Page 43 of A Very Friendly Valentine's Day
“You need to eat something, Eddie.”
His eyes suddenly go hooded and his tone gets very suggestive. “What would you like me to eat, Birdie? Your wish is my command.” He’s leaning back against the wall, away from me, but it feels like he’s right up in my very warm face.
Damn him.
He’s flirting with me.
He’s flirting with his face.
He’s flirting with his voice.
He’s flirting with his abs.
He’s even flirting with his butt somehow—I can’t see it right now because he’s sitting on it—but I know he’s doing it.
“You’re in clear violation of rule number two,” I tell him.
“You were in clear violation of rule number five last night,” he replies without even blinking.
So he did hear me. Fan-flubbing-tastic.
“They’re really just guidelines, not rules, so…”
“Exactly. So, if I were to reference, for instance, a certainslipple nipand frock rocket incident, I wouldn’t really be breaking a rule so much as I’d be respectfully disregarding said guideline.” He grins. “I might even eat a block of parmesan cheese in our room tonight. Really throw caution to the wind.”
I shake my head at him. My head is just a big neutral face emoji right now, but my panties are basically melting down the inside of my pant leg. I don’t know what has gotten into him, but he needs to go take a nap.
Someone clears his throat.
Oh shit, it’s Rupert.
I totally forgot he was sitting there.
“The romaine and goat cheese salad looks quite good,” he says, staring down at the menu.
“Oh. Yes. Yes, I was thinking of ordering that too.”
Rupert slides a Montblanc pen out from the middle of his leather journal and opens the journal to a blank page, smoothing it down with his long slender fingers. “I’d love to hear about what you do at the Getty Museum, Birdie.”
“Yes. I would love to tell you about my job.” I turn to Eddie, who is still leaning back against the wall and resting his head against his fist, all languid and sexy-like. “You probably don’t need to hear me talk about this yet again. Why don’t you order something to take back to the room? A burger, maybe.”
“Is that what you want me to do, Bird?”
No, I want you to put your mouth on my mouth and your hands on my everything, and I want your big hard cock inside me and I also want you to be my friend forever.
“Yes. That is what I want you to do, Eddie.”
He slowly stands and squeezes my shoulder with his big, strong hand. “Okay. I’ll order from the room. You can have my beer.”
I may have imagined the slight tremble in his voice. I hope I did. Because if I actually hurt him by asking him to leave, I couldn’t bear it.
“Thank you.”
“Enjoy your lunch.” He addresses Rupert as he lets his fingertips drag across the back of my bare neck, sending shivers down my spine, awakening some gorgeous, terrible ache in my belly, in my heart.
What a jerk.
“I’m quite sure I will,” Rupert says.
