Filthy Foreign Exchange(43)

I’m not alone in this battle of craved push and forbidden pull.

“Echo Victoria Kelly.”

My father’s booming voice stops me right outside his bedroom door.

“Yes, sir?”

“Did you have a nice time?”

Um. Never in a million years would that have been my guess as to what he’d say next.

“Honestly?”

“Always, young lady.”

“No, not really.”

He laughs. Laughs. “I’m glad to hear it. And Kingston—was that him pulling in the driveway behind you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Either of you drink?”

“No, sir.”

“That’s good. No more parties for you—especially ones hosted by a male junior in college. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Gotta love small towns; I’m sure he knew I was there before I even walked through the door. And he knew who was throwing it! I was there, even asked, and didn’t manage to nail down that piece of information.

“Good night, Echo. Good night, Kingston.”

He’s behind me now, unable to hide those heavy-booted footsteps from my dad.

“Good night, sir,” Kingston clips before walking right past me, straight to his room.

~~~~~

It’s Savannah’s incessant texting that wakes me. I roll over and read her messages, but don’t reply. I have nothing to say to her yet.

But when I notice the time, I’m shocked into a sitting position. I slept in pretty late. It had taken me a while to finally fall asleep—after I may have purposely stayed up for a bit, hoping Kingston would come talk to me.

But he hadn’t. Beyond that, though, I don’t remember it being a restless night.

I throw on a robe over my pajamas and head downstairs to apologize for missing breakfast, only to find the house quiet and empty. But there’s a plate of covered food and a note from my mom on the counter.

Sammy’s Boy Scout trip’s today. Be back late tonight. Dinner in fridge, just heat it up. Love, Mom.

That’s right: Sammy’s troop has a hike and campfire-awards thing today, which must leave me with the house to myself since there are no sounds of Kingston stirring anywhere. The twinge of disappointment this brings also no longer surprises me.

Guess I’ll work on my routine. Definitely won’t be calling Savannah to hang out.

I grab a piece of toast off the plate, then head back upstairs to take a shower. And since I have the place to myself, I turn on some music; “Here” by Alessia Cara is up first. Yes, I can relate to these lyrics.

My head’s tilted back, eyes closed as I rinse the conditioner from my hair, when it hits me: The song I hear now—”Dare You to Move” by Switchfoot—isn’t part of the playlist I chose.

He’s here. And his song choice isn’t just a clever play off the game from last night. It’s so much bigger than that.

I turn off the water and wrap a towel around my head, then put my robe on slowly, biding my time in deciding on my response.

He’s right on the other side of the door, waiting in my room. I can feel him. There’s no music now, either; it’s total silence for our stand-off. He’s dared me to move—to open the door and meet him in the middle.

I don’t open it yet, though, gathering my thoughts and composure before removing the safety of the wooden barricade.

“I have a robe on.” No idea why that’s what I squeak out.

“I know,” he answers simply.

“I’m not doing...I mean—”

“Ah, Love, not at all. Only a fool would rush through the best part: the dance.”

I smile at his metaphorical and meaningful choice of words as he continues.

“I have an idea. Once you come out here and agree to it, I’ll leave you to dress.”

I crack open the door and peek through, my hand clutching my robe closed even though I’ve already tied it in a double knot. Just in case.

He gives me a devilish yet friendly smile, beckoning me to come all the way out with a crook of his finger.

Lord, have mercy. That single gesture has my mind zig-zagging between right and wrong, shy and emboldened—all fragmenting until the pieces swirl together in one big, hazy circle.

“Echo, come here. I have no intention of pouncing on you the minute your parents leave the house that they’ve graciously opened to me.” He winks.

His smoldering eyes contradict his words, as does the hard bob of his Adam’s apple, but he’s telling the truth; I can feel, and trust, the honesty between us.

I step out and lift my chin. “There, I moved. Dare accepted, and completed. Now what?” I manage to sound confident and unaffected, even though I’m a fluttering mess inside.

“Now, I’d like to ask that you spend the day with me—show me what this off-roading is all about.”

“I…can do that.”

And I can. I need to. It’s time for me to prove to myself that I’m perfectly capable of spending time with my amorous next-room neighbor without things being strained or awkward. Because let’s face it: Neither of us is going anywhere anytime soon, so we have to get past the prohibited elephant in the room. I’d rather learn how to douse the flame he ignites within me with just a look than have to avoid him altogether. I’m not willing to sacrifice all the other things he brings out in me, too: zest, laughter…an easy happiness.