Accidentally Amy(34)

    Blake
Blake had never been so happy to see his building. He held his key card up to the security pad, rolled his suitcase through the lobby, and impatiently waited for the elevator, which seemed slower than usual.
The trip had gone well, and the acquisition was now official; everything had gone according to plan, work-wise.
What hadn't gone according to plan, however, had been Izzy.
He'd sent her that first text to tease her and to get his mind off of the flight, but he hadn't intended on opening a new corridor of their relationship. Though they'd had plenty of random text conversations before his trip, the discussions had usually begun with a purpose. A legit reason for them to be texting.
Although – wait.
Had they often had legitimate reasons? Yes, they’d been texting with purpose at times, but since their meeting at Starbucks, hadn’t they each been sneaking in little immaterial reasons to connect?
Regardless, a full transition had occurred.
They were now rando texting buddies.
(Okay - he fucking hated that idiotic moniker, but Iz had said it fifteen times over the past few days, just to irritate him, and it had taken root.)
She texted him about what she was wearing, the noise her co-worker made when she chewed potato chips, the macaroni and cheese she'd made in his kitchen and her thoughts on the mayor's plan to launch a streetcar project.
He texted her about Patriots fans, airport bathroom hand dryers, the book he was reading, his grandmother's phone calls and his opposing views on the mayor's streetcar proposal.
They'd texted the entire three days he'd been in Boston and FaceTimed every night. Basically, she'd become like one of his buddies - hell, he was just as comfortable talking to her as he was his best friend, Nick, only with her he got little gut punches when she did certain things. Smiled, laughed, talked about his bathtub, snuggled with his cats; shit like that made him get a pinching pain just below his heart.
But it was that word – buddy – that had begun buzzing in the back of his mind, even when he didn’t realize it. It was there, silently bouncing around in his head.
Blake knew the rules that he and Izzy agreed to. He knew why they were so important, and at a certain level, he still agreed with them. That being said, there was just this feeling he had when he was with her that was so not buddy-like.
He was too excited to be home to work it out now, but it was obviously something he needed to work out.
Blake pulled out his phone and tried texting her again as he got into the elevator. I am in the building now.
He'd been texting her since five a.m., when he'd decided to change his flight and come home a couple hours early. But she hadn't responded. He didn't want to scare her by showing up unexpectedly, but he was also dying to get home and get started on the weekend.
Of course, the only real plans he had was to go for a run, watch football and fix Izzy's car, and after the past few days of nonstop work, that sounded fucking amazing.
He unlocked the door to his apartment, opened it slowly and said, "Iz?"
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He could hear the TV, but no movement. He said - loudly, "Izzy? Goodyear? It's me - I took an earlier flight."
Was she asleep? Perhaps the new bed was that good, so comfortable that it rendered the sleeper comatose.
He took two steps into the living room and said "Iz - I'm ho--"
Shit. His mouth snapped shut when he saw her.
He quietly walked over to the sofa and for some reason, the sight of her sleeping made that pinching feeling she gave him inside burn so strong it almost hurt. Fucking fuck.
Her hands were tucked under her cheek, her hair wild across his pillow - his pillow, and a disconcerting emotion he couldn't identify settled on his chest like a brick as he looked down at her. Longing? Fondness? Wishfulness?
Also – had she slept there all night? Why hadn’t she slept in the new bed?
Something about seeing her there, though, cocooned in his blanket, asleep on his couch, made him homesick for…something.
Fuck, he was a mess, and he was also a total creep, watching her sleep like he was goddamn Joe Goldberg.
"Izzy." He dropped to a squat, moved his mouth a little closer to her ear and said, "I'm home, Iz."
"Blake." Her mouth turned up into a smile, even though her eyes stayed closed. She turned her head just a little and pressed her lips against his.
Shit, shit, shit.
Before he could think, she kissed him, her mouth soft and warm as she opened her lips under his. He steadied himself against the couch and swallowed, unsure of what to do. Was she even awake?
And how did she taste like chocolate already?
“Kiss me, Phillips,” she said against his mouth, a smile in her voice. “Unless you don’t want to.”
She moved her hands down to his neck, and the movement threw his squat off balance. He caught himself by bridging one arm over the back of the couch and one on the front, and Izzy apparently took that as a move. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer, and all of a sudden he was on his knees beside the couch, his upper body poised over hers as she bit down on his lower lip.
I’m done, he thought - maybe even said out loud - as he opened his mouth wide over hers, wanting to fucking consume her. She made a noise in the back of her throat that sent heat through him as her hands moved to his chest and her mouth went wild.
She kissed like sex and battle and sport, like domination and competition, like going all out and leaving nothing on the floor, holy shit. He wanted more - wanted all - as he felt her fingertips flexing - gripping - the front of his shirt.