The next morning, I’m sure of one thing from the moment my eyes open: My mood is already past the point of prickly.
And the quote he leaves on the mirror? Well, let’s just say it stokes the fire that simmered inside me all night to fully aflame, hazardous levels.
No man knows how bad he is till he has tried very hard to be good.
I wipe it away instantly, growling to myself. To hell with his “nobility” and mixed messages, storming into my life and dangling his charm and everything else I can’t have right in front of my face!
He texts me several times throughout the day; no girl pictures this time, just completely random stuff, like a bird bathing in a puddle, a tree whose leaves are caught between summer green and fall yellow, and even one of his untied boot. I don’t respond to any of them.
Finally, in last period, he uses words.
Kingston: You’re angry.
I am, along with a heavy mixture of upset and bewildered, though I’ll never admit that to him. But I also won’t act like the immature schoolgirl he already seems to think I am.
So to prove that—and because he used words this time—I respond.
Me: No, I’m not. Why would you think that?
Not entirely a lie. I’m not just angry.
Kingston: Because you’re glaring at your phone, blemishing your beautiful face with that scowl I fear I caused.
My head pops up, eyes scanning frantically until they land on his, which are watching me through the glass pane in the classroom door.
What are you doing here? I mouth.
Waiting for you, he mouths back with an irresistible smirk and wink.
It’s a double-whammy reminder of all I can’t have. But he’s here, because he knows I’m upset. Who could stay mad after that?
Not this girl.
Of course, I have to wait for the swarm around him to scatter before I can get close enough to speak to him after class.
He’s wearing his combat boots, dark jeans, and a gray shirt, which is wrinkled from all the pawing. His nearly black hair sticks out in many delicious directions…and those smoky eyes are anchored to mine.
“You spend more time in this high school than half the guys who actually go here,” I say with a laugh as I approach him.
“I don’t enjoy being ignored,” he states.
“I imagine you don’t. Droves of attention seem more your thing,” I tease, now walking to my locker to put my stuff away.
He follows and leans one shoulder against the locker beside mine, his arms crossed over his chest. “Jealous?”
“No more than you were about Craig.”
I can’t believe I just said that! I don’t actually think he was jealous anymore—in fact, I’ve spent all day in a grumpy shame spiral, because his very specific advice and abrupt departure last night made it perfectly clear he wasn’t. And yet, I’d put it out there anyway.
No wonder he mystifies me. I can’t even figure myself out.
“Touché,” he chuckles, taking my hand in his.
I’m baffled all over again, because his reply implies he was jealous. But actions speak louder than words, and considering the dialect barrier, he’s probably just using that one wrong.
“Are we done fighting now?” he asks.
I roll my eyes and close the locker with my free hand. “We were never fighting. I had a brief lapse in sensibility, but I’m over it, so let’s move on.”
“As did I.” He kisses the inside of my wrist. “So we agree—it’s forgotten. What are your plans now?”
“I need to go pick up a few things for next week’s show.”
“Such as?” he asks.
I explain as we walk to my truck; his parked right beside it.
“Mind if I join you?”
I shrug. “You can if you want. Want to ride with me, or follow?”
“I’ll follow. Then perhaps we—”
“Kingston!” The squeal echoes across the parking lot, and I have no doubt that somewhere, glass has to be shattering from the unnatural octave.
Courtney, a blonde cheerleader in my grade, comes bouncing up to him, her hands immediately connecting with his arm and chest. “What are you doing here?”
I’d give her a two, but he might misunderstand and think I was saying “Peace out,” so I generously hold up three fingers.
“I gotta go,” I say before climbing into my truck, no longer caring whether he follows me.
But when I stop at the first light and happen to look in my rearview mirror, he’s right behind me, accompanied only by a smug grin.
Chapter 16
Savannah rides home with me on Friday, and wastes no time in revealing her agenda.
“There’s a party tonight and I really want you to go with me, Echo. I can’t go by myself, and—”
“Okay,” I say, saving her the convincing spiel.
“But you didn’t even—wait, did you say okay?”
I laugh as her prepped argument dies and disbelief settles across her face.
“Yep, I’ll go with you.” I’m in a great mood today. Kingston and I had a great time shopping yesterday, his texts today were all light and funny, and I aced the calc quiz. Why not try out a party for once?
“You’re serious? You’re actually agreeing, just like that, to go to a party tonight with me?”