Page 42 of A Very Friendly Valentine's Day
The One with the Clear Violation of Rule Number Two
I came to the dining car early because I need a glass of wine before lunch.
Because I accidentally pleasured myself while thinking about Eddie while I was in the same room with Eddie last night.
Because I have a feeling, based on the way he’s been looking at me this morning, that he heard me and that he did not buy the snoring.
Because someone recorded and uploaded Eddie’s Romeo monologue to the Internet, and now a bunch of idiots are somehow convinced that he’s cheating on Alana and madly in love with me—just because he’s such a good actor.
Because multiple idiots forwarded the video to Alana, and now it sounds like poop’s getting real and I haven’t ensnared a meaningless penis for self-cockblocking purposes yet.
Because Eddie has been drinking ever since he texted her after breakfast, and he’s so vulnerable right now that I just want to wrap him up in a blanket and rock him to sleep in my arms while singing him a lullaby. I am definitely not naked in that scenario and I’m definitely not singing like Ariana Grande.
Because my only non-Eddie penis prospect on this train has very long, thin fingers that make me slightly sad and somewhat uncomfortable.
But Rupert Norton is an excellent fellow and he’s exactly the sort of chap that I should be dating.
He’s a well-bred, glasses-wearing intellectual that I can have interesting conversations with. And he’s perfectly fine-looking.And he has an English accent!He’s exactly my type.
I just need a little more wine to convince myself of this for some reason.
And I don’t want Eddie to show up, but I’m also not sure if I want him to work things out with Alana. Because, as a friend—I know she’s not the girl for him. She doesn’t deserve him. Not even a little bit. I’ve known this, as a friend, all along. He deserves someone who appreciates all of him. Someone who really knows him. Someone reliable. Someone who can keep him on track and inspire him to be the best version of himself.
As soon as he finds that person, I will encourage him to marry her, one hundred percent.
Until then, I will drink wine and try not to pleasure myself while thinking about him ever again.
Just as I’m polishing off my first glass of wine, I look up to see Rupert walking in, with Eddie right behind him. Rupert has a polite, neutral expression on his face, and Eddie is trying very hard not to laugh. He straightens his posture and carries himself like an uptight old Englishman—which is not how Rupert carries himself at all. Not exactly.
Rupert looks over his shoulder to check what I’m looking at, and Eddie stops imitating him just in time.
Well, this is going to be a flippin’ flappin’ awesome delight.
I stand up and curtsy at Rupert…immediately wishing I hadn’t done that, but it’s too late now.
“Your lordship.”
Rupert chuckles, the skin around his eyes wrinkling more than you’d expect it would for a thirty-two-year-old. “Your grace.” He carries a leather journal in one hand and places the other hand lightly upon my shoulder when leaning in to barely kiss me on the cheek. With his rather thin lips. “Lovely to see you.”
“Lovely to seeyou.” I try to ignore Eddie, who has taken the seat next to me—not only without waiting to be invited to join us but before Rupert and I sit down.
He waves the attendant over and asks for a beer.
“And what can I get for you, sir?” the attendant asks Rupert.
“It’s a bit early in the day for me to start drinking, I think. Just a tonic water for me, cheers.”
“Oh, same for me. That sounds refreshing,” I tell the server.
“You sure you don’t want another glass of wine?” Eddie prods.
“I would also like another glass of wine, thank you.” Turning to Eddie, I smile and say, “Perhaps you should enjoy a tonic water or just plain bottled water, Edward…”
“Perhaps,” he says. “But first—beer.”
“How about a coffee too, then.” I call the server back. “Sorry, can we have a cup of coffee too, please?” I nudge the breadbasket over to him. “Eat the bread.”
“And ruin my cute figure?” he says, pulling up his shirt to pat his lower abs. “I don’t think so.”
