Accidentally Amy(47)

“That’s it,” he said, grabbing her waist and tossing her over his shoulder as if she were…well, something one would carry on their shoulder. Izzy squealed, staring at his super-muscly back as he said, “If you call your breasts a micropenis one more time…”
“What?” she asked, overcome with giggles as her silky shirt slid off of her upside-down torso entirely and dropped onto the wood floor. “Whatcha gonna do, Phillips?”
“Not sure,” he said, his arm tightening across the backs of her legs as he started walking. “Tape your mouth shut, maybe?”
She kept laughing as he walked through his bedroom doorway, and she said around a cackle, “But then you’ll be denying yourself the magic of my mouth, Mr. Chest, and you don’t want to do that.”
She’d meant it as a lighthearted tease about kissing, but realized it sounded filthy.
Blake stopped his forward motion and set her back on her feet a little roughly. His hot eyes were burning every little bit of her when he said, “Your mouth is the very best part of you, Iz.”
How did he do that? How did he manage to say things that made her heart swell up in her chest? She tried diffusing the moment with, “I’d say same, Blake, but those abdominals--”
“Izzy.”
She stopped rambling. “Yeah?”
“No jokes.” His eyes were just above hers, the planes of his face the center of her existence as he said, “I’m trying to tell you that I--”
A huge crash cut him off, the sound of ceramics shattering from the other side of the doorway, making both their heads turn in that direction.
“What was that?” she asked, suddenly hyperaware of her shirtlessness.
“Fucking cats,” he growled, putting his big hands on her upper arms and moving her just a little. His eyes were all sex as he moved his face closer, so his nose touched hers, and he said, “Stay right here and don’t move.”
“I’ll do what I want, Phillips,” she said, ruining her attempt at sass by her inability to not beam up at the man.
His mouth twitched and he said, “If your shirt is back on when I return, there’s going to be hell to pay.”
She thought she saw a quick flash of something in his eyes, his face. It wasn’t what he said, just how he said it.
But he was shirtless and she was powerless, so she quickly let it go.
“Not scared,” she said as he walked out of the room, and then she laughed when he held up a hand and flipped her off without looking back.
No, she wasn’t scared, she thought as she watched him go into the kitchen.
She was terrified.


    Blake
“Whoa - watch the claws,” Blake muttered under his breath as he swept up the broken remains of a glass bowl. He was holding both of the little shits with one arm so they didn’t step on any of the shards, and the broom with his other as he attempted to sweep up their mess.
His reflection in the adjacent window mocked him.
Dress pants, no shirt, two cats - fucking cool, bro.
And talk about your shitty timing; he’d finally had Izzy smiling again. He’d been tempted to just ignore the crash and hope for the best, but then he remembered Goodyear’s circle-walking and he couldn’t risk the cats getting cut.
Fucking cats.
Just as he finished sweeping the glass, his phone buzzed in his pocket and he knew - beyond a reasonable doubt - that he was not going to check it. An email from the office would destroy his resolve to ignore work until Monday and hope that the powers that be were on his side.
But the damn thing buzzed again.
And again. And yet again.
“Fuck,” he growled, setting down the boys before propping the broom against the pantry and pulling out the phone.
But - it wasn’t an email. It was a text. Multiple texts.
From Izzy.
Izzy: I’m taking a poll. Are you between the ages of 20 and 40?
What the fuck was she doing?
He responded: Yep. You know I’m 20 feet away from you, right?
Izzy: Shh. Is your name Blake Phillips?
He texted: Yep.
Izzy: Okay so random poll question - are you still nervous?
Blake glanced toward the bedroom but couldn’t see more than the doorway.
Izzy was so unpredictable - he never knew what she was going to do or say next - and for some reason, it made him fucking out-of-his mind over her. He was obsessed with the randomness of her brain.
He answered honestly: No.
Izzy: Oh.
A second passed. Izzy: Yeah, me, either.
Blake wasn’t letting her off the hook. He texted: Why are you nervous?
Izzy: So I’m not nervous exactly, I don’t know…?
Blake reached down and scratched between Goodyear’s ears and replied: It’s ME. Last week you FaceTimed to prove to me you can do the Napoleon Dynamite dance. If you can do that on camera, you cannot be shy.
Izzy: No. NO! I think it’s just us after a date. It’s new. Not at all like US in our normal habitatary.
He stood. I get it. So…btw. Still 20 feet away. I can almost hear you typing.
Izzy: Ignoring that. So if we’re going to continue, ehrm, amorous activities when you come back, perhaps we should text a little, to remind us of our Iz/Blake friendship roots.
He was smiling again, like a damn fool. He responded with: You want me to text you before I sex you?
Izzy: Maybe.
Blake: Okay. So HEY, DIPSHIT, you didn’t put your shirt back on, did you?
Izzy: THIS is revisiting our Iz/Blake friendship roots?
He responded with: Shirt?? I’m waiting…
Izzy: I actually just buried myself under your covers sans bra.
Blake felt the blood rush from his head. To clarify - you are half-naked in my bed?