Accidentally Amy(32)
He looked at her lips and remembered what it’d felt like to kiss her. How it’d felt to have her sigh into his mouth and hold on to him as if she, too, was fighting the battle of endless imaginings.
“When do you medicate the fluffy guy?” she asked, her voice breathy as her eyes traveled all over his face.
“Whenever I want,” he replied, telling himself to move back while leaning a bit closer and resting one palm on each side of her on the butcherblock counter.
“Do you think he’ll take it from me?” she asked, her voice even quieter.
“I know he will,” he said, hypnotized by her mouth and her words and the way her eyes looked a little heavy-lidded at the moment.
“Good,” she said in a near-whisper, and he could almost feel the softness of her breath against his lips.
“So, um,” she said, blinking fast before breaking eye contact to look up at the TV. “Shit. Um. Where do you keep the applesauce?”
Applesauce. Applesauce. What is applesauce again? He straightened, took a full step back, and felt like he was waking up from a dream.
“Applesauce,” he repeated, his brain scrambling to catch up. “Is in the fridge.”
What the what had just happened?
He went over to the fridge - what the hell what the hell what the hell, opened the door and got out the jar of applesauce and Goodyear’s meds. Without looking back at her, he grabbed a plastic spoon and empty yogurt container from the drawer and went to find the cat.
“He’s in here,” he said, finding Goodyear on his chair. He took a deep breath. Nothing happened. Izzy probably hadn’t even noticed that you were a millisecond from kissing her.
He heard her feet as she jumped down from the island, and she looked totally normal and not freaked out as she came out of the kitchen and walked toward him. Yes, her cheeks were pink, but it was warm in there.
Really fucking hot, actually.
“Okay, show me how you slip the cat a mickey.” She shifted her weight to one leg and crossed her arms.
“Okay.” He showed her how he smashed a pill in the bottom of the yogurt container, then stirred in applesauce. When he picked up Goodyear and sat down in the chair, Izzy said--
“Wait - you do this in an off-white chair?” She looked horrified. “What if you spill?”
“I don’t,” he said, wanting to laugh as she continued to look aghast.
“Note to Iz - sit on floor when you do this,” she muttered. “Continue, please.”
“Thank you.” He scooped up the medicated applesauce and held out the spoon, to which Goodyear immediately lifted his fuzzy little face and started taking it down. That little guy had a thing for applesauce.
“He really likes applesauce,” she said, dropping to a squat beside them and watching Goodyear go HAM on the spoon. She reached out a hand and petted his head, which made the cat give her a closed-mouth growl while he kept licking.
Blake did laugh at that, and Izzy looked up at him, grinning and crinkling her nose.
He felt like he couldn’t breathe.
And when she took the spoon from him - let me have a turn - he realized he’d made a terrible mistake.
A gross miscalculation.
Because having Iz in his home, surrounded by his things and sleeping in his bed and leaving her what-the-hell-is-that-amazing-fucking-smell smell all over the place - well, that had the potential to change everything, regardless of whether or not anything physical happened between them.
And there was a tiny part of him that didn’t hate the idea of that change.
Dammit, he thought as that traitorous cat started purring.
It was just so fucking hot in that apartment.
Wasn’t it?
Chapter Ten
Blake: Fun fact - I hate flying.
Izzy looked at her phone and smiled as she waited in line at Starbucks. She texted: That's because you're a control freak.
Blake: A. No, I'm not. B. I don't need a diagnosis, I need a distraction.
Izzy: You think I'm free to just drop whatever I'm doing to entertain you?
Blake: Be honest - you're in line for coffee, aren't you?
Izzy: That's terrifying. Did you put an air tag in my purse?
Blake: No, I stuck it to your back like a modern-day "kick me" sign. Also, you go every day – wasn’t tough to figure out.
Izzy ordered her coffee, swiped her card and moved over to the waiting spot. Josh had dropped her off because her car was waiting on a part and she hadn't wanted to ride the bus with her overnight bag, the bag she was hauling to work because she was going to Blake's swanky apartment when she got off work.
She still couldn't believe it. She was excited about the view, the challenge of making his cats love her, and walking to work in the morning like she was the fashionable protagonist in an NYC sitcom, but she was also nervous for some inexplicable reason.
She looked down at her phone and texted: Do you have a window seat?
Blake: Nope. Wedged in-between a talker and a hummer
Izzy snorted and texted: A talker, a chest and a hummer walk into a bar...
Blake: Funny girl.
Izzy: Thank you. What time is your new bed being delivered, btw?
Blake: Sometime before two. NO PIZZA on the bed.
Izzy: Duh, Blake – I’m not five. Anyway. I’ve already planned out my meals for your bed. Tonight is spaghetti and meatballs. Tomorrow is babyback ribs, followed by fondue. And don’t worry. I’m going to be eating a lot of powdered donuts and Cheetos to soak up anything that might drip on the bed. #perfectcatsitter
Blake: SHAY.
Izzy: Chill, PHILLIPS. I am open to changing my bed menu.
Blake: I WILL KNOW.
Izzy: You're adorable when you use all-caps. VERY POWERFUL.