Fuck, I feel guilty. I feel guilty as her friend. I feel guilty as a Catholic man of honor whose ma, sister and nonna would punch in the balls if they knew what I was thinking right now. And oh fuck right—I feel guilty because I’m supposed to be Alana’s boyfriend and I’m finally going to meet her in New York in a few weeks.
I’ve put my buddy Logan into an Uber along with some redhead that I wing manned—okay strong-armed—him into going home with so he’d stay away from Birdie. They were the last to leave, even though eleven is really early for a party to be over. But I could tell she was getting anxious, so I turned off the music, turned on all the lights and put on CNN. Boom. Instant party killer.
Now I’m pacing around outside her building before going back in to help her clean up. She’s been avoiding me even more since the bedroom incident and I don’t want to leave things hanging. And I also want to see her tits again—but I’m not going to. Unless she decides to flash me again—then it can’t be helped.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket—three times in a row—and I know before pulling it out of my pocket that it’s Alana. She always sends multiple short texts in a row. It’s sort of a signature thing she does that I used to get really excited about—because three texts from a hot model with two million followers on Instagram is better than one.
But now I’m just wondering why she can’t write “Hey! How are you? You busy?” in one message.
But shit—I forgot to send her a good night text. For the first time since we started texting. I also forgot to check if she posted anything on The Gram. If I don’t like and comment on her photos, people will think we’ve broken up. But she won’t think that—she’s cool. Not cool like Birdie, but she’s really low maintenance for a model. Which is why I like her.
ME: Hey babe! I was just busy thinking about you ;) You’re still up? I’ve been hanging out with a few old friends in LA.
ALANA: Just getting into bed, actually.
ALANA: Looooong day!
ALANA: I forgot you’re in LA this weekend.
ALANA: Thought you might want to FaceTime…
Okay. The dot dot dot is intriguing…
But I can’t.
ME: Oh man, I’d love to. But I’m in the middle of helping my buddy with something.
ALANA: Oh.
ALANA: Okay no problem!
ALANA: I just wanted to show you this new thing I got to keep.
ALANA: From the photo shoot today.
Seconds later, she sends me a selfie. She’s holding up her long brown hair with one hand, her massive puffy lips are pouting, and she’s wearing—hello!—a flimsy little crop top and boy shorts.
Fuuuuck me. That’s hot. She’s hot.
But no.
Nope.
She’ll still be hot tomorrow night and I need to deal with Birdie now before shit gets weird.
Also, it’s not like Alana’s going to have FaceTime sex with me. She’s not that kind of girl. She’s the kind of girl who sends enticing pics just to get me going—but she’s not going to get naked, so we can fuck our hands, separate-but-together. I know this because I’ve asked. Every few weeks. And she’s declined every time. And I respect that.
Unless tonight’s the night she changes her mind?
But no.
Nope.
I’m here for Birdie.
ME: Fuuuuuck babe. So hot. You’re killing me. But I really have to help my buddy with this thing. Rain check for tomorrow night?
ALANA: Sure.
ALANA: I need to get up early for work anyway.
ALANA: Kiki and Foo Foo can’t wait to meet you! xoxo
And then, she sends a photo of the two foster dogs who are sleeping on her bed. Which is cute. She fosters dogs. She’s a big animal rights activist. And I like that. But I’m here for Birdie.
And I more than like everything about Birdie.
I think I’m confused.
And I don’t like being confused.
I need to pull it together because Birdie is my friend and Alana is my girlfriend. That’s how it is. I’m not some fifteen-year-old guy who has to jerk it to every girl he sees. I’m a man. A rational twenty-six-year-old man. Who is going to think about his friend’s tits the entire time he walks back up to his friend’s apartment and then never think about them again—until he gets home later.
I need to be the captain of this Friend Ship. That’s my goal. I need to steer us back in the right direction and all will be right in the world again. As Birdie has pointed out to me many times—I have Resting Flirt Face. So, I just need to not flirt with my face. Or my abs. Or my butt.
I knock on her front door before using my spare key. That’s how close we are—we have spare keys to each other’s places. She waters my plants when I’m out of town and she felt weird about having my spare key if I didn’t have one of hers. That’s how much she trusts me. And how do I repay her? By obsessing about her delicate petal pink nipples.
I scan the living room and spot her in the kitchen.
Shit, she took her cardigan off.
Now she’s only wearing a strappy top thing.
Now there’s one less layer of clothing between me and her boobs.
She took it off because she wants me to make a move.
But she also took out her contacts and put her glasses on.
Mixed messages.
But also hot.
“How you doin’?”
Shit. I Joey’d her. From twenty feet away. Knee-jerk reaction. I am definitely flirting with my face too.
She rolls her eyes at me, but she’s grinning. And blushing. And pouring herself another glass of wine.
Which is interesting.
“I am well. Thought I’d lost you. You want to help me finish off this wine? There’s only a little left in this bottle.”
“I really shouldn’t.” I lift my sweater up and pat my rock-hard belly. Which counts as ab-flirting. Shit. “Got a couple of shirtless scenes coming up. I shouldn’t have had the Guinness.”
“Awww, come on,” she chides, pouring out about two mouthfuls of red wine into a coffee mug. “Your abs called while you were out. They want a pizza. And wine.”
“Oh yeah?” I join her in the kitchen and pick up that mug. “Your brain called while I was out. It wants an orgasm. Or twenty.”
She nearly chokes on her wine and I swear to God I didn’t even think that comment through before I said it.
That was my bad.
“You okay?” I reach over to rub her back, but she steps away from me.
Her eyes are watering, but when she finally regains her composure, she is frowning at me. “I happen to be all good on the orgasm front, thanks.”
And now I’m just thinking about all the things I’d do to the front of her to give her an orgasm. Or twenty.
“Happy to hear it.” I raise my mug. I think it’s about time my friend meets the O’Sullivan side of Eddie Cannavale… “May your giving hand never fail you, Birdie Beckett,” I offer as a toast in my finest Irish brogue.
She blinks once and then I am met with a blank stare.
That may have been too brief of a toast, so I try again. “May your troubles be less and your blessings be more. And nothing but happiness come through your front door.” I polish off my wine.
Crickets.
More blank stare.
Total broguemance fail.
Serves me right. I will have to try harder, re the friend thing. Or possibly try harder at seducing her. But I can’t do both at the same time… Can I?
She takes a deep breath before asking, "Question. Did you, by any chance, see my nipples earlier?"
If I hadn’t already swallowed the wine, I would have done an awesome spit-take. "Yes. Yes, I did."
"Okay.” She puts her mug of wine down on the counter, combs her fingers through her long, wavy, dark blonde hair and then twists it up into some kind of knot on top of her head. Which is really annoying because now her long, slender neck is exposed, and so are her colla
rbones and the top of her cleavage and I really like her bare arms too. She sighs and then crosses her arms in front of her chest. “I just want you to know that it was an accident. Revealing them. I forgot that I wasn't wearing a bra."
"Understood."
"But I mean…” She shrugs and then takes a sip of wine before continuing. “It happened. I think we should just acknowledge that we had a brief, nipple-y, mildly boner-y moment and move past it. So we can get back to being friends. Right?"
"Agreed. I hereby acknowledge the aforementioned mild boner and nipple slip and I would also like to acknowledge that both of your nipples looked great."
She snort-laughs and covers her mouth with one hand and it’s so fucking cute. "Shut up.”
"No, I'm really proud of you. As a friend. They're top-notch."
"Okay, moving on!"
I clink mugs with her, even though mine is empty. “To being friends with absolutely no benefits.”
She pauses, contemplating me for a brief but very telling moment and then nods definitively. “Exactly.” She takes a huge gulp of wine and then pours the rest of it into the sink.
I try very hard not to take in the entire length of the backside of her slender frame and I should have tried a lot harder not to emit a wistful sigh like a total fucking pussy. “So…New York.”
“Yes…New York. Flying to the Big Apple to meet your Instagirlfriend for Valentine’s Day, huh? Baller move.”
I bend down and nudge her leg so I can open the cupboard beneath the sink. “I need a paper bag for the recyclables.”
“Just use the bin,” she says before discovering that the recycling bin under her sink is already full.
“I’ve been putting empties in the bin all night. That’s why this place isn’t a mess right now.”
“I didn’t even realize that… Thank you.” She steps aside to let me grab a carefully folded paper bag.
“Thank you. And yes. It is a baller move.” I start picking up empty beer bottles and cans. “Why are you going?”
“Well, you know, I’ve always wanted to go to New York. And it’s so weird that I haven’t yet. But I decided that this is the year. And then I saw that there’s a TEDx conference there in February. I will have finished the projects I’m working on by then, and we aren’t expecting a new collection until the end of the month, so it’s a good time for me to take a little vacation. And of course, I’ll be going to the main library and as many art museums as possible.”
I am dying to laugh at this, but she seems so excited. “So you’re going to New York in the middle of February—when the weather is super shitty, by the way—to attend a TED Talk and go to the New York Public Library and a bunch of art museums?” Okay, I’m being kind of a dick, but at least I’m not laughing at her.
“It’s a TEDx, not a TED conference. And you’re flying all the way across the country to bone someone. What’s your point?”
“No point. Moving on. More importantly—you’re actually flying across the country? That’s huge.” Birdie has claimed to be afraid of flying ever since I met her. That’s why she’s never traveled very far. That’s why she hugs me tight every single time she says goodbye to me before I travel. She continues to load the dishwasher and her silence tells me all I need to know. “Come on. Seriously? Tell me you’re not taking the train to New York.”
“I’m taking the train to New York. Already booked my tickets.”
“Bird. Cancel them. Get a refund. You can fly there with me. I’ll come down from Vancouver. That way, if the plane goes down, we go down together.”
“Hell no.” She wipes her hands on her jeans and turns to face me. “If your plane goes down, I need to be alive to read your eulogy at the funeral. Someone who isn’t related to you needs to get up there and wax rhapsodic about something other than your abs and butt.”
“True. Just make sure someone does pay tribute to my abs and butt, though.”
Now she’s pouting. I’ve made two women pout in one night—I’m on a roll. “Don’t joke about your plane going down. It’s not funny.”
“It’s also not going to happen. Come on. You can’t avoid flying forever.”
“Well, I didn’t put ‘stop avoiding flying’ on my list of New Year’s resolutions, so… Maybe next year. I’m looking forward to the train ride. I’ll get tons of reading done, and this way, I’ll get to see the whole country without having to drive. Trains are romantic. I’m really excited, actually.”
I like that little mischievous smirk on her face, but I do not have a good feeling about it. “And you’re planning to go by yourself?”
“Yes. But I’m sure I’ll meet people. There are lounges, you know. And they sell alcohol on the train.”
I do not like the sound of that.
“Oh yeah? Sounds like fun. It also sounds like a great way to meet a serial killer. How long’s the trip?”
“Ohhh, you know…” She waves her hand dismissively. “Sixty-nine hours and twenty-three minutes.”
I do some very quick math in my head. “So, almost three full days.”
“Hey, good for you!” She’s not being condescending. She’s actually happy for me because I was able to divide sixty-nine by twenty-four in my head. “I leave on the evening of the ninth and arrive at Penn Station the evening of the twelfth. I just have to change trains in Chicago.”
“Three days just to get to New York. And how long would you stay in New York?”
“Three days.”
“Uh-huh. So three days to get there, three days there and three days back? You’re taking a nine-day vacation and only spending three of those days in New York City?”
“Yes, Eddie, that is my itinerary. I already have everything planned out, and the journey there and back will be half the fun.”
“You’re going to a Ted Talk and a library and some museums—half of no fun is less than no fun. I can do that math in my head too.”
“You know what?” Her eyes are getting watery again, like when she was choking on the wine. “I don’t know why you care so much about what I’ll be doing. You’ll be busy banging your hot Instagirlfriend. What I do and how I do it is none of your business.” She dabs at the corners of her eyes with her fingertips. “I’ll finish tidying up tomorrow. You can go.” Her voice is trembling.
“Whoa. What just happened?”
She covers her face with her hands. “I’m tired from talking to people all night. I just want to be alone, okay? Thanks for coming.”
I drop the bag of recyclables, take four long strides toward her and wrap my arms around her. “Hey. I’m sorry I was being a dick.” I kiss the top of her head until I feel her rigid body relax and her arms around my waist. That loose bun thing is all up in my face. Her hair smells like a freshly opened can of 7-Up after having hot sex in a flower shop—not that I’m thinking about sex right now. “I want you to have the best time. I just don’t like the idea of you traveling alone like that.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” she mumbles.
“I’m not going to worry about you.” I take a deep breath and finally tell her what I knew was true as soon as she said she was taking the train. Even though it means I’ll have to cancel my flights and spend a lot less time with Alana. Even though things might get complicated. Even though I can’t think of anything dumber or more boring than spending three days on a train, when we could go the same distance by plane in five hours. “I’m gonna go with you, Birdie. On the train. Whether you like it or not. That’s all there is to it.”
She doesn’t say anything. She just hugs me even tighter. Maybe it won’t be so terrible. Maybe it really is the journey that matters. Maybe it doesn’t matter how long it takes to get there, as long as we get there together.
Chapter Five
EDDIE: Cancel your dinky little roomette on Amtrak. I’m booking us two of the big bedroom suites.
BIRDIE: I’ll cancel it AFTER you’ve booked the other sleeper rooms. And reimburse you.
EDDIE: Don’t
worry about it. Just cancel your tickets. I got this. Round trip. I’m on the Amtrak website right now.
BIRDIE: You don’t have to leave NYC when I do! You’ll hardly be able to spend any time with Alana!
EDDIE: It’s fine. She’ll be fine with it. Cancel your tickets.
BIRDIE: You aren’t going to stop texting me until I’ve canceled them, are you?
EDDIE: Damn right I’m not. Just do it. You can thank me later.
EDDIE: Um. Did you cancel your tickets?
BIRDIE: Yes, Edward. I canceled them.
EDDIE: Okay, because it turns out they only had one Family Bedroom from LA to Chicago. But the good news is I booked it for us. It’s the biggest room they had. The bad news is I booked it for us. And it’s the only sleeper room they have left now.
EDDIE: There’s supposedly tons of seating areas by day. Up to four bunk beds at night. Access to a private bathroom and shower in the car. I mean, if it’s big enough for a family of four, there will be plenty of room for two of us.
EDDIE: In related news, there was also only one room from Chicago to New York. A little smaller than the family bedroom, but it has an in-room restroom and shower.
EDDIE: And I’ll book a hotel room in Chicago. Near the station. There’s a six-hour layover, and we can just use the room to shower. Because I’m guessing you aren’t going to want to shower on the train.
EDDIE: You don’t have to reimburse me. Big Daddy’s got you covered. Yer welcome.
A Very Friendly Valentine's Day Page 3
