Filthy Foreign Exchange(29)
“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 pupils 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?”