapping out where one of his muscles stops and the next begins.
Neither of us speaks right away, afraid to pop the safe, silent bubble surrounding us. Here, in our own secret, moonlit haven, there’s an energy—an undeniable connection—that fuses us together, with no touching or words needed.
I’m the first to break our linked stares, looking down to where my fingers fiddle nervously with my blanket.
And he’s the first to shatter the silence.
“Tell me you weren’t serious about that picture today.” His voice is gruff and strained, as though any answer besides the one he wants to hear may break him. “Tell me, Echo. Because he’s far from worthy of you.”
“How would you know that?” I whisper, butterflies striving for escape from my tummy.
“I did my research. He’s a bloody imbecile, and only looking for one thing. It will be over my dead body that he ever gets near you again.”
His fierce objection could be taken like he’s just trying to fill the big-brother shoes Sebastian left open, but I know that’s not it. I’m reserved, not naïve.
Kingston Hawthorne is jealous. And it’s a very attractive look on him—one I’m selfishly enjoying, immensely—so I decide to prolong it.
“Kingston,” I tut. “You shouldn’t judge Craig from whatever rumors you were able to dig up. That’s not fair. Besides, I’ve lived here my whole life and heard them all before. I’m a big girl, and perfectly capable of making my own decisions.”
“Bollocks,” he growls. “You have no idea what guys are really like. I do!” He slaps his chest. “I’m a guy. I won’t have it, Echo. No way in bloody hell.” He shakes his head, his accent thick with rage.
“Why not?” I ask softly, waiting for his answer with bated breath, foolishly begging for the words I long to hear but can do
nothing about. I’m not sure which would be worse: torturously knowing the true source of his adamant disapproval and not being able to act upon it, or not knowing for sure. But I’m positive which situation I’d prefer.
He looks me dead in the eyes, acute awareness therein. And slowly, his brows dip with his frown. He’s not going to say it…and something deep within me starts to ache.
He reaches up, and his knuckles skim my cheek. “You’re magnificent, Echo—a rare, flawless treasure. Don’t waste such exception on any man who doesn’t realize your value.”
I lean my cheek into his touch and let my eyes fall closed, soaking up the warmth of his words. I don’t want to resist this pull toward Kingston anymore. It’d be pointless, anyway, considering it’s far more powerful than I could ever hope to be.
“Kingston…” His name releases on a quiet breath and my eyes open, expressing what the next words that tremble on my lips are about to admit. “I—”
He stands abruptly and clears his throat, taking his gentle touch with him. “Promise me,” he says. “Stay away from that bloke. Surely there are some decent boys in your school. Keep looking.”
I can only nod, holding back my tears of rejection.
He sighs heavily, then smiles slowly. “Thank you. Sleep well, Love.”
I watch every muscle in his back flex as he walks away and disappears through the bathroom.
Suddenly, I’m angry with myself. I’d been a fool to actually believe there was something between us—that he was fighting the temptation of overwhelming feelings, just like me.
Stupid, Echo. You’re a plain, high-school girl who has zero experience with the opposite sex. He’s a gorgeous, debonair college guy with a sexy accent, and can have his pick of any girl in this town.
I punch my pillow and toss and turn, but nothing helps. I can’t get comfortable—neither in my bed, nor my own skin.
Life may have been simpler before Kingston arrived, but what aggravates me most is that I’m still glad he’s here.
~~~~~
The next morning, I’m sure of one thing from the moment my eyes open: My mood is already past the point of prickly.
Filthy Foreign Exchange Page 11
