Filthy Foreign Exchange(18)
“Perfect sense.” I let my hand brush over his lightly. “I’m sorry, Kingston.”
The strong, sturdy muscles flex in his arms as he braces his hands on the step and scoots his body closer to mine. He dips his head so our eyes are level. “What are you sorry for, Love?”
I can’t tear my gaze from the earnest depth in his own. “That you didn’t grow up with a mom, and that you can’t remember the time you did have her. My heart hurts for you.”
“You actually mean that,” he states, without a hint of doubt. I remain silent. “And you brushed right over my compliment. Did you even hear it, or were you truly distracted by my feelings?”
I open my mouth to answer, but he closes it for me with a fingertip under my chin. “No need. I already know the answer.”
“Kingston…” I breathe out. I’m unsure of what to say next, but thankfully Sammy saves me by choosing that moment to bound through the front door.
“Echo, Mom wants your help with dinner! And Kingston, Dad said you better have that truck done, or you can’t eat.”
Oh my God. Our solemn moment is completely shattered, and I’m now laughing so hard my sides cramp. The appalled look on Kingston’s face is priceless.
“Would he really withhold dinner?”
“Yes,” I wheeze through my laughter.
“Good thing for me, then, that Clay was set on proving his manhood and finished the unloading.”
“Prove it to who? No one was watching.”
“Oh, someone was watching.”
He stares at me intently, as if waiting for me to figure out his riddle. When I don’t, he stands and offers me his hand instead.
“Never mind that. Let’s go see to this nosh. I’m hungry.”
~~~~~
After the brief but meaningful moments we share on the porch, Kingston and I somehow fall into a companionable routine. My shower messages, which I now look forward to reading to start my day, are always there waiting.
I only have calculus on his campus three days a week; I get to skip out early the other two days, so I don’t see him at school Tuesday. On Wednesday afternoon, I’m happily relieved to have Savannah at my side when we enter the calculus classroom—and also grateful to see Kingston already seated across the room from where he knows I’ll sit.
He shoots me a small, secret grin that’s fleeting, but says it all. He’s giving me what I want by herding his “flock” away from me: anonymity. He even goes so far as to focus on the professor—something I’m surprised to see—but it works at keeping most of the girls quiet and feigning concentration on learning.
By the time we’re dismissed, I have a pile of notes in my hands and a smile on my face. With Kingston’s new “cooperation,” class went off without a hitch, and I appreciate his extra effort that made it possible.
It’s the reason I wait outside the door for him. I’m planning to extend the olive branch in return by offering him a ride home.
Still engulfed in a sea of identical clingers whose common traits include push-up bras and stars in their eyes, he doesn’t see me and starts to walk right past. I don’t have time to talk myself out of what would normally make me shrivel up in a ball of embarrassment, and hear myself calling his name.
He turns back, his right arm slung over the shoulders of one blonde I don’t know, left arm being clung to by a blonde I do—Savannah—and smiles from ear to ear.
“Waiting for me?” he asks, a little too loudly for my comfort level.
I walk closer to narrow the gap between us, wanting to keep the conversation somewhat private by not broadcasting it down the hall. “I, uh…thought I’d see if you wanted a ride home with Savannah and me,” I say as stoically as possible, ignoring the glare coming from the girl under his right arm.
“Oh, Clay’s picking me up today!” Savannah chirps. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you. I need to shop for my birthday outfit, and I knew you wouldn’t want to go.” She shrugs a shoulder and smiles.
“Yeah, no, of course,” I fumble like an idiot before looking at Kingston, trying to convey my standing offer without words.
He hears me. “Lovely of you to offer, mate, but Deanna here has me sorted today.”
“Dinah,” the girl giggles, playfully slapping his chest in the process. Because it’s funny when people can’t remember your name?
Whatever. It’s a win-win for me. I offered, which puts a checkmark in the “Gracious Host Family” column, and he called me “mate”—which I’m hoping means he’s joined me in starting to feel comfortable with the possibility of building a real friendship, and will therefore take to commenting on Dinah’s ass from now on instead.
“Okay, guess I’ll see ya both later!” I sound as peppy as I feel, pleased at the thought of having the ride home to myself and the major strides in niceties I made today.
“Okay! Bye, Echo!” I hear Savannah say as I turn to leave.
“Bye!” I call over my shoulder as I all but skip away.
Chapter 8
I’ve just finished helping my mom set the table for dinner when I hear the crunch of gravel and the roar of an engine coming from outside.
“Well, would you look at that?” my mother says in astonishment, practically begging me to scurry to the kitchen window to see what has her so fascinated.