Filthy Foreign Exchange(36)

He stares blatantly down at my breasts. “You’re looking hella fine today, as always.”

“Um, thank you.” I start to back away, bumping into someone or something. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to bother you. I, uh…thought you were someone else.”

As soon as I spit out the last sentence, I turn and literally sprint down the hall. Thought he was someone else? You called him by name! Good God, Echo!

Oh well. Total humiliation is a small sacrifice to make for the end goal. Back to all smiles, I type out my text and attach the snapshot before sending.

Me: He seems nice. Your turn: meter-reading, please.

My eyes are glued to my phone, a giddy little dancer pirouetting in my stomach while I wait for his response.

Which isn’t a text. I jolt with a squeal when the phone in my hand rings!

I rush to the bathroom for some semblance of privacy, but answer on the way.

“Hello?” I bite back my snicker, striving for innocent boredom.

“Who’s your mate?” he growls in my ear, sending rippling shivers down my legs.

“I don’t ask you that—I just give you a rating. So, what’s yours?”

“Chatting you up, is he?”

“He spoke to me, yes.” Not a lie.

“He looks dodgy to me. His eyes weren’t that of wanting to get to know you, Echo. A man knows what that look means on another one. He’s on the pull.”

Ah, the “on the pull” thing again, which I’ve since discovered to mean “looking for sex.”

The bell rings, giving me the perfect excuse to leave Kingston stewing for a while.

“Oh, dang. So sorry, Kingston, gotta go. But I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“Ech—”

“Bye!” I grin as I hang up.

Just as I take my seat in my next class, a text comes through. It’s a picture of a doorknob, and he’s right: Craig is definitely comparable.

Oh, this is fun.

Kingston: -5. No!

I start to reply, but stop. Let’s see just how long Mr. Hawthorne can stand the taste of his own medicine.

~~~~~

Apparently no longer mad at me, Savannah chatters about Craig the whole way to calc. It seems he sought out my best friend to ask about me after the ruse I’d pulled. That’s the thing about taking a shot, I guess: Gotta watch for the backfire.

She doesn’t run off and leave me today when we park, instead hooking her arm through mine and continuing to gush all the way into the classroom about how I should pursue Craig. For the twentieth time, I tell her it was an accident, before starting toward my seat in the back.

But then I stop and stare, suddenly motionless.

In my back row waits Kingston, alone. The intensity rolling off him as his brooding eyes bore into me has my heartbeat whooshing in my ears. There’s no tamping down my nerves, so I do the only thing I can: continue to my seat, setting my books on the desk right beside the one he’s taken up residence at.

“What are you doing back here?” I ask as jokingly as possible, avoiding direct eye contact.

“Preparing to learn calculus, of course.”

The twist to his mouth is cunning, and the spark in his eyes is practically pleading with me to play along and give him an opening to next say whatever it is he’s obviously dying to.

But our game is a private one, and I refuse to continue it in front of his entourage—the likes of which will come and sit back here as soon as they figure out he’s staying put.

“Kingston…” I glance around apprehensively, just waiting for the girls to pounce. “You promised. I don’t want—”

“Trust me. We won’t be disturbed.”

I roll my eyes and laugh shrewdly. “Yeah, right. I’m surprised they’re not already tripping over themselves to get back here.”

“I assure you, it won’t happen.”

“How can you possibly assure me of that?”

“I have my ways,” he replies with a wink. “Now please, do have a seat. There are pressing matters we need to discuss.”





Chapter 15


The way Kingston fidgets in his chair, huffing repeatedly while his face twists from an aggravated scowl to straight-up crimson in irritation, is positively entertaining. His plan to “discuss matters” with me is ruined by our professor, and the format of today’s lesson: a nonstop, completely interactive question-and-answer seminar. He doesn’t turn his back to the class once, robbing Kingston of any chance to talk to me about “matters.”

And when we’re dismissed, I rush to the door just as fast as the girls rush to him.

“Echo, wait up!” Savannah hollers, chasing me across the parking lot. “I need a ride!”

I slow down, waiting for her to catch up. I’ve gotten so used to her rarely needing a ride home with me anymore it didn’t even cross my mind.

“Sure. And hey, since you’re coming with me anyway, want to work on our routine?”

“I wish I could—really, I do,” she says as we reach my truck. “But if I don’t study tonight, I’ll fail Marshall’s bio test tomorrow, and I already have a D in there. Raincheck?”

“Yeah,” I mutter, climbing inside the cab. “Raincheck.”