Page 49 of A Very Friendly Valentine's Day
“I’m fine. Read your book.”
I turn on the wall lamp beside me and open upInfinite Jest. It’s too fucking cold to read. I think my eyelashes are frozen. How can it be this cold inside the train?
This is the perfect way to end a weird fucking day that started out great.
I close the book, drop it to the floor and turn off the light. Maybe being asleep will warm me up. I mean, I know exactly what would warm me up right now, but I also know it’s not going to happen. I’m not going to change tracks that abruptly. I may never have been down this particular road with a woman before, but I know better than to do that.
Maybe I should ask her to be my fake girlfriend—worked for Declan.
But no. I’ll do my own thing.
Birdie’s a planner. I like a good plan too.
New goal for February: Make Birdie comfortable with the fact that she will be mine.
I’ll take my time and get it right.
* * *
“Eddie. Eddie, wake up!”
I wake up. I realize my teeth are chattering. I am so fucking cold I might actually be dead.
I turn onto my back, but I can’t see anything in the dark because something warm and heavy is being placed on top of me. It’s not Birdie, unfortunately, but it does smell like her.
“Turn around.”
“What?”
“Lie on your side, face the wall.” She sounds so annoyed with me. I’d find it cute if I didn’t have hypothermia.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I will lie with my back to you. It’s fine if your back touches me. If you need to do that, to warm up. But that’s it. Just your back. No butt stuff.”
I mean. I may be half-dead, but I have to laugh at that.
“I meant no touching butts! Shut up.”
“Will you get under the covers already?”
She huffs, and I feel her warm body nuzzling up against mine and then I feel her moving her lower body away from me.
Our backs are pressed together. She adjusts the coat over us. I can feel her gathering her hair to one side. And then I feel the back of her skull knock against the back of mine.
“Owww!” we both cry out at the same time.
“Shit!” Birdie hardly ever swears. Usually only when she stubs her toe or spills something.
“Are you okay?” I flip around to rub the back of her head.
“No.” She laughs quietly. “Oh God, your hand’s cold! I can feel it through my hair! Put your hands back under the coat!”
I do, but I don’t turn to face the wall again. I press up against her back, all of her, spooning her.
She sighs. Not annoyed but resigned. And then she presses back into me, finds my right hand, and pulls it around her waist. I wrap both arms around her. She covers them with hers, rubbing my hands, warming them up. It’s sweet and comforting but it’s also something else.
The train is rocking us back and forth, up and down, and the friction between us is unbearable and good. Really unbearably good.
