Filthy Foreign Exchange(12)

“Let’s see if I can explain this without cocking it up.”

He lays his right hand on my left arm and gives it a very subtle, friendly squeeze that I probably shouldn’t feel in my toes—or over every other inch of my body, like an eruption of volcanic heat. But I do, and it’s intense yet simultaneously soothing.

“Echo, you haven’t gone one day in this school unnoticed. You’re gorgeous, tall, fit as f*ck, and not on the pull. That cute haircut, dark and sassy, and your huge blue eyes? Every guy in this place dreams about shagging you—they were just too afraid of Sebastian to make a move. And I plan to make bloody sure they’re every bit as afraid of me.”

Other than “not on the pull,” I understand everything he just said…which is why I currently feel the heat of my whole face blushing.

“Ah, so I did say it right,” he whispers, lifting his hand to run a fingertip down my cheek. “Even more stunning with a blush.”

The loud shrill of the warning bell rings out, causing us both to jolt. Thank God. He almost had me hooked in that web he was weaving. Almost.

“I have to go.” I walk away, backwards. “And you need to go back to your school…where I might be seeing you later.”

Can’t wait to see how that goes.

~~~~~

I’m proud to have earned a spot in AP Calculus, because I worked damn hard for the placement. But the fact that the class is held at the college has my nerves on edge—especially now, in light of recent events…and new, international visitors. Luckily, I’m still Sebastian’s little sister, so I’m hoping most of the people here will know that and, in turn, leave me alone. Plus, I have Savannah at my side.

At least, I did when I parked my truck. By the time I turn the ignition off, my seatbelt not yet unbuckled, she’s already out of the vehicle, yelling about spotting some friends.

Of course.

Having expected as much, I simply shake my head, brushing off the slight pang from her abandonment. Unlike Savannah, I take my sweet time getting out, not one bit interested in racing behind her to chitchat with a bunch of girls I barely recognize.

I’ve visited the campus once or twice in the past, but as I walk up the cobblestone path now, I feel my stomach roll. With lead feet and my head bowed, eyes trained on every step, I finally reach the classroom.

I’ll admit, I knew the odds of a run-in with Kingston—at this school—were high. It’s a small campus. But I was hoping for some sort of a grace period…that lasted longer than this.

As soon as I open the classroom door, any optimism I’d been desperately clinging to dies a fast death, flat-lining before I even have a chance to survey the students inside. But I don’t need to. The chorus of giggles, followed by that potent accent, stretch across the room and make it perfectly clear Ms. Grace Period is indeed a sneaky bitch—and she’s impatient today.

I quickly spot an open seat in the very back row and scurry toward it, subtly scanning the room for Savannah but unable to keep my eyes from falling on Kingston. And apparently, I’m not much of a subtle “scurrier,” because he’s already staring directly at me.

“Hi,” I force out when our gazes lock. I even give a pathetic nod before ducking my head and sliding down in my seat.

I expect him to reply, but he doesn’t. He does, however, attempt to wave, barely able to lift his arm since he’s surrounded by literally every female in the room—besides me, and whom I assume to be the professor’s aide, although her eyes are glued on him.

Savannah’s high-pitched laughter drowns out the rest of the gaggle, and I notice her hand is resting a little too comfortably on Kingston’s arm.

Are you kidding me? Savannah’s only in this college course because I did her work to get her here. And why? Because she didn’t want me to be alone—which is exactly what I am.

I pull a notebook and pen from my bag, take a deep and calming breath, and sit back, anxious for the professor to arrive and get things underway.

But my eyes again find themselves tangled with a pair of metal-gray ones. Kingston’s turned toward me…and is that a sympathetic, half-smile he’s wearing? Don’t feel sorry for me, buddy. I’ll soon have the highest grade in this class, and plenty of room to stretch out back here, should I choose to do so.

My spine stiffens, eyes bulging as I watch him stand, giving all his groupies a farewell smile as he makes his way to me.

No. No, no, no!

I drop my gaze, focusing intently on my notebook, and start doodling. But I feel his presence the instant he slides down in the chair in front of me. I don’t look up, my grip tightening on my pen.

And suddenly it’s pandemonium, all surrounding seats being filled with yapping girls asking asinine questions about London and the Queen. As if he’s met her. He’s just a normal, everyday student, like the rest of us!

Okay, maybe not just like the rest of us. His voice alone is one of a kind.

“Hello, Echo.”

His breath whispers over my forehead, and I can’t stop myself from looking up. His face is inches from mine, his body completely turned and leaning my way.

“I already said hi,” I mutter before quickly returning to my squiggly lines.

“Yes, you did, but I was unable to give you the proper greeting in return.” The playfulness in his voice only causes me to scribble faster.