Page 9 of A Very Friendly Valentine's Day
“It’s not on there anymore!”
“Liar. You wouldn’t care if I had your phone if it wasn’t.”
“What makes you think you’re the only one leaving me messages I don’t want you to hear?” I try to sound coy, but I’m not the actor here.
I reach around his back, trying to grab the phone from him. We’re both laughing, even though I’m really, really mad at him. He suddenly flips around to face me, and now I’m lying on top of him. My torso is flat against his. We’re both breathing harder than we should right now. He has this playful glint in his honey brown eyes. I can see almost all of his teeth as he smiles at me, and those damn dimples make me forget about trying to get that phone from him. I’ve never been on top of him before. I’m just mesmerized by his features from this angle, from this close.
We’ve hugged each other a million times since we met, and every single time I’m as alarmed by the smooth, hard topography of him as I am by the gentle way in which he holds me. But we aren’t giving each other a friendly hug right now. And I’m slowly becoming aware of a part of him that is getting a little bit harder than usual against my thigh. His expression is now so serious, I almost want to ask him if he’s okay.
But I also don’t want to know the answer because I’m not okay with this. I push myself up, palms against his chest—I can feel his hard nipples through the thin sweater, and I realize his hands are on my waist. He’s let go of my phone and he’s holding me tighter. Maybe he’s helping to push me away. But he glances down at my cleavage. His jaw tightens and his nostrils flare. He makes a quiet guttural sound and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.
I am fully aware, all of a sudden, that it’s up to me right now. The future of our relationship is in my hands. His eyes flick back up to meet mine, and without a word, he’s telling me that he would kiss me if I wanted him to. That it would be okay—thatwewould be okay—and all I’d have to do is lower myself down a little…
“Oh, my Lord! Are y’all finally bonin’ in here?” The music and chatter from outside the door get louder for about two seconds before my friend Layla walks in and shuts it again. “Because I’ve had a very longstanding bet with Trevor that y’all finallydo itbefore you turn twenty-seven, and I could really use the money for a new pair of boots.” She attempts to strut, but mostly stumbles, toward my bed and collapses on top of it, right next to us. “I think I’ve had enough to drink,” she states, staring up at the ceiling. “And I can’t decide who to go home with tonight.”
Eddie’s eyes snap shut as he exhales, his hands dropping away from me. I sit up and gingerly move off of him without disturbing his, um,moderately firm appendage. And then I quickly get up to take a seat on the other side of Layla so I can focus on her very important problem right now. It’s very possible that Eddie wants to dropkick her for cockblocking us, but I could just kiss her.
Because I wasn’t ready to kiss Eddie.
Because I need time to think.
Because this might be a real thing that might really happen, and I don’t want to ruin a six-year friendship just because of a moment.
Layla is from Texas, and we were all in the same American Novel class at UCLA. The accent that she mostly has lost since moving to LA always seems to find its way back when she’s drinking. And like most of our friends from college, she has never understood how Eddie and I can bejustfriends. Fortunately, she is so delightfully self-involved, we haven’t had to explain it to her.
“What are your options?” I ask her while I straighten myself up. “The guy with the beanie?”
“Been there done that with Beanie Guy. However, yes, he is an option. Edward—what’s the deal with your scruffy actor friend?”
I try to glance over at Eddie without moving my head. He slowly stands, adjusting his belt and shifting around. “Logan? He’s a good guy, he’s single, but I don’t think he’s your type.”
“He’s not. I think he’s into Birdie,” she says in a sing-song voice. “He was asking me about her.”
Once again, I try not to make eye contact with Eddie while still getting a sense of his reaction to this news. “Oh. Hah! I doubt it. We were only talking for about fifteen minutes. He just wanted to know what an archivist does.”
Eddie runs his fingers through his hair. Vigorously. “I think he might have gonorrhea. I’d stay away from him. Just to be safe. Nice guy, though.”
“Guess I won’t invite him to my party, then. Are you guys comin’?”
“You haven’t invited me to anything,” I tell her.
“Right. I just decided to have a V-Day party. On Valentine’s Day. For singles—y’know? So we can all have somethin’ to look forward to, even though we’re all probably gonna die alone.”
“I’ll be in New York,” I say at the same time that Eddie says it. And then we both say,“What?!”
“You’re going to New York? Since when?”
“I just bought my tickets yesterday. I forgot to tell you. Why areyougoing—I thought Alana was maybe coming out here for Valentine’s Day.”
“She booked some big gig, so she needs to stay in town for it. I found out I’m not in the episode we’re shooting that week, so I’ve got time off.”
“Alana, the model?” Layla asks, looking back and forth between Eddie and me. “That’s still a thing?”
Now I’m looking straight at Eddie, but he won’t look at me. Because what the frack was he doing almost kissing me if he’s going to see Alana in New York for Valentine’s Day? “Yeah. It’s a thing,” he mumbles.
It’s. A. Thing.
Which means that thing that almost happened on the bed just now was not a thing. Either that, or it means Eddie isn’t as good a guy as I thought he was. And I refuse to believe that.
