Filthy Foreign Exchange

by Angela Graham

  “Mm-hmm,” he hums low in his chest as he sits down on the steps, in my previous spot. “How’s your brother getting on?”

  I shrug. “Fine. Said he likes it over there.”

  He nods. “I’m sure. Father can be quite hospitable when it serves him.”

  I sit back down beside him. “And your mom?” I ask, very quietly, ashamed of my nosiness but unable to contain it.

  “My mum died when I was young, Echo. You can lift your head—I don’t mind you asking. And frankly, I already miss that beautiful face of yours.”

  “Do you miss her?” My words are measured, broken up by my nerves.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t remember her to miss her. But people tell me she was a wonderful woman, so I often imagine what having her around might have been like. Does that make sense?”

  “Perfect sense.” I let my hand brush over his lightly. “I’m sorry, Kingston.”

  The strong, sturdy muscles flex in his arms as he braces his hands on the step and scoots his body closer to mine. He dips his head so our eyes are level. “What are you sorry for, Love?”

  I can’t tear my gaze from the earnest depth in his own. “That you didn’t grow up with a mom, and that you can’t remember the time you did have her. My heart hurts for you.”

  “You actually mean that,” he states, without a hint of doubt. I remain silent. “And you brushed right over my compliment. Did you even hear it, or were you truly distracted by my feelings?”

  I open my mouth to answer, but he closes it for me with a fingertip under my chin. “No need. I already know the answer.”

  “Kingston…” I breathe out. I’m unsure of what to say next, but thankfully Sammy saves me by choosing that moment to bound through the front door.

  “Echo, Mom wants your help with dinner! And Kingston, Dad said you better have that truck done, or you can’t eat.”

  Oh my God. Our solemn moment is completely shattered, and I’m now laughing so hard my sides cramp. The appalled look on Kingston’s face is priceless.

  “Would he really withhold dinner?”

  “Yes,” I wheeze through my laughter.

  “Good thing for me, then, that Clay was set on proving his manhood and finished the unloading.”

  “Prove it to who? No one was watching.”

  “Oh, someone was watching.”

  He stares at me intently, as if waiting for me to figure out his riddle. When I don’t, he stands and offers me his hand instead.

  “Never mind that. Let’s go see to this nosh. I’m hungry.”

  ~~~~~

  After the brief but meaningful moments we share on the porch, Kingston and I somehow fall into a companionable routine. My shower messages, which I now look forward to reading to start my day, are always there waiting.

  I only have calculus on his campus three days a week; I get to skip out early the other two days, so I don’t see him at school Tuesday. On Wednesday afternoon, I’m happily relieved to have Savannah at my side when we enter the calculus classroom—and also grateful to see Kingston already seated across the room from where he knows I’ll sit.

  He shoots me a small, secret grin that’s fleeting, but says it all. He’s giving me what I want by herding his “flock” away from me: anonymity. He even goes so far as to focus on the professor—something I’m surprised to see—but it works at keeping most of the girls quiet and feigning concentration on learning.

  By the time we’re dismissed, I have a pile of notes in my hands and a smile on my face. With Kingston’s new “cooperation,” class went off without a hitch, and I appreciate his extra effort that made it possible.

  It’s the reason I wait outside the door for him. I’m planning to extend the olive branch in return by offering him a ride home.

  Still engulfed in a sea of identical clingers whose common traits include push-up bras and stars in their eyes, he doesn’t see me and starts to walk right past. I don’t have time to talk myself out of what would normally make me shrivel up in a ball of embarrassment, and hear myself calling his name.

  He turns back, his right arm slung over the shoulders of one blonde I don’t know, left arm being clung to by a blonde I do—Savannah—and smiles from ear to ear.

  “Waiting for me?” he asks, a little too loudly for my comfort level.

  I walk closer to narrow the gap between us, wanting to keep the conversation somewhat private by not broadcasting it down the hall. “I, uh…thought I’d see if you wanted a ride home with Savannah and me,” I say as stoically as possible, ignoring the glare coming from the girl under his right arm.

  “Oh, Clay’s picking me up today!” Savannah chirps. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you. I need to shop for my birthday outfit, and I knew you wouldn’t want to go.” She shrugs a shoulder and smiles.

  “Yeah, no, of course,” I fumble like an idiot before looking at Kingston, trying to convey my standing offer without words.

  He hears me. “Lovely of you to offer, mate, but Deanna here has me sorted today.”

  “Dinah,” the girl giggles, playfully slapping his chest in the process. Because it’s funny when people can’t remember your name?

  Whatever. It’s a win-win for me. I offered, which puts a checkmark in the “Gracious Host Family” column, and he called me “mate”—which I’m hoping means he’s joined me in starting to feel comfortable with the possibility of building a real friendship, and will therefore take to commenting on Dinah’s ass from now on instead.

  “Okay, guess I’ll see ya both later!” I sound as peppy as I feel, pleased at the thought of having the ride home to myself and the major strides in niceties I made today.

  “Okay! Bye, Echo!” I hear Savannah say as I turn to leave.

  “Bye!” I call over my shoulder as I all but skip away.

  Chapter 8

  I’ve just finished helping my mom set the table for dinner when I hear the crunch of gravel and the roar of an engine coming from outside.

  “Well, would you look at that?” my mother says in astonishment, practically begging me to scurry to the kitchen window to see what has her so fascinated.

  “What?” I turn away, already bored with my unremarkable findings. “Some girl in calc gave him a ride home.”

  “Then where is she?” my father grumbles, now at the window beside my mother. “And why is Kingston driving?”

  Hmm. Guess I missed a few key details with my quick glance.

  “Wow!” Sammy exclaims as he flings open the front door and rushes out. “Is this your car, Kingston? Can I have a ride? Can I drive?” My brother’s “outside” voice easily travels inside.

  “Echo, go get your brother,” Dad growls. “And answer those questions of his—before I do it my way.”

  “Yes¸ sir.”

  I head out to the porch and call for him. “Sammy, come here, please.” I shake my head at Kingston, trying not to smile as I mouth, You buy that?

  Maybe, he mouths back, smirking.

  “Do you see his cool car, Echo? Look how bright red it is, like a racecar! Bet it’s really fast.” My baby brother dances in place, talking a mile a minute—loudly. “I want one just like it!”

  “I see it.” I laugh, tousling his hair when he finally stands still at my side. “Listen to me a minute though, okay?” I squat down to his level and grip both his shoulders to ensure I have his full attention. “You’re way too young to drive—you know that, right?”

  “Yeah,” he replies as he hangs his head.

  “Okay. Then don’t talk crazy, asking to drive like that again. It scares Mom, and makes Dad mad.” He nods, but I continue. “And no rides. You’re too young to be in a car that fast.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Promise me you’ll stay away from that car, Sammy. Just think if you scratched it. Mom and Dad would have to work twice as hard to pay to fix it.”

  That gets his attention. Even at his age, he’d never cause our parents a hardship. “I promise, Echo.”

  “Thank yo
u.” I then dip my head to his ear and whisper, “Besides, he probably hasn’t even figured out what side of the road to drive on yet.”

  Sammy snickers, covering his mouth and nodding again—this time like he’s really “with” me on the rules.

  After a kiss to his sweet head, I stand. “Now go wash up, then hug Dad.”

  I wait until after he scampers inside to pull the door closed and stroll toward Kingston, his smug grin squaring off against my mocking raised brows.

  “A red Mustang in Kelly Springs? What, you weren’t getting enough attention before?”

  “What can I say? As much as I enjoyed my ride from Deanna—”

  “Pretty sure it’s still ‘Dinah.’ Also, gross,” I interrupt. I can’t believe my mind went to the dirty place, but it sure did.

  “Yes, her. As I was saying—”

  “Don’t say it again.” I scrunch my nose. “I mean it. We’re about to eat.”

  He chuckles, shutting the car door and walking closer. “Having my own automobile was a necessity. I enjoy being the one behind the wheel.” He stops in front of me. “Steering things. Setting my own pace.”

  His words, I suspect, hold a deeper meaning. But I have no time to ponder it before he adds, “And I prefer options—such as the one to say no to rides from strangers. When it pleases me, of course.”

  “You should’ve said no to the salesperson who talked you into this cheesy car, which screams overcompensation.” I step around him to get a better look at his gaudy new toy.

  “You don’t like it?” he asks, disbelief heavy in his tone.

  I glance back over my shoulder to catch his wide, round eyes and slack jaw. My smile turns into a snort of sarcasm as I point across the driveway.

  “That truck I drive every day? I do so because it’s mine. And it’s mine because I bought it. And—shocking, I know—but I bought it because I like trucks.”

  “Ah, for the built-in bed in the back?” My face contorts, eyes cutting into him as he adds in a simper, “That’s the correct term, yes?”

  “Yes, that’s the right word. And no, that’s not the reason, but you already knew that. You’re just being a jerk. Why?”

  “Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that you’re insinuating my new auto isn’t the bee’s knees?”

  “Eh.” I shrug. “I guess it only matters if you like it. Not my car.”

  The door opens and my mother’s head pops out, a frown firmly in place on her lips.

  “Echo, surely the young lady I raised isn’t out here insulting the guest we invited into our home? Tell me I’m worrying for nothing, and you were busy admiring Kingston’s beautiful new car.”

  My dad walks up behind her and gives me a look of shared amusement. “Awfully flashy. You could’ve used Sebastian’s Jeep, Kingston. Should’ve said something.”

  “Thank you, sir, but I didn’t want to impose any more than I already have. It was no trouble. My father approved the expenditure from my savings.”

  “With your racing history…I shouldn’t have to remind you, but just in case you forgot, I won’t tolerate it while you’re living here. One strike, you’re out. Got it?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “And I don’t want to know how you managed to finagle a US driver’s license so fast. But my kids? They won’t be riding with you.”

  It’s a statement that makes even me shiver from the threat behind it.

  “Understood.”

  My father looks over the car, then back at Kingston. “All righty, then. Let’s eat!”

  He pivots, silently commanding that we all follow.

  “Must be nice,” I mumble under my breath, nudging Kingston with an elbow. “Your father sent you to the States because you were in trouble, and you already have a license and a Mustang. How’d you manage that?”

  “I have my ways.”

  “Ways with Daddy’s money? Impressive.”

  ~~~~~

  The next couple days go by fairly normally—well, as normally as one can hope for considering the hot, new British guy in town lives with you.

  People at school—no, just the female population, actually, who’d never spoken to me before— now greet me every morning to ask about everything from what Kingston did last night to whom he did it with.

  And the number-one most-asked question? “Does he have a girlfriend?”

  They even hand me notes—cards that reek of perfume, containing their phone numbers and outlining in great detail what their authors are offering, to pass onto him. One particularly classy girl even handed me Polaroids! Those went straight in the trash, along with her dignity.

  After calculus Friday, I watch Kingston open his car door for some brunette to climb inside. He throws me a wink across the parking lot as I stand next to my truck, waiting for Savannah. I shift my gaze to the girl, who severely needs to work on her car-entry skills—especially when she’s not wearing any panties.

  If Britney Spears couldn’t pull it off, she damn sure can’t.

  I look back at him and shake my head. Wondering whether he’ll understand, I hold up six fingers to convey my rating of the girl. She’s pretty, sure, but she leaves nothing to the imagination and won’t challenge Kingston’s charming wit—or anything at all, for that matter.

  His brows knit, telling me he’s clueless about what my gesture meant. I simply smile and send him a wink of my own, just as Savannah rushes over and slaps the roof of my truck.

  “You ready?” she asks.

  When I take one final glance back across the lot, it’s only Kingston’s tail pipe I see, and I’m left wondering how his first real weekend in the States will treat him.

  “Always.”

  Once we’re on the road, I invite Savannah, as instructed, to dinner that night for her birthday. She accepts, but smiles deviously as she climbs out of my truck when we reach her house. I know that look, and brace myself accordingly.

  “On one condition—that you have to accept, because it’ll break your mom’s heart if I miss the meal she works so hard on for me every year.”

  “You’re playing my mother against me? Damn, that’s low, Savannah,” I scold, confident she’s half-kidding. She’d never purposely hurt my mom’s feelings…and live to tell about it.

  “Not really.” She waves a hand dismissively. “You know I wouldn’t do that. But I really want you to come to the game tonight. Please, Echo? For my birthday?”

  “What game?” I ask.

  “You’re not kidding, are you?” Her mouth’s hanging open, eyes bulging. “How is that possi—never mind.” She laughs, short and sharp. “I forgot who I was talking to. Echo, our high school—the one you’ve attended for the last three years—has a football game every Friday night. I’m on the cheerleading squad…ringing any bells?”

  Yes. Loud, annoying ones that are giving me a headache.

  “Oh, um…” I stall.

  “It’s our senior year, and it’s the showcase game, Echo.”

  “Which is…?”

  “Honestly? A glorified scrimmage to get everyone excited about the season.”

  “It’s not even a real game?” I’m not trying to be a bitch, I’m just really curious why this is the game she expects me to go to.

  “They do actually play football, and I’ll be there cheering—on my birthday. Can you get excited about that?”

  I’m already sold, because it’s her day. But I can’t help scrunching my nose and pursing my lips, as though weighing my options, just to watch her squirm as her anger spikes.

  “Eh…”

  “It’s a smaller crowd!” she shouts, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Oh, so no one else wants to watch either?”

  Now I’m really screwing with her, because why not? If I’m going to endure the nightmare that is socializing with my fellow students, I’m going to get something out of it.

  “No, Echo, it’s just our team, playing against each other, so there are no other teams’ fans there. And aga
in, it’s. My. Birthday!”

  Before I can end the torment and tell her I’ve caved (and that this means I’m keeping the perfume I bought her in light of this new, very generous gift), she leans into my open window and glares.

  “And you’ve never once come to watch me cheer. I’m asking you, for my present, to please be there tonight.”

  I sigh, dropping my forehead against the steering wheel. “Fine. What time, and where?” I peer up, laughing as she shrieks and claps her hands. “And this will be the only game, ever. Remember that.”

  “We’ll leave together from your house after dinner. I’d hate for you to get lost, trying to find the huge football field located directly behind our school. See you in an hour!”

  She bangs her hand against my truck and skips into her house.

  What the hell did I just agree to?

  Definitely keeping the perfume.

  ~~~~~

  Savannah shows up right on time for dinner—as does Clay, what with this being a long-standing tradition. The only people missing to enjoy the huge spread my mother has laid out is Sebastian…and his stand-in.

  Sammy asks the question for me—with his mouth full, of course. “Where’s Kingston?”

  “He called and asked if he could miss dinner this evening. I didn’t see a problem with it,” my father answers. “Swallow your food, son. I have my own meal. I don’t need to see yours.”

  Like every other birthday gathering, we laugh and tell stories. Tonight’s main topic is Sebastian, whom we all miss, though I’ve yet to hear whether he’s called Savannah. It’s hard to believe my brother would forget her birthday, but just in case, I don’t bring it up. And it’s a good thing, because she doesn’t either.

  Savannah leans over and hugs my mom. “As usual, everything is delicious. Thank you so much, Julie, but we have to get going for the game. I hope you understand.”

  “Of course, dear. I’m just sorry Sebastian wasn’t here this year. You must miss him.” Her statement has the undertone of being more a question. It’s laced with the same skepticism that barely hides behind her eyes as she watches Clay rise from his chair to join Savannah.