“Nothing.”
She sighs. “Now who’s shutting down?”
I groan and drop the bag, sit on the bed. “I’m from Nashville.”
She stares at me. “What?”
I nod. “Yeah. Lived there my whole life, from the time I was three. I was born in Ann Arbor, Michigan, but we moved to Nashville when I was three. I’m about thirty credits shy of a bachelor’s from Vanderbilt. I was the starting quarterback there for three years straight.”
Echo blinks. “Shut the fuck up. You’re kidding, right?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“I have friends who go to Vandy. I mean…Jesus. I dated a guy who was on the football team—two years ago?”
“What was his name?” I ask, feeling shaky.
“Marcus Shaker.”
I fall backward onto the bed. “You dated that asshole? Jesus. He’s a hell of a tight end, but he’s a total dickbag.”
“You know him?”
I stare at her. “Like I said, I was the starting quarterback.”
“Wait.” She waves her hands in a ‘hold on’ gesture. “Ben…like Benjamin Dorsey?”
I nod. “That’s me.”
She tilts her head back. “Holy shit. Marcus hates your ass.”
I laugh. “I know, and the feeling is mutual.” I glance at her. “Wanna know what our beef is?”
“Sure.”
“We were at a frat party one weekend. Our sophomore year. I caught him roughing up this chick in the bathroom. Pawing at her, calling her names. Had his hand up her skirt, and she was fighting him off, but…she wasn’t winning.” I shake my head, remembering. “I pounded his ass into the ground. He missed three games because of that fight. I reported it, but the girl refused to press charges, and the school never did shit about it. But he got a lesson from me, that’s for damn sure.”
“That—that sounds like Marcus,” Echo whispers. “I didn’t date him long.”
Something is off in her voice, in her posture. “Echo?”
She shakes her head, turns away, head ducked, fingers plucking at frayed white threads of a hole in the thigh of her jeans. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Because saying that makes me worry less.”
She shrugs. “You stopped him that time. But that wasn’t the only time he did something like that.”
“Meaning he tried it with you?”
Echo blows out a short, sharp breath, head tilted back on her neck. “It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. I dealt with it a long time ago. Just…drop it, okay?”
“Echo, come on, you can’t just—”
“I said drop it!” She turns, shouting. “It’s old news, and none of your business.”
I slide up behind her, my hands curling around her arms. “Echo, Jesus—”
She shakes me off. “I’m not talking about it, Ben. I don’t need your help.” She turns, takes the bag from me, pushes me out of the bedroom, through the living room to the front door; I let her push me, though I’m not sure why. “You’ve done enough. Thank you, and goodbye.”
“So it’s like that, huh?”
She holds the front door open, gestures out. “It’s like that.”
I stop in the doorway, turn to look at her. We’re close. She’s holding the front door, standing in the tiny foyer, eyes hard, posture ramrod-stiff, but her lower lip trembles and her fist on the doorknob is white-knuckled.
“More Than Miles” by Brantley Gilbert plays on the radio.
I’m at a total loss for words. “Echo, I—”
She just shakes her head and cuts me off. “Nothing to say, Ben. It’s not about Mom, it’s not about Marcus. It’s just…I can’t do this with you.”
“Why not?” I close in, stand so close she has to peer up at me. “Why are you pushing me away?”
“Because you’re getting too close, Ben. And that’s the last thing on earth I have the time or emotional energy for.”
I glance down and see the outline of her phone in the hip pocket of her tight jeans. I pry it out, hand it to her. “Unlock it real quick.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.” So she does it, hands it back. I dial my cell number, and after my phone has rung twice, I hang up the call and save her number into my phone. And then I call her phone from mine and save my number under “Benji.” I hand it back to her. “Can I at least see you before you leave?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now. I just know I’m overwhelmed and you’re making it worse. You’re confusing me, and I don’t need that right now.”
“Fair enough.” I start to turn away, but then change my mind.
I grab her face in both hands and kiss her hard and deep, wrestling her lips with mine, slashing her tongue with mine. I cup her cheek in one hand and slide my other hand to her waist and crush her against my body.
She lets me kiss her, stunned, for several seconds, and then I break away. She gazes up at me, two fingers to her lips, like she can’t believe I just did that. “You suck,” she whispers.
And then she pulls me back in, closes the front door, and then we spin and her spine is pinned against the door and Echo is lifting up on her toes to kiss me. She tries to go gently, but I’m having none of that. I don’t know what’s driving me. It’s not mere lust, though there’s that in spades. I want to prove something to her, but again, I’m not sure what.
When her lips touch mine, shivering and trembling, her breath soughing slowly over my tongue, I breathe in her scent and then dive in to steal her oxygen, demand her kiss, demand heat, demand fire. And she gives it. She lifts up on her toes and clutches my shirtfront and gasps and relinquishes gentility in favor of aggression.
My hands seek skin, her shirt rises and I find it, palm her spine and the soft curves of her sides, just above the waist of her jeans, and then my fingers are toying with the string of her thong peeking up over the low-rise jeans and hers are busy at my chest, pushing at my shirt.
But I’m not content to merely kiss. Not after what we had together this afternoon. I break the kiss and grab her by the shoulders, spin her in place so her front is pressed up against the door, and I slide my palms around her waist to her belly, press in flat and dig my fingers under the waistband of her jeans, against her skin. She gasps and sucks in her stomach, rests her forehead against the door and lets out the breath in a whimper when my fingertips graze her opening. She’s limp against the door, yet also taut and tense at the same time. I pop the button of her jeans and lower the zipper and shove them down, and she’s pushing back against me, grabbing my hand and pressing it to her now-bare core, dipping at the knees as I touch her, find her wet and willing. She’s gasping out loud within moments, and then she’s reaching blindly behind her for my zipper, and before I know it, my own pants are around my ankles and I’m pressing up against her.