Filthy Foreign Exchange(41)

He dips his head and I feel his mouth brush against my ear, his whisper warm on my skin. “You shouldn’t be here, Love. This is no place for you.”

I pull back and look up to meet his eyes. I’m suddenly fuming. “And why not? I’m not ten, Kingston, and you’re not that much older than me. I’m allowed to have fun, just like everyone else.”

“Of course you are. I simply meant—”

“There you are!”

Some girl wearing even less than Savannah, which I would’ve sworn was impossible, bounces over and literally pushes herself between us. She reaches up to wrap her arms around Kingston’s neck and coos, “You owe me a dance, sexy. Let’s go.”

Clay capitalizes on the distraction by grabbing my hand. “I’ve got Echo. Go back to your girl, mate,” he goads Kingston, tugging me in the opposite direction.

And I let him, because I have no desire to watch Kingston dance, or do anything else, with that girl. But I peek back over my shoulder before I can stop myself, to find that Kingston hasn’t moved. His eyes are locked on me, an annoyed frown marring his face.

I look at the girl, then back at him, and hold up one finger—not the middle one, although I’m tempted.

~~~~~

My head is pounding, and I’m positive this is at least the fourth time this same freaking song has played since I’ve been here. Shuffle All, anyone?

Clay shows me to the bathroom, promising to wait right outside the door for me. But I’m not at all surprised to find, when I walk out, that he didn’t. So now I’m left wandering on my own through God only knows whose house to find Savannah, beyond ready to leave.

I make it halfway down the hall when the commotion in a room to my right snags my attention. I stand just outside the door, peeking around the jamb to figure out what it is I’m hearing. Oh, surely not.

From what I can gather, a group has assembled to play what they’re calling Shot or Dare—a very lame adaptation of Truth or Dare, which I didn’t realize anyone beyond the age of fifteen still played. More disturbing than the pathetic game, however, is the fact that Clay and Savannah are both in there, neither seeming concerned with my whereabouts.

“I dare you to play.”

The husky challenge scorches the back of my neck. Kingston.

I shake my head quickly. “I need to get home. No way I’m staying with Savannah after the way she’s treated me tonight, and weekend curfew is midnight,” I answer while still facing away, watching the room in disgusted fascination as one girl takes her shirt off.

“I’m aware. We still have plenty of time.” He spreads his palm across my lower back. “Come, let’s play. I won’t leave your side. I swear.”

I don’t stop him when he urges me forward.

Savannah notices us enter. I take that back—Savannah notices Kingston enter and jumps up, running over to us.

“Echo, I was looking everywhere for you! Where’ve you been?”

I abandon every manner I’ve ever been taught and answer immediately—and bluntly.

“No, you weren’t. You’ve not given a single damn where I’ve been all night. But I’m a good friend, so if you’d like a ride home, I’m ready to leave.”

“Oh, um…” She bites her nail, dropping her gaze. “I’m gonna sleep at Adrianna’s. I thought I told you that. And I did look for you, I swear.” She peers up at me through a liar’s lashes and offers a small, apologetic smile. “Come on, stay a little longer. Craig’s over there—maybe he’ll pick you for a dare.”

Every muscle in Kingston’s body goes rigid when she says that. I can feel it from where he stands behind me, his front flush against my back.

“Brilliant,” he says with a bite of sarcasm. I feel his hand move to my hip, flexing and holding me tightly. “Savannah has a ride sorted, and we have some time to play. Come then, Echo. Let’s see what it’s about.”

Savannah claps. “Yay!”

Seriously? Did she miss the part where I insinuated she was a terrible friend and I was upset about it?

“Whatever,” I concede, not resisting as Kingston moves us farther into the room.

We share a beanbag for a seat and watch a few rounds of the foolishness. A guy named Bryce, whom I remember from him having played football with Seb, dares a pretty redhead to give him a lap dance. And she does, with no shame, in the roomful of people.

It’s her turn next, and she dares a guy I don’t know to drop his pants. He has the modesty to instead opt for a shot…from her cleavage. But he doesn’t just take the shot—he spends a whole lot of time “stuck” between her breasts.

Well, nix the modesty credit I just gave him.

Next, he dares another girl to flash her breasts. Did he not get his fill from the last pair? Of course, the entire room is cheering her on—not that the encouragement’s needed, considering she’s already standing and giving a little ass shake while she raises her top.

And look at that: no bra. How convenient. She must shop at the same can’t-wear-a-bra-with-this store as Savannah.

My eyes roll back on an unimpressed sigh. I can’t take anymore; it’s like watching live porn. Not that I’ve ever watched porn, but I’m guessing I’m not far off.

I cast a sidelong glance at Kingston, and am about to tell him I’m leaving just as Ms. Flasher chooses him.