Filthy Foreign Exchange(23)

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 again, 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.