The air between us is filled with longing and tension, and I’m realizing now that this room totally smells like we had sex in it for hours last night.
I make the tiniest, involuntary move in his direction, and he is up off that bed and meeting me in the middle of the room. Our mouths smash against each other. For one glorious minute, I’m weightless and aware of only our lips and tongues and his hands on my face and the undeniable feeling of hurtling toward a target that I’ve been trying to evade for six years.
But I have no idea what to do once we get there.
I somehow manage to pull away from him, kissing him once or five times, quickly, all over his face.
I grab the container of wipes from my bag and hand it to him. “To wipe the lipstick from your face.” And then I realize I’ve given him the disinfectant wipes, so I take that back and retrieve the packet of regular wet wipes.
“Thanks,” he says, laughing and shaking his head.
“Welcome. Okay. Well. Nice kissing you. Last night was fan-fucking-tastic. I loved it. But we need to go back to being friends. So I’m going to take my breakfast up to the observation car because I can’t handle being around your face and your hands and your Fuck Hair and your penis right now. I’ll be back to pack in a couple of hours.”
I take my phone and my purse and my breakfast tray, and I don’t turn around when Eddie says my name because if I look into those eyes again, I will be screaming out his name in about three minutes.
Chapter Eighteen
EDDIE: Still thinking about your sweet red lips on my cock, by the way. Doesn’t really matter which car you’re in, so we might as well be together.
BIRDIE: Edward!!!
EDDIE: Just sayin’.
BIRDIE: You’re supposed to be talking to me like a friend again, remember?
EDDIE: And I told you I want to be more than your friend.
BIRDIE: I know I’m probably sending mixed messages. And that’s obviously because I have mixed feelings about this. I mean, I have a lot of feelings and they’re mostly good. They’re all good, actually. I’m just confused.
BIRDIE: I mean, we just needed to get that stuff out of our systems. Right?
EDDIE: I don’t think I’m ever getting you out of my system, Birdie Beckett. Anything about you. I don’t want to.
BIRDIE: You can’t say things like that to me.
EDDIE: I can’t not say things like that to you anymore. Sorry.
EDDIE: Nope. I lied. I’m not sorry. But I’ll try to wait for you to be more comfortable with this if that’s what you need.
EDDIE: Is it because I haven’t called Alana yet? I’ll call her right now.
BIRDIE: It’s not just that.
EDDIE: Calling her now.
BIRDIE: Eddie.
EDDIE: And then I’m gonna text you what I’ve been thinking about doing to you all morning.
BIRDIE: Eddie.
ALANA: Great talk, Eddie!
ALANA: You really want this to be over?
ALANA: Is that really what you want?
ALANA: You don’t get to break up with me.
ALANA: I break up with you!
ALANA: Done.
ALANA: Just unfollowed you.
ALANA: It’s true, you can check.
ALANA: I’m going to unlike every single post of yours that I ever liked.
ALANA: You better call me back if you want any fucking chance of seeing me when you’re in New York.
ALANA: You’d better fucking call me back, Eddie.
ALANA: I’m not kidding.
ALANA: I’m not going to chase you.
ALANA: When you call me back, I will follow you again and re-like your posts.
ALANA: You have five minutes.
ALANA: Four minutes, Eddie.
ALANA: I’m giving you ten more minutes, in case you’re in a dead zone.
ALANA: Fine.
ALANA: You’re dead to me.
ALANA:
ALANA: See how upset Kiki and Foo Foo are right now?
ALANA: YOU. DID. THAT.
ALANA:
ALANA: I printed out pictures of you and lined their crates with them.
ALANA: They are NOT potty trained yet, Eddie.
ALANA: Kiki and Foo Foo are going to pee pee and poo poo all over your face, Eddie.
ALANA: That’s what happens to guys who try to break up with me.
ALANA: I swear to God if you don’t call me back in the next few hours, it is SO OVER.
ALANA: Like, beyond over.
ALANA: I will never ever EVER forgive you.
ALANA: Ever.
ALANA: So if you ever want any chance of working things out with me, you need to call me now.
ALANA:
ALANA: That’s what I’m wearing FYI and if you don’t call me back that’s the last picture you will ever see of me.
ALANA: I will block you on IG and on my phone.
ALANA: I will figure out how to block you from seeing images of me on Google.
ALANA: Not even kidding.
BLOCKED CONTACT: Call me.
EDDIE: Okay, so Alana has been taken care of. You want to come back down to the room, or would you like me to come up to the observation car to kiss you?
BIRDIE: Eddie, this is too weird. It’s just weird getting this kind of text from you. I’m so used to you teasing me about being a nerd.
EDDIE: To be clear, I will never stop teasing you for being a nerd. Even when I’m inside you.
EDDIE: I’m coming up there. Is the duke with you? I will slap him with his own bloody scarf. I will serve him a weak cup of Lipton tea with sugar and watch the old chap squirm in his fancy throne.
BIRDIE: He’s not here. Eddie, are you just being like this because you finally think I’ve met someone who’s worthy of dating me or something?
EDDIE: I’m being like this because I finally realized I’M worthy of dating you.
BIRDIE: Eddie… That is so sweet.
EDDIE: And I don’t think Lord Properfuck is worthy of you at all.
BIRDIE: I don’t think he’s even interested in me like that.
EDDIE: I think most guys are interested in you like that. The fact that you don’t realize it makes you even more attractive.
BIRDIE: Okay, thank you. But you have to stop saying awesome things like that. I’ll be down in an hour to pack. I still need time away from your face and your mouth and your hands and your penis.
EDDIE: And that’s a no, re the sexting?
BIRDIE: For now, yes. It’s a no.
EDDIE: You’ve never sexted with anyone before, have you?
BIRDIE: I have. I haven’t had satisfying sext with anyone before, but it was easier when I barely knew the guys.
EDDIE: You want to start over with me, don’t you?
BIRDIE: I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t even know if that’s possible for us.
EDDIE: I’m pretty sure anything’s possible for us, Bird. I got this. You’ll see.
19
Eddie
The One Where Eddie Finds Out
I’m the youngest in my family, but I never wanted to be treated like the baby brother. I’ve always been trying to prove myself to people, it seems. About being a responsible adult. About not being a player. About being more than just a pretty face with abs. About not being attracted to my female best friend. I’m done with that last one. And I think that this shift in the way I feel about Birdie proves the first three points.
It’s not that I feel like I have to prove myself to Birdie now. I just want to show her that we won’t lose what we have if we add in the other stuff. And I’m going to give her some good old-fashioned valentines in a hot new-fashioned way. I’m gonna woo the fuck out of that woman.
The train ended up getting to Chicago an hour and a half late. Could have been worse, as Gavin kept assuring us, but it gives us less time until we have to board the train
to New York. I checked us into the downtown Marriott, took a quick shower, ordered a bottle of champagne from room service just to be baller, and then let Birdie do her thing while I went out to run an errand. I had to find a store that sells burner phones, for a little project that I need to get started on ASAP. I can’t rewrite our history, but I can share some key moments that have been left out of my telling of our story so far.
I’ve been in the hotel lobby, setting something up, but I really need to go buy a winter coat because it’s so fucking cold out there. I also want to spend a little time warming up in that luxury hotel room with Birdie, although I won’t be doing it in the way that I’d like to.
I never did kiss her again after breakfast today. After last night, I’m wondering how I managed to resist kissing her for six years, because resisting it for six hours feels like torture now. But I’ll do it. I’ve made it a goal to wait until she’s ready, no matter how long it takes.
But I will do whatever it takes to not wait very long.
When I enter the hotel room, it’s empty. The door to the bathroom is closed. I don’t hear the shower running in there, but I can feel the steam.
“I’m back,” I call out as I remove my jacket. “You here?” It is alarming, how much I like saying that. Honey, I’m home.
“Oh hey! Taking a bath. I showered too. It’s so nice in here! Be right out.” She sounds relaxed. And naked. And wet.
But I’m not going to think about that right now.
The champagne bottle is uncorked, sitting in the wine cooler. There’s one unused champagne glass on the table, which means Birdie is probably enjoying a glass of champagne in the tub. I like that. I grab the bottle and drink from it—because no one’s looking and there’s no time to waste.
I place an envelope inside Birdie’s handbag. It’s marked with the words FOR BIRDIE BECKETT, FROM YOUR SECRET VALENTINE. All caps, carefully written in an unfamiliar way.
And then I just happen to notice that Birdie’s phone is charging right next to it on the desk…and when I touch the home button, I just happen to notice that it’s unlocked. Which is interesting. And the voicemail app is open on the screen. Which is very interesting. And the only saved message is from me, dated December 29th. Which is fascinating.
And I know there are rules about not listening to other people’s saved voicemails.
But they’re really more guidelines, if you were the one who left the voicemail when you were drunk.
As Birdie herself has demonstrated over the past couple of days—guidelines are merely suggestions when it comes to us.
So I put down the champagne bottle, play the voicemail and raise the phone to my ear.
I barely even recognize the sound of my recorded voice. It’s always weird, watching myself on screen. Whether I’m acting or it’s an interview. But this is beyond weird. I’m not the guy who leaves drunk voicemails. I’m the guy who leaves cool voicemails. I’m the guy who leaves funny voicemails. Sometimes I’m the guy who leaves voicemails that are hot as fuck. But this guy…this guy is vulnerable. Definitely hammered. Very confused. And he’s a fool. A fool in love.
I know for a fact that I’ve never been like this with anyone else.
“I know you’re the best girl. I’ve always known it.” What the fuck?
I can’t believe Birdie’s been living with this for a month and a half and didn’t tell me.
Okay, new plan.
I cannot go another month and a half without kissing her.
I tear off my sweater, leaving my T-shirt on, kick off my shoes, and then open that bathroom door. And there she is. Just stepped out of the tub, toweling off her beautiful, relaxed, wet, naked self. As if this view weren’t perfect enough, she’s so startled that she drops the towel. And now she’s a startled, beautiful, wet, totally naked woman who’s getting kissed by a fool. A fool who’s been in love with her forever, probably, without realizing it.
I hold her face in my hands, kissing her mouth. The gasps and sighs and moans echo quietly around the steamy tiled bathroom like a dirty hymn. I will do nothing but sing praises of this woman for the rest of my life.
Her hands are on my chest, gripping my T-shirt. Her tongue tastes like cinnamon toothpaste and champagne and starting over.
When I finally pull my lips away, I rest my forehead against hers. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” she whispers, eyes still closed, swaying a little.
“Why didn't you tell me what I said in that voicemail?”
“You listened to it?” She opens her eyes, but surprisingly, she does not sound surprised by this.
“Tell me why.” Her damp hair is held up by a clip, and I release that clip, sending it flying. The scent of her hair wafts in my direction, and she smells like a fucking chai latte that I want to have sex with.
“I didn't want you to feel bad about it.” Her lower lip and her voice tremble. They’re the only parts of her that I don’t want to make tremble right now. “It was so important to you to be faithful to Alana.”
I plant greedy, possessive kisses all over her pretty face. “Fucking hell, that's exactly why I love you, Birdie. You want me to be the best version of me. But you're the one who brings out the best of me. It was never her or anyone else. It was always just a matter of time before I realized how I felt about you.”
“Eddie…”
“I know. We don’t have to talk. But I have to kiss you.” I pick her up, naked in my arms, and carry her to the bed.
She doesn’t complain. She just wraps her arms around my neck and kisses my cheek. I place her at the edge of the mattress and kneel before her on the carpet.
“Eddie, we don’t have enough time,” she mutters while pulling off my T-shirt.
“There will always be time for this, Birdie. I will make you come on my face twice before you’ve finished telling me how long it will take us to get to the train platform.”
I massage her hips because I already know how much she likes it. She shifts around, thighs pressed tightly together. She crosses her arms in front of her breasts.
“Let me see you, beautiful girl.”
I trail my fingertips down the sides of her legs. She’s just shaved them and they’re so smooth. Smooth and dewy and already starting to tremble. I push her knees apart and kneel between them, kissing and biting the inside of one knee, looking up at her.
She bites her lower lip, uncovering her tits, and then cups and squeezes them.
Jesus.
“Fuck. Baby.” And that’s when I notice just how flushed her skin is. Just how swollen those beautiful perky tits are. “You already made yourself come when you were taking a bath, didn’t you?”
She doesn’t smirk like a vixen. She blushes. My blushing Birdie. My blushing, naked, Dirty Birdie who made herself come in the tub while I was out.
“You thought about me while you touched yourself?”
She nods.
I pull her closer to me, taking one shy pink nipple into my mouth. “You thought about me doing this?”
“Yes.”
I lick her all over. She is clean and warm and smooth and dewy, and I can taste and smell her arousal and it is all fucking delicious. “You didn’t think you could handle me doing this to you, but you touched yourself while thinking about me? How is that fair, Birdie Beckett?”
I get a delicate grunt as a response.
“I’d like to establish some new guidelines… One…” I lick her all the way up to her jaw, over to that spot behind her ear, and then settle between her legs again, squeezing her hip while massaging her clit with my thumb. “I will be the only man who touches you like this from now on.”
She slowly lies back onto the bed, stretching her arms out to the side, grabbing hold of the bedspread. “Mmmmm” is all she says.
“Two.” I kiss my way up her inner thigh. “If you and I are in the same city, you wait for me to get you off.”
“Unacceptable.” Her voice is shallow and breathy.
“What’s that?” I blow warm breath over her clit, making her shiver.
“I will touch myself whenever I want to.”
“Then you will only think of me when you do that.”
“Mmm. Only you. And Sherlock.”
She gets a little smack on the side of her ass for that, and then she gets a taste of my Sherlock impression. “Look at you lot, you’re all so vacant. Is it nice, not being me? It must be so relaxing.”
I’m not sure how happy I am about the moan and shudder that this elicits, but I’ll chalk it up to my amazing acting and light-handed spanking skills.
She mumbles something that I can’t understand. Her breaths come fast now, her bent arms covering her face, and she is writhing around. This is torture for both of us—my erection is straining against my jeans. I hop up to take off my pants and then flutter and flick my tongue at that pleasure center that has grown so slick and engorged from teasing. “What’s that, Luv?”
“Train,” she forces out.
Ahhh, yes. The lady was promised two swift orgasms, and I am a man of my word.
“No more talk.”
She still can’t handle it. Fine. My mouth is about to get busy anyway. I tug her back down to the edge of the bed, place her feet on my shoulders, and part those sweet folds. As I kiss the wet heat of her center, my groans vibrate through her. I could spend hours and days and years down here. Her hips move to the rhythm of my swirling and sucking. When her cries get louder and more high-pitched, when I feel her begin to spasm, her fingers clutching at my hair, I fuck her with my tongue. My arms are wrapped tight around her thighs to hold her in place as she bucks around. My name is the only word she knows right now, and it’s all I need to hear. The bucking is followed by rolling waves.
That’s when I pull back to let her revel in it, so I can watch in awe as she disappears into some ecstatic realm that I took her to. This is what I was longing to see last night, in the dark. The surprise and joy and torment in her face. The way her lithe body dances in place on top of the covers.
I don’t know if I was falling for her slowly, day by day, or if it all started when I met her and then got suspended for years by sheer force of will or denial. But I just fell so hard and fast for Birdie Beckett in the past half hour. I am dizzy with love for her.
A Very Friendly Valentine's Day Page 12