Filthy Foreign Exchange(30)

He smiles, intrigue gradually moving up his face until his eyes twinkle with mirth.

“I see no boxing ring, or mud pit.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Not that I’d complain. But yes, I’m a bit curious about the details of this arse-kicking you’ve promised.”

“You’ll see.”

I wink just as the waitress arrives at our table. After a full minute, she’s literally yet to even speak let alone take our order. She’s too busy gawking at Kingston like he’s a zoo exhibit.

My eyes roll instinctively, but she doesn’t notice since she has no idea I’m even sitting here. Yes, he’s beautiful and captivating without even trying, but really? It’s rude. I’m in an exhilarated mood, though, so I decide to not settle for invisibility and have some fun instead.

“Hi!” I say loudly enough that she can’t possibly continue to ignore me. “I’ll have the monkey-brains salad and a large goat’s blood to drink, with extra ice please.”

Kingston’s eyes bulge, and his tanned complexion goes ashen.

“W-what? Echo, I’m all for new adventures, but you can’t be…” He stops, his eyes narrowing as his mouth starts twitching ever so slightly. “Serious. And you’re not.” He exhales and relaxes. “Thank Christ.”

“Just seeing if anyone,” I say, giving the waitress a cheeky smile, “would even hear me.”

Now she deems me worthy of acknowledgment, and her face sours. “What’ll you really have?”

“My hopelessly devoted boyfriend and I would like a large deep-dish Fool’s Gold and two large Cokes,” I say to her, before leaning across the table toward Kingston and batting my eyelashes. “That sound okay to you, honey bunny?”

His eyes turn molten, like swirling pools of melted steel. “Anything you wish, my sweet lil’ kitten,” he rumbles, never breaking our stare.

“Hmph,” the waitress replies, making sure to sound her displeasure before she storms away. I assume she storms away, anyway, because I’m not looking.

Kingston hums his approval. “Nice claws. You’re f*ck-all sexy when you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.” I laugh through my lie and sit back. “I’m insulted. What if I really was your girlfriend? She’s supposed to take our order, not ignore me and have eye-sex with you!”

“Eye-sex?” He chuckles. “I believe the term is ‘eye-f*ck.’”

Oh, sure, that lingo he knows.

I shrug. “I know. I was trying not to be crude. You should give it a whirl once in a while.”

“If you really were my girlfriend…” Now he leans across the table toward me, speaking in a dark decadence that has my thighs quivering. “I’d have all kinds of dirty, crude things coming out of your mouth and directly into my ear—repeatedly.”

I drop my eyes immediately, praying my face isn’t as bright red as I’m assuming based on the fire burning inside me. “Kingston, stop. You can’t—”

The waitress saves me by returning to slam our drinks on the table. “Your pizza will be out soon. Anything else?”

When I make no move to raise my head or reply, Kingston answers her. “I believe we’re fine for now, thank you.”

I need a drink—something to cool me down, and quench the dryness in my mouth—but I remain frozen in embarrassment.

“Echo,” he says gently, “please look at me.”

I lift only my eyes, gauging his sincerity while remaining guarded for another onslaught of blatant sexuality.

“Forgive me—too far, I know. I often lose my head around you, and I apologize for that. I’d never purposely offend or embarrass you. It’s just…I’m a man, and you’re…” He blows out a frustrated breath and runs one hand through his dark hair.

“I’m what?” I’m pretty sure I ask aloud.

“You’re everything everyone else is not, and I’d be wise to remember that.” Why does he look so sad as he says it?

“So,” he continues, forcing a casual smile in what I assume is an attempt to ease the tension, “tell me something I don’t know about you, sweet Echo.”

The sudden change in subject, and lack of flirty infliction, jerk me out of the trance I’d been falling into. “Um, like what?”

“Hmm.” He rubs his jaw, thinking. “What about your plans after graduation? Do you have a uni picked out? A major?”

“No and no,” I groan, looking at him fully. “Pathetic, I’m well aware. It’s just…I’m torn.”

“Between what?” He sips his soda, and my eyes follow every movement of his lips.

“Well…” I blink and take a big drink myself, choosing my next words carefully. “I adore my family. And just between you and me, I feel bad anytime I think about leaving them.”

“They would want you to be happy,” he says immediately. And I know it’s the truth, but the pang of guilt remains.

“That’s why I’m torn. I’m loyal to my family, but I’m also a free spirit who’s never had an actual taste of freedom. Does that make sense?”

“Absolutely.” His smile is soft, understanding, and without judgment.