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.
It was bound to happen—any girl with eyes would choose Kingston. I’m surprised it took this long.
“Kiiingston,” she purrs, eating him up with a look of pure lust. “I dare you to come over here and kiss the hell outta me.”
His eyes flicker to mine, question and worry swimming in their depths. “Echo, I can’t take a shot. I can’t drink and have your parents smell it on me—or worse, drive.”
“You’re absolutely right.” I hitch my shoulders, as though the dull sting inside me isn’t quickly building to paralyzing levels. I want to say to him, “You don’t have to do either. It’s a stupid game—not mandatory.” But even more so, I want him to refuse on his own. Why would he do that, though, after wanting to play the game in the first place?
“Echo?” He nudges me, the pleading in his eyes almost enough to persuade me to rescue him, like he’s begging me to.
But then I think of the times when I know my eyes have asked the same of him—Rescue me, Kingston. Say something, anything, to save me from feeling like a smitten little fool of a girl who misread your signals—only to have him ignore it.
So I put up my guard, like he’s been training me over and over to do, and answer him hollowly. “Guess you better go kiss the hell outta her then.”
“Let’s go, Hawthorne! You’re holding up the game!” Clay prods loudly. “Hell, you’ve fucked half the town already. What’s a kiss matter?”
“I’m sorry,” Kingston whispers to me.
Sorry for what? Is he sorry he’s just been accused of having slept with half the town, that he has to kiss her, or both?
He stands and takes slow steps toward the girl. She’s waiting impatiently with a huge smile on her face, needlessly pushing her chest out. We’ve all already seen ‘em, dumbass.
I don’t know what he’s sorry for, nor do I know whether he kisses her deeply and slowly, running his hands through her hair, or hard and fast—because I’m out the door and hightailing it to my truck before he even makes it all the way to her.
Chapter 17