Filthy Foreign Exchange(23)

“Rugby,” Clay scoffs as he sits down.

“Are you familiar with the sport?” Kingston leans across the front of me to ask. I catch a whiff of his cologne, which blends intoxicatingly well with his undeniable masculine hostility.

“Nah. I played real football all through high school, though. Made it to the state playoffs twice in a row,” Clay replies way too arrogantly, considering Sebastian played as well and I happen to know that they lost both times.

“Brilliant!” Kingston’s already sporting a smug grin. And here it comes. “Did you win?”

Clay shoots Kingston a scathing look, and even I feel accosted from its intensity.

“Oh, wow, did you see Savannah’s stunt?” I interrupt—not that either of them notice. So I sip the warm cocoa and pretend to focus on anything, even the guys running down the field, rather than the two leaning in front of me to conduct their pissing match.

“No,” Clay replies. “Couple injuries and biased officials lost it for us. But we should’ve won.”

Kingston nods. “Of course.”

I sit, rigid and silent, claustrophobically trapped between them and their tangible machismo for the rest of the game. A few times, someone taps Kingston on the shoulder, or comes up to say hi to Clay. Those are the spaces in which I inhale the night air, reminding myself football games can’t possibly last forever. But I’m beginning to doubt that theory as the night drags on.

Finally, a horn sounds, indicating the game is over. I catch Savannah’s eye before she leaves the field, and she mouths that she’ll meet me at my truck. I nod my understanding as I zip up my jacket.

“Okay, well…this was fun.” I stand, forcing a shaky smile. “Guess I’ll see you both later.”

“Whoa, you’re not walking to the parking lot alone.” Clay takes hold of my arm, and Kingston’s gaze hones in on the gesture. “Come on. I’ll take you.”

I pull my arm from his grasp and scoot past Kingston to bound down the bleachers, unconcerned about who, if anyone, is following me.

~~~~~

Savannah’s waiting by my truck, and she beams when I arrive.

“What’d you think?”

“You were great!” I smile sincerely. “The flip you did off the pyramid? Very impressive.”

“You were paying attention!” She claps her hands, downright giddy.

That’s what I love about Savannah: She goes above and beyond to excel where she knows her strengths are. No way could any other girl on that squad pull off half the moves she appears to have mastered.

“Watching you during the cheers? Yeah, I paid attention.” I pull my keys from my pocket and add, “Now, watching the boys run to chase the ball down the field? Not so much.”

Her proud grin never wavers. “Thank you, Echo. Seriously, it means a lot to me that you came tonight.”

I’m suddenly feeling all warm and fuzzy, happy that she’s so…well, happy.

“Y’all can hug—even kiss, if ya want,” I hear Clay say from beside me, reminding me of his seemingly never-ending presence and depraved attempts at humor.

My elbow connects hard with his ribs. “You’re a pig!”

Savannah giggles. “You wish, perv! So, where are you two headed?”

“Home,” I say, twirling my key ring around my finger as Clay answers simultaneously, “Anywhere you want, birthday girl!”

Savannah’s dreamy reply is automatic—and no surprise. “Moonlight. Definitely Moonlight. Ah,” she continues, pouting at me, “but Echo’s not old enough to get in. You know what? Never mind. We can just—”

“No.” I hold up my hand to stop her. Sure, it stings that she’s eighteen and has more options than me, but I won’t let jealousy dampen her big birthday night. “You all go. Have a great time. It’s not my scene, regardless of my age. Just…be careful, Savannah. Baby steps.”

The last part is a plea, because I’m honestly a bit worried. I know my friend—if she’s swimming, she’s doing a cannonball right into the deep end. She’s that way with everything.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” she asks, but she’s already sidled up next to Clay with her arm around his waist, ready to go. “I feel bad.”

Something tells me that’s not exactly the truth, but who can blame her? She’s of legal age now, and braver than I.

“I’m positive. Happy birthday.”

I open my truck door after she runs back to school to get her bag, Clay right behind her.

It’s then that I spot Kingston, standing not so far away in the shadows. I expect to find something resembling pity in his eyes when he walks over, but see only a soft kindness. So when he says my name, I can’t very well ignore him.

“Yeah?” I reply, leaning against my open door.

“You want me to follow you home? I’m parked just there.”

He points, but I can’t see his sporty little number past the beautiful, dark-blue Silverado in the way. I crane my neck, searching for the sportster I’m dying to tease him about again.

“Just where—behind the kick-ass truck a real man is driving? You know, your car might actually fit in the bed of that beauty,” I sass, a pleased smirk on my lips.

“I have to agree with you. It is indeed one fine truck. That’s why I bought it.” He spreads his feet apart and crosses his arms over his broad, puffed-out chest. “I’m told something called ‘off-roading’ is all the to-do around here, so I traded out that car you secretly fancied for it.”