A Very Friendly Valentine’s Day
Kayley Loring
Text Copyright © 2021 by Kayley Loring
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
COVER DESIGN: Kari March Designs
COVER PHOTO: © miguelanxo
https://www.instagram.com/miguelanxoph/
COVER MODEL: Sergio Carvajal
DEVELOPMENTAL EDITING: Jennifer Mirabelli
COPY EDITING: Jenny Rarden
PROOFREADING: Once Upon a Typo
Contents
Half page title
Spotify Playlist
Prologue
*December 29th*
*December 30th*
The Voicemail
1. Birdie
2. Eddie
3. Birdie
4. Eddie
Chapter 5
6. Guidelines For Shared Bedroom On Train
7. Eddie
8. Birdie
9. Eddie
10. Birdie
11. Eddie
Chapter 12
13. Birdie
14. Eddie
15. Birdie
16. Eddie
17. Birdie
Chapter 18
19. Eddie
20. Birdie
Chapter 21
22. Eddie
23. Birdie
24. Eddie
25. Eddie
26. Birdie
27. Eddie
28. * The One with the Valentines *
Chapter 29
30. Rita
EPILOGUE ONE – Eddie
EPILOGUE TWO - Piper
more to come
The One With All The Acknowledgments
Keep in touch with Kayley
Also by Kayley Loring
Spotify Playlist
Playlist for A Very Friendly Valentine’s Day
Prologue
*December 29th*
EDDIE: Hey. In Ohio. My brother’s bachelor party has officially begun. There’s a really good chance I’ll black out and then wake up in Michigan at some point in the next 24 hours. So I just wanted to say thanks for being a good friend and I apologize in advance if I accidentally send you a picture of my ass or something.
BIRDIE: Yer welcome and thanks! I promise not to post your ass pic on Twitter again.
EDDIE: LOL. Sure. Lemme just tell my cousins from Boston and Ireland that I’m NOT gonna drink too much tonight. They’ll love that. How’s your day going, buddy?
BIRDIE: I’m working on my New Year’s resolutions and binge-watching Sherlock for the fourth time. So, it’s a rager, and needless to say, I’m highly aroused.
EDDIE: Thought you had a date with Sir Isaac I Can’t Eat Gluten.
BIRDIE: Edward. It’s not funny if he’s actually allergic to gluten.
EDDIE: First of all, yes, it is. Secondly, it’s really ducking clever because his name is Isaac, he’s a physicist AND he’s allergic to gluten. And because Gluten rhymes with Newton. In case you didn’t get that.
BIRDIE: I got it. Congratulations, you have been awarded the Nobel Prize for being a clever asshole. And I decided to cancel the date. Let’s just say the physicist and I had no chemistry.
EDDIE: He’s a bad kisser, isn’t he?
BIRDIE: I don’t know how you would know that since you’ve never even seen him, and I would never imply such a thing.
EDDIE: Elementary, my dear dork-dater. His name is Isaac, he’s a physicist and he took you to the Holocaust Museum for your first date.
BIRDIE: Because I had mentioned to him that I’d never been! He was being thoughtful.
EDDIE:
BIRDIE: Fine, he was a bad kisser. Shut up. Why are you texting me instead of bachelor partying right now?
EDDIE: I’m in a party limo with a bunch of dudes that I’m related to.
BIRDIE: Why aren’t you drunk texting your quote unquote Instagram girlfriend then?
EDDIE: First of all, I’m not drunk yet. Secondly, what kind of nerd types out the words quote unquote in a text instead of just using “”?
BIRDIE: What kind of bonehead has an “Instagram girlfriend” that he’s never even met? Asking for a very judgmental and concerned friend.
EDDIE: The kind who’s learned his lesson about dating costars.
BIRDIE: Yeah. You learned that lesson what? Seven times? Are those really your only options? Costars and models? Are you not ready to move on to pop stars or perhaps TikTok stars with a minimum of 40 million followers?
EDDIE: Would you care to discuss my other options, Birdie…? Because last time I checked, not EVERY woman is interested in unbearably good-looking, surprisingly smart and talented, totally hilarious, unequivocally nice actor dudes.
EDDIE: Hello? Paging Professor Nerdington.
EDDIE: Crickets.
BIRDIE: So, you aren’t drunk, but you’ve had two beers?
EDDIE: Starting my third Guinness now. How’d you know?
BIRDIE: Because you always get like this after two pints of dark ale.
EDDIE: Get like what? Awesome?
BIRDIE: Sure. Let’s go with that.
EDDIE: Anyway, I’m not texting Alana because she’s in St. Barts with her friends, remember? Or the Bahamas. Somewhere in the Caribbean. That’s why she isn’t coming to the wedding with me.
BIRDIE: Right. THAT’S why.
EDDIE: What exactly are you implying?
BIRDIE: Nothing. Your dedication to a genetically perfect twenty-three-year-old woman with a tiny waist and huge tits who slid into your DMs that you’ve never met in person is admirable.
EDDIE: I’m detecting sarcasm. Also, her tits aren’t that huge. And I haven’t met her YET. And she has a big heart.
BIRDIE: Yes, a 34 C, I’d say. Anyway. I hope you don’t black out and I hope you don’t end up in Michigan. Unless you want to. Then I hope you’re wearing the appropriate winter apparel, so you don’t catch a cold.
EDDIE: Awww. She cares.
BIRDIE: Seriously, though. Stay out of trouble. If you get hit by a bus or something, I will kill you.
EDDIE:
EDDIE: You around?
EDDIE: Ho
EDDIE: How
EDDIE: Who got two thumbs is wasted and cunt text for shot rut now?
EDDIE: Thus goy.
EDDIE: Can eee call yo?
EDDIE: I? Yo. You.
EDDIE: Duck.
EDDIE: I rally wush yo were here.
*December 30th*
EDDIE: Good morning. Just reading my texts to you from last night. I think I meant to text Alana.
EDDIE: I mean, I did mean to. Sorry about that.
BIRDIE: So, you didn’t mean what you said in that voicemail either, then…?
EDDIE: Um. What?
BIRDIE: Because I really liked what you said…
EDDIE: Oh. Cool.
BIRDIE: I feel the same way…
EDDIE: Oh. Good.
BIRDIE:
o voicemail.
EDDIE: Yeah. I just checked my outgoing calls and apparently, I did call you. What did I say?
BIRDIE: Nothing! It was just a butt dial. I think I heard a very spirited rendition of a Meat Loaf song in the background, but you didn’t actually say anything in the message. Don’t worry about it. How are you? Are you in Michigan? Please tell me you aren’t in a hospital.
EDDIE: Nope. All good. I mean, I’ll be hungover until February, but we all survived. Actually, I gotta check in with Alana and then get to the church for the rehearsal. Take care. I’ll text you tomorrow probably, okay?
BIRDIE: Sure. Whatever. Don’t forget to rehydrate.
EDDIE: You too, buddy.
BIRDIE:
The Voicemail
December 29th, 7:16 p.m.
“Fuck, I wish you’d answered. I can’t remember what time it is in LA. Is it ten there already…? You in bed…? You better not be out with the guy who can’t kiss you right… Okay. You’re not answering. Maybe parts of me was hoping you wouldn’t answer so I could just hang up. A parts of me, I mean. A part…of me. Okay, maybe a few parts of me wanted to leave a message, whooooo knows.
(muffled) You guys! Shut up! No! You know what—Meat Loaf is a fucking awesome actor, but I hate this fucking song, shut up!
Anyway, I just wanted to say… I don’t know. Being back home… Seeing Brady all in love and ready to settle down with Hannah. And Declan’s so… He’s so fucking head over heels for this woman—I mean, Declan—you know? I see how he is and how Maddie’s changed him already, and it’s…and it just makes me…
I should have asked you to come with me, Bird. To the wedding. Not as a date, but just… Or maybe as a date, I don’t know. Not as a big deal, just…
Fuck it, I just need to say it—I love you, Birdie. As a friend, you know? I mean, you’re such a good friend, and it’s weird to say it because I’m a guy and you’re a girl. But I feel it, all the time.
And I just want you to know that I appreeshinate you. Appreeeeesheeeate. You always never treat me like I’m just some pretty boy, and that’s good. I feel like I can be the best me when I’m with you because that’s what you see. Y’know? You always, always make me feel good, and I love you. All right? There. Just that. I. Love. You.
I mean, I don’t know what it means. And I don’t want you to say anything back. I mean, you could maybe say how hot I am, just once, that would be nice… But I just wanna tell you how I feel about you for once. Instead of telling you about, y’know…whatever’s going on in my life, and…other girls.
I just want you to know that I know that you’re the best girl.
I’ve always known it.
And now Nolan’s coming at me with a bottle of whiskey. Shit, I gotta go.
It’s Eddie. By the way.”
Birdie
New Year’s Resolutions
1. Publish at least three articles in reputable library sciences and art history journals over the course of the year.
And one on Bustle, just for fun. I’ll keep submitting my article on clever lines for picking up historians until they finally accept it because “I’m writing a book on the most important dates in American history—ours will be the final chapter.” deserves an audience.
2. Host a party at my apartment.
Not a hypothetical dinner party with three famous guests of my choosing, alive or dead. An actual party. With a bunch of (hopefully not too annoying) people my own age, contemporary music played at a reasonable volume and so-called fun times. Wherein, I will not lock myself in my bedroom or sneak out and drive around until everyone has left. And I will not spend the entire party in a corner texting with Eddie. Nor will I pretend to get a call from Mom and then announce to everyone that my Great Aunt Mindy has died. Again.
3. Find some new sucker with a penis to ensnare into a meaningless relationship before Valentine’s Day.
Yes, it’s a somewhat ridiculous holiday that originated from the church’s attempt at Christianizing a fairly disgusting Roman pagan fertility festival (sacrificial goats and dogs, etc). Yes, it has been exploited and horrendously commercialized beyond all recognition since its heyday in the Victorian era—by greeting card companies and chocolate manufacturers alike. But it’s a month and a half away, and I have a feeling that by then, Eddie will have met Alana or ended things with her, and I’ll need a cock to cockblock myself with, either way. So to speak.
4. Exercise. Not more, but better. Okay, not better, but not reluctantly.
5. Go to New York, finally, on my own. Maybe see if I can meet Eddie’s brother for lunch or something.
6. Delete Eddie’s voicemail message.
Or at least stop listening to it 5000 times a day since it obviously doesn’t really mean anything. Even though it’s the best voicemail anyone has ever left me. But it didn’t mean anything. At all. I just need to stop listening.
7. Come up with at least one more flibbity flobbity resolution that isn’t somehow in response to an actor with veiny arms who has a flippin’ flappin’ stunning Instagram girlfriend he’s never even met.
Eddie
January Goals
1. Finish reading Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace before the end of the month.
I know Birdie gave it to me as a joke because she thought I’d hate it, but she’s really going to hate that I like it and that I’m gonna finish it. Eventually.
2. Work up to twenty pull-ups with a weighted vest. Add one more hour of intermittent fasting the week before the shirtless scene. Do an extra fifteen minutes of cardio per day to work off Nonna’s Christmas Eve dinner. Throw in about thirty side-jackknives and hanging-leg raises, too—the ladies deserve it. It’s been a few episodes since they got to see The Cannavale Six. I wonder how long Ralph Fiennes can hold a plank for—hack.
3. Remind agent to put me up for parts where I don’t have to take my shirt off during the show’s hiatus because I really want a fucking pizza.
4. Meet Alana in person.
Make this work. This has to work, or else I’ve wasted almost a month and a half of my life and I’m just some idiot who wanted to bang a hot model who slid into his DMs. And I’m not that guy. I’m the idiot who’s been fucking his hand for over a month because he likes being monogamous—and honestly, it’s a lot easier to have an out of town girlfriend who doesn’t know about Birdie. Not having to deal with a girl who’s jealous of Birdie is a big plus. I just can’t tell Birdie that, so she has no idea how good Alana’s been for our relationship. Our friendship, I mean.
5. Go to Birdie’s party and make sure she doesn’t hook up with yet another nerd who doesn’t know how to kiss her.
Birdie
The One with the Awkward Broment
Oh my God, it’s after eleven p.m. When are those animals going to go home? Things were starting to quiet down about half an hour ago. I was feeling optimistic that the party was drawing to a close, but then Eddie turned on Hamilton and instigated a contest to see who could do the best Thomas Jefferson impression. Now people are having fun again, dammit.
Still, I’m grateful that he flew down from Vancouver for this. He got here early, set up a Spotify playlist for me on my old phone, adjusted the lighting in my apartment and did a liquor run when he saw that all I had was wine. I mean, it was really great wine and there was plenty of it. It’s not like I’m a cheap hostess. I just don’t want people to have too good a time or to stay too long.
I, myself, have enjoyed exactly one and a half glasses of red wine tonight and I’m feeling fine and ready for bed.
But I can cross “Host a party” off my list now, and it’s still only January. I crushed it! I didn’t leave my apartment to drive around. I didn’t spend the whole night texting with Eddie because he was here. So far, my fictional Great Aunt Mindy is still alive and kicking. And while I may currently be alone in my bedroom, it’s not because I’m hiding—it’s because I have to jot down these ideas for a new musical before I forget them.
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When you live in LA, you never know when you might run into Lin-Manuel Miranda, and I need to be prepared to pitch my Lucretia Mott musical to him. If anyone can make a Nineteenth-Century feminist abolitionist Quaker woman’s story both interesting and crowd-pleasing, it’s him. My total lack of understanding about music or lyrics will be offset by my passion for bringing American feminist history to the mainstream in a fun way. As long as he can make it fun. Or maybe Eddie can help me work on making my pitch entertaining.
There’s a cautious knock at my door, and I don’t even tense up because I can tell just from the knock that it’s Eddie.
“Come in.”
The door opens and his appallingly handsome head pokes through, peering around. His lips curl into a grin when he finds me sitting cross-legged on my bed, on top of about twenty coats.
“Come in and shut the door!”
He closes the door behind himself. “You’re in here alone?” It’s half statement, half question. He sounds so relieved, I could cry.
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