Page 85 of A Very Friendly Valentine's Day
The One with the Hot, Hot Snowy Street Sex?
I’m here. I’m here I’m here I’m here I’m here I’m here. I am in Penn Station. It doesn’t look or smell very pretty, but Eddie Cannavale texted to say that he is in the building, and I don’t care about anything else in the world right now. I don’t care that I’ve had maybe five total hours of sleep in the past two days. I don’t care that a sweet little boy projectile vomited three feet away from me last night. I don’t care that I probably stepped in pee just now. I don’t care about that old man with no teeth who’s yelling at me about the hot dog that he lost here ten years ago. I definitely don’t care about the TEDx Talk that I’ll be missing later this morning.
All I care about is telling Eddie that I love him—to his stupidly handsome face—and then engulfing him with my vulva.
When I step off the escalator, I look around for the stairs near the 7th Avenue exit, because that’s where he said I’d find him waiting for me. My heart is beating so fast, I don’t even feel tired anymore. When we were just friends, there were stretches of time when he’d be shooting in Vancouver and we wouldn’t see each other for a few weeks between his visits back home to LA. We’d always keep in touch and I still hung out with him more often than anyone else because—well, I’d almost always rather stay home than go out with anyone besides him. It was always fun to see him again and maybe that’s what kept the spark alive in our friendship over the past couple of years.
It has only been two days since I last saw Eddie, but I have never missed anyone so much. He’s the same person, but I know more of him now, so I missed more of him, I guess. And I’m not just talking about his penis or his abs or his butt or his hands or his mouth. I’m talking about his heart and his soul and his real feelings. And his tongue.
And there he is. All of him. My best friend. My boyfriend. The best-looking guy in Penn Station, even under his baseball cap. He’s holding a bouquet of red roses and blue violets and standing there smiling at me because I’m his valentine.
I run over, drop my bags when I’m in front of him and jump up and down. “I love you! I love you! I love you!” and then I throw my arms around him. I am fully aware that I’m about as sexy as Will Ferrell inElfright now, but fuck it. I do love him. I love Eddie Cannavale even more than I love Santa and Benedict Cumberbatch. There. I said it.
“I love you too,” he says into my ear. “A lot.”
I can feel the flowers tickling the back of my head as I pull back to kiss him on the lips. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” I tell him in between each kiss. He tastes like toothpaste and testosterone, with just a hint of whiskey and pizza, and it all makes me even hungrier for him.
There are about five inches of polyfill and fleece padding between us, but I can feel his body heat and his muscles and his semi under all of it, I swear.
I’m not suggesting that our separation or what I’ve been through on that train is anywhere near like what the American soldiers and their lovers experienced, but I keep thinking about those black and white pictures of those couples kissing outside Penn Station. I used to wonder what it would be like to reunite with someone you loved that much, and now I know.
“Where’s Rupert?” he asks almost cautiously.
“Lord Knob Head of Tosserville decided to get off in Albany and hired a car to drive him the rest of the way. He offered me a ride, but I declined.” I try to squeeze him even harder. “You’re the only one who’ll be giving me a ride from now on.”
“You got that right, Luv.”
“However, he does still want to interview me for his podcast.”
“As he should. You’re brilliant.”
“That casting director was on the train too.”
“I actually saw her bolting out of here right ahead of you.”
“Did she see you?”
“Nah. I’m not ready to think about that meeting yet.”
“Okay.” I inhale his neck, in the way that I have wanted to before but never dared attempt. He smells like snowy beach sex and it doesn’t make me angry at all.
We still haven’t let go of each other.
“I’m so tired, but I’m so happy to finally be here with you. I want to do everything. I want to see everything! Let’s walk to the hotel from here.”
“Are you sure? It’s like twelve blocks away and it’s really cold out. I took an Uber from Declan’s.”
“I know, but I want to see as much of the city as I can!”
“It’s still kind of dark out and it’s really cold and there’s a lot of snow on the ground, but sure.” He finally lets go of me, hands me the bouquet of flowers, and picks up my suitcase and weekender bag.
I clutch the bouquet to my chest. “Thank you so much for the flowers!” I close my eyes to smell the roses, and I think I may have fallen asleep for a few seconds. As soon as I open my eyes again, I blurt out, “Let’s have sex somewhere!”
“Okay.”
“Like somewhere discreet, on the way to the hotel, I mean.”
“Yes. I’m on board with this.”
