Page 74 of A Very Friendly Valentine's Day
“I’ll be at Maddie’s overnight, but I’m always reachable. Except when I’m busy blowing my hot fiancée’s mind in bed.”
“’Kay, buh-bye.”
“Have a good night.”
“Thanks for letting me stay here,” I offer reluctantly.
“You’re welcome.” He pauses as he’s halfway out the front door. “Shit. I told Nolan you’re here, so you’ll probably hear from him.”
“Great. So he’s in town? Can you tell your doorman not to let him up if he comes by?”
“My Irish doorman? The one Nolan gave a bottle of Jameson to the first time he came over? Suuuuure. Lemme just ask him.” He winks and disappears.
Nowhe disappears. Leaving me with the added sense of dread about being kidnapped by my beast of an Irish cousin on top of the anxiety of waiting to hear from Birdie. I stare down at my phone, just in case I missed a notification, even though I have the volume turned all the way up.
I didn’t miss a notification. I have four bars of reception, an empty stomach and no dignity left when it comes to Birdie Beckett.
ME: Hi. Still here in NYC. Still wish you were here. Lemme know how you’re doing as soon as you get a signal!
YOUR SECRET VALENTINE:
I’m pretty sure I was a cool guy once. Possibly even up until yesterday.
I feel sick. I can’t stop picturing her with the Brit. It’s not that I don’t trust her. It’s that I don’t trust any other men to keep their grabby hands and long skinny fingers off her. But I guess I’ll have to either get over it or get used to this feeling, since I work in a different city from her for six months a year.
I’ll just fly in on the weekends more. Fly her up to visit. She’ll be okay with flying now, I’m sure of it. We’ll be seeing each other more than we did as friends ever since I started working in Vancouver, and our relationship has always been solid. I’m not worried.
But it would be so great if I book that movie in LA in the summer, whatever it is.
And now I’m nervous about my upcoming meeting with the casting director, like a total fucking badass.
Probably just hungry. I get up, take the leftover Chinese food out of the fridge. After putting it in the microwave, I check both my phones,like a boss.
Nothing from Birdie. But as I’m staring at my iPhone, Nolan Cassidy comes up on my Caller ID and I get a shiver down my spine. The bad kind. The kind that you get when you’re watchingThe ExorcistorRosemary’s BabyorThe Omenor any of those movies that my ma made us watch growing up to get us to go to church with her.
Pretty sure I’m still hungover from when I saw him at New Year’s, not that I’d ever admit that to him. But against my better judgment, I find myself answering the call. Because while my cousin may in fact be possessed by the devil, he is really fucking cool, looks like a young Colin Farrell, and I’ve always had a man crush on the guy.
“Please tell me you aren’t downstairs.”
“Well now, how’s that for greeting a loved one?”
“’Sup, Nolan? Dec said you’re in town.”
“I am indeed. Thanks for ringin’ to let me know you’re here.”
“I just got in.”
“Yeah, did ya now? Thought I’d welcome you to the great city of New York and have you over to my flat for a pint or two—unless you’d care to invite me over to Declan’s for some of that twenty-five-year-old single malt Glendalough he keeps in the top shelf like an old biddy.”
“He does? That shit’s like five hundred bucks a bottle.”
“Aye, it’ll change yer life. For the better, and then for the worse, and then for the better again. Shall we head on over, then?”
“We?”
“Hey, kid, how are ya?” my cousin Billy O’Sullivan aka Billy Boston shouts out in the background. “Put it onspeakahphone, will ya?! Lemme talk to thatcocksuckah, come on!”
Shit. What’s he doing here?
