Page 39 of A Very Friendly Valentine's Day
It looks like they’ve both finished their meals, so I really hope he’s planning on taking that tea back to his room or his throne or wherever the fuck he goes next. I don’t care, as long as he leaves really soon. I do not like the way he’s looking at her and I really don’t like the way Birdie’s looking at him and I have not ruled this guy out as a serial killer yet.
He finishes telling Birdie the riveting and hilarious story about him and Salman Rushdie, while I stare at him hard, trying to make him really uncomfortable. I think it’s working. He keeps shifting around in his chair, but maybe it’s that stick up his ass that’s bothering him.
I keep my arm on the back of Birdie’s chair, and with the other hand, I reach for an untouched piece of toast on her plate. “I had an interesting phone conversation earlier, Bird,” I say, but I keep my eyes on the Brit. “Can’t wait to tell you about it.” I take a bite of that toast.
“Oh good,” she says, eyeing me warily. “Can’t wait to hear about it.”
The server comes by with a small metal pot of hot water for Rupert. He makes a big show of leaving a ten-dollar bill on the table before standing and picking up his box of teabags and the metal pot. “I’ve got to rehearse my Ted Talk in my room, if you’ll excuse me.”
“TEDx talk,” I correct him.
“Indeed.” He smirks at me and then smiles at Birdie. “I shall see you back here at noon, then?”
“Indeed,” she says. “See you then.”
“I look forward to it.” He nods at me and then leaves.
“Back here at noon, huh?” I mutter. “Hot date?”
“Nooooo.” She absentmindedly twirls the loose strands of hair while watching that skinny fucker go, and I do not like it. “He just wants to learn more about what I do as an archivist. He might interview me on his podcast.” She dabs at the sides of her mouth with her napkin, carefully places and folds the napkin on the table while staring at it and blushing. “Tell me about your phone call.”
“You’re not seriously into him, are you?”
“Who?”
“Lord Snottington McFartnugget of Fuckyoushire.”
She frowns at me. “He’s a very well-respected person. He was very nice to me and it would be an honor and a huge deal if he interviewed me. But it’s not like that.”
“He’s so pale.”
“And?”
“And blonde. You can’t see it, but his shade of blonde hair totally clashes with yours.”
“Edward.”
“And old. He’s probably what—thirty-five? I mean, I know you like nerds, but he’s not even a cool nerd. Very thin lips, really thin fingers—not too promising if you want my opinion.”
“I don’t want your opinion.” She shakes her head and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “He’s thirty-two. And his lips are not thin. You talk to Alana yet this morning?”
“Oh right…no… Shit.” I totally forgot to read her texts. Completely. Forgot.
I pull my phone out from my back pocket and check my messages. There are five from Alana. One of them is a screenshot.
“Shit.”
“What?”
I check my email app for the link that Eric was supposed to send me. There’s one bar, so it takes half a year for the video to load, but it finally does, and… “Shit.”
