accidentally amy

Izzy scratched Goodyear’s head and watched Blake freak out.  

Technically he was just standing beside her in the living room, holding his cat after injecting it with insulin. But his jaw was doing that flexing thing, he kept pulling at his shirt collar, and he hadn’t given her shit since they’d walked in.   

In fact, he’d been incredibly polite to her.  

Do you want something to drink? he’d asked. And then he followed it with Let me know if you change your mind.  What the hell did that even mean? It was totally freaking her out. Obviously, he was regretting their impetuous elevator liaison and trying to think of a gentle way to tell her that he was not at all interested in a sleepover.  

“Y’know what?” he said, barely looking at her as he moved the cat out of her arm’s reach and onto the floor. “This shirt is driving me crazy. Bad detergent or something. I’m going to go change.”  

“Okay,” Izzy said, narrowing her eyes and watching as he nearly ran to his bedroom.  

Shit, shit, shit. She felt queasy, literally queasy, as she wondered what exactly was up with him. Did he not enjoy the elevator sex? Was she a bad elevator lay? Did he not respect her now? (If that was the case, screw him, but still - ouch) Was he nervous she was looking for a relationship?  

She started pacing, and as she walked toward the big windows with the gorgeous view, she realized that it mattered too much to her. The why of his strange behavior felt like everything at once, like the world would end if he remained aloof and distant.  

Dear God, she cared way too much about what he thought. No, no, no. Cared way too much and also felt mildly panicked at the thought of screwing things up with him.  

Wait - was she in love with him?  

Izzy shook her head and muttered nope into the empty living room. “More than friends” was light years away from “in-love,” and she was just getting confused because she hadn’t been “more than friends” with anybody in, like, an eternity. 

She hadn’t known him long enough to know if he was worthy of sharing her favorite banana bread, much less her heart.  

Nope. She was freaking out because he was the hottest someone she’d ever been “more than friends” with, and that was it. 

Just be cool, moron, and be casual.   

Sure, she thought, biting down on her fingernail and staring out over the city. No problem.  

***  

Blake yanked his shirt off like it actually was the culprit, even though his irritation had nothing to do with his oxford. No, his irritation had to do with his conscience and the fact that he had to open that fucking email before he could move forward with Izzy.  

As blissful as ignorance had been - seriously it’d been a top five fucking day - it couldn’t be his excuse.

Especially when Izzy had no idea that everything was likely about to change.   

He grabbed a Henley from his closet, pulled it over his head, and as soon as his arms were through the sleeves, he grabbed the phone.  Time to take a look.  

Blake opened the email, dread settling into his stomach. Somehow, he just knew it wasn’t going to be good. He clicked on the link, and--  

“Can’t,” he said under his breath, through gritted teeth, swiping out of the attachment before he had a chance to see it. He set his phone on the dresser - face-down - and stepped away from it with his hands up like it was a loaded gun.  

Shit, shit, shit.  He knew looking at it was the right thing to do, but the part of him that wanted to fall asleep wrapped around Izzy wouldn’t let him. He was too drunk on her, too lost in every crinkle of her freckled nose, to give up the chance to finish the perfect day with a long, perfect night. It was lazy and selfish - he knew that - yet he wasn’t strong enough to stop himself.  

He dragged a hand through his hair before opening the bedroom door and going back out into the living room.  

“About time, bro,” Izzy said, and he was surprised to see her standing next to the door, looking down at her phone with her purse over her shoulder like she was waiting around to leave. She didn’t even look up when she said, “I think my grandma with arthritis changes faster than you.”  

“Are you…ready to go?” he asked, disappointment slamming into him.  

“Yeah,” she said, finally looking at him. Her mouth turned up into a smartass grin that didn’t reach her eyes, and her nose didn’t crinkle. Still, she teased, “Our elevator workout made me sleepy, so now I must go crash. And The Darkling needs to be fed.”  

He let his gaze move all over her, taking in every square inch that he’d hoped to worship. “Didn’t you feed him just before we left?”  

“Well, yeah,” she said, absentmindedly rubbing a finger over her lower lip. “But, um, he eats a lot.”  

“Ah.” Blake scrubbed a hand over the top of his hair. Apparently he and Iz were feeling entirely different about the night. Noted. “Let me go grab my phone and I’ll take you home.”  

He went back in his room and slipped the phone into his pocket, but when he returned to the living room, Izzy was crouched down, petting both of his cats while talking to them in the fucking sweetest voice. 

That pinching feeling returned with so much force it nearly brought him to his knees, and he couldn’t stop himself from biting out the words, “Holy shit, you are so fucking beautiful.” 

 ***  

Izzy gasped as she looked up, which made her lose her squat and drop back onto her butt.  

Gawwwwd, the way he’d said it.   

The way he’d said it.   

He’d said the words through gritted teeth like he meant them so hard. And his intense expression didn’t soften as she smiled at her own klutziness. His mouth was firm, his eyes so fierce that she felt the look from head-to-toe.  

“You mean graceful,” she teased, because she was not equipped to receive incendiary compliments from someone like Blake.  

“Wrong,” he said, crossing the room to stand above her. He held out a hand to help her up, and when she let him pull her to her feet, he held onto her hand and didn’t let go. “You are so goddamn pretty that I have a hard time not staring. Obsessively. Every second that I’m with you.”   

“Ohmigod, Phillips,” she said, blinking and hoping she didn’t sound as flustered as she felt, “You just can’t say things like that to me.”  

“Why not?” He dropped her hand and ran a knuckle over her cheek, killing her with eye contact as his big body seemed to hover in front of her, surrounding her, as his scent snaked around her head and made her hyperaware of his sexy throat.   

Her eyes closed of their own volition, and she swayed just the tiniest bit before forcing them open and being too honest. She didn’t know why her voice came out as a whisper when she said, “Because it makes me want to believe it.”  

“Fucking believe it, Shay,” he said, his voice quiet as he stepped closer. “Your face is all I’ve thought about since you scalded my chest with your PSL.”  

“Amy’s PSL,” she corrected, her heart beating a little faster as his hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer.  

“I am more than happy to take you home now,” he said, lowering his head to give her neck THE softest kiss. “But if you’re interested in a sleepover, nothing in this world would make me happier.” 

“What about a lotto win?” she asked, moving her head so he had better access. “I bet that’d make you happier.”  

“Wrong,” he growled, scraping his teeth against her skin. “I want you more than millions, though it’s quite likely I’d regret that decision in the morning.”  

That made her smile and put her hands on the back of his head. “World peace would surely make you happier.”  

“You can’t pin world peace on me,” he said with false indignation, his fingers unbuttoning the top button on her pirate blouse as his tongue licked over her throat. “World peace would - of course - be sublime, and I would choose it over you because I’m not a selfish monster. But all I want tonight, Isabella Clarence, is this.”  

“Oh, my God, I cannot believe you remember my middle name,” she said around a laugh.  

“It’s so bizarre that it’s unforgettable.” He unbuttoned another button. “Just like you.”  

Izzy stepped back - well, as much as he’d let her - and said, “Well before I can decide on the sleepover, I’m going to need to see Mr. Chest’s chest.”  

His hands stopped moving on her buttons and his head came up. “The chest is a dealbreaker?”  

“No, but I just really want to see it,” she said, feeling on more solid footing when they weren’t being serious. “I feel like once we start getting busy, I’ll be too distracted to look.”  

“Did you just say getting busy,” he asked, reaching over his shoulder to grab the back of his shirt.  

“It’s better than the alternative.”  

“Which is?” He pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it onto the floor.  

“Doing the nasty--holy shit,” she said through clenched teeth before her mouth literally dropped wide open. Mr. Chest’s chest was chestal perfection holy shit.  

“The nasty is not an alternative at all,” he said, reaching out to return to his previous unbuttoning task.   

“How about banging?” she asked, setting her hands on his sternum and slowly sliding them up toward his shoulders. It was sinful and wrong and wrong and sinful that he should look so beautiful. It’s like they super-sized his hot genes when the universe was stringing him together or something.   

He was a freak, honestly.  

“Too pedestrian,” he said, “We’re better than banging.”  

“Please don’t say making love,” Izzy objected, watching her fingers move over his sculpted pectorals. “That’s so disgusting.”  

“I would never,” he said, flicking open her remaining buttons. “Do I look like a douche?”  

“You look like a sex dream,” she said, then sucked in a breath when he leaned down enough to drop a hot kiss on her cleavage.  

“As do you.” He raised his head, his mouth in a mischievous grin as he said, “This proper bra is incredibly hot, by the way.”  

“An optical illusion that really makes my micropenis pop.”  

“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-muscley back as he said, “Swear to God 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? Fucker. 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 hyper-aware 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, Shay.”  

“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.”  

“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.  

***  

“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 in one hand so they didn’t step on any of the shards, and the broom in the other hand as he attempted to sweep their mess.  His reflection in the refrigerator 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 didn’t want to be responsible for bloody paws.   

Fucking cats.  

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 for the best.  

But the damn thing buzzed again. 

And again. And yet again.  

“Fuck,” he growled, 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.  

Izzy: 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 weird - he never knew what the hell she was talking about - and for some reason, it made him fucking out-of-his mind over her. He was obsessed with the unpredictability 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: If I say something about my micropenis, will you…  

That made him smile as he responded with: Kill you? Absolutely.  

Izzy: So I’m not nervous exactly, maybe just shy…?  

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 Napolean Dynamite dance. If you can do that on camera, you cannot be shy.  

Izzy: I think that’s the problem – US, in your apartment after a “date,” is new. Not at all like US in our normal habitatary.  

He stood. God help me but I get it. So…?  

Izzy: So if we’re going to knock boots 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. 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: Is that your pre-sex text?  

He responded with: It is.  

Izzy: I actually just buried myself under your covers as-is.  

Blake felt the blood rush from his head. To clarify - you are half-naked in my bed?  

Izzy: Correct. I felt all awkweird, waiting for you with no shirt on, so the intelligent next-step was to dive and bury.  

Blake: That sounds positively canine.  

Izzy: I will not make a joke about doggy-style.  

Blake tried to focus on his phone and not the images she was putting in his head. Wise decision, considering your unclothed state and your geographical location.  

Izzy: Just because I’m half-nekked in your bed doesn’t mean I’m at your mercy.  

It was getting hot in the apartment again. Believe me, I know. May I ask you a question?  

Izzy: I’ll allow it.  

Blake: How would you like me to proceed? Shall I join you under the sea of blankets, or is there another plan hatching in that cacophonic brain of yours?  

Izzy: Confession - the thought of you and I together in this bed makes it hard to breathe.  

Something about her confession made his heart twist in his chest, maybe the fact that he felt the same way. He texted: Confession – the thought of you and I together in my bed makes it hard to breathe.  

Izzy: Really?  

Blake: So hard.  

He walked to the bedroom, stopping in the doorway. Izzy was lying on her stomach in his bed, covered by his comforter. Her shoulders and upper back were visible, bare except for the thin black strap across her back, and she was looking down at her phone.   

Holy Christ, he wanted that so much. Not just the obvious, but the mundane. He wanted Izzy in his bed, scrolling on her phone like it was an ordinary occurrence, fucking all the time.  

He texted: I dare you to take off that bra.  

He heard her inhale sharply before she responded. Are you in the doorway?  

Blake: Yes.  

She cleared her throat and texted: I cannot pass up a dare, can I?  

Blake: I sure as fuck hope not.  

His skin felt hot as he watched her slim fingers reach around her back, unhook her bra, then fling it off the edge of the bed. She raised herself up, onto her elbows, and texted: Better?  

His eyes were stuck to her bare back, to her pale, naked skin that set fire to every one of his fantasies. 

The reality of Izzy was a thousand times better. 

He texted: So much better. Is it weird that I want to lick every bump of your spine?   

Izzy: Not as weird as how badly I want to bury my face in your pillow and let you.  

Blake: Are you still wearing that skirt?  

Izzy: Shhh – my turn, Phillips. I dare you to lose the pants.  

Blake had never unbuckled and unbuttoned faster in his life. The room was so quiet that the click of his belt buckle hitting the floor confirmed he’d done as she’d asked. She responded with: Good boy.  

Blake wanted to ditch the phone and tackle her on the bed, but if this was what it took to get past her nervousness, he was great with it.  Also, something about it was fucking hot.  The vanilla of her perfume slithered around him as he texted: I’m gonna need to see that skirt come off, Iz.  

Izzy: Confession – It’s already off. When you went into the kitchen, I shed the outer layer.  

Blake: So tell me exactly what you’re wearing this second.  

Izzy: Tidy whities and old man socks.  

“That’s it,” Blake said, dropping his phone and charging over to the bed. “I’m coming in.”  

***  

She screamed – a cackling laugh of a scream - when Blake’s big hand wrapped around her ankle.   He dove under the covers and crawled up her body – well, up the back of her body – but the laughing stopped when she felt his hands on her hips, his mouth on the small of her back. 

She shivered and let out a sigh that might’ve been a moan as his lips and tongue moved up her spine, his big body poised above hers with the space of a breath between them.  When his mouth hit the back of her neck, he murmured, “Those lacy black panties are not tidy whities, for the record.”  

She gasped when he bit down on her nape and then she said, “I guess I was thinking of yesterday’s undergarments.”  

“Really.” 

She could feel the rumble of his voice on her skin, and she wanted to see his face. Needed to see his face.  Izzy turned over underneath the bridge of his arms, and the sight of him hovering above her, with his hair tousled, his eyes all heavy-lidded and hot, made her realize it was the first time she’d ever been knocked breathless just from looking at someone.  

“Hey,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.  

“Hey.” He swallowed.  

“Listen, um,” she started, rubbing her lips together and trying to think of something to keep it chill, but then he cut her off by kissing her. His lips came down on hers, somehow different – yet again – than every other time they’d kissed. 

Blake Phillips apparently had an entire dossier of kisses at his disposal and dispensed them with the utmost care.  So far she’d had sweet, sexy, and hot, but this one was dirty. Filthy. She’s thought the Billboard Assholes kiss was a sex kiss, but no.  

This was a sex kiss.  

His mouth was just as hot and hungry, but it had the patience that went along with having all night. It felt like foreplay and tantric marathon sex, all at once, and Izzy stopped thinking and held on for dear life.  She brought her arms up and around him, letting her fingers flex into the muscles of his back, needing to bring him closer.  

He made a noise deep in his chest – a growl or a groan or a grunt – as their bodies came together. She could feel every inch of him – chest, stomach, Dear God, thighs – and she bit down on his bottom lip, instantly impatient for everything his body had to offer her.  

That was apparently the green light he’d needed, because it was on. His greedy mouth moved lower, licking down the column of her throat in a way that had her pressing and straining to feel more.  Her arms fell to the bed when his mouth moved south, worshipful with the kind of enthusiasm that made her feel like a centerfold, as opposed to the b-cup she actually was.   

“You,” she said, digging her fingers into his hair, “Are delightfully-obsessed with my micropenis.”  

He made a noise and delivered a nip of punishment that made her squeal, a squeal that turned into a pornographic moan as his mouth continued the onslaught that was making her wild.  How was he so good at that?  He only got better as he moved down her body, ridding her of the last scrap of her clothing, kissing every bit of her and making her writhe, tremble, gasp and scream.  

It wasn’t just that he was skilled at the tasks he was performing (nickname suggestion: Orgasm Bringer) or the way she was fairly certain she had an extraordinary hickey on her hipbone.  No, it was that everything he did, every move he made, shimmered through her entire body like waves in a pool.   

His fingers sliding over her skin – she felt them where he touched, but she also felt his fingers in the depths of her chest, the racing of her heart, and the heat of her cheeks.  

When he kissed her belly, she felt the heat of his mouth on her flesh, and also in the pit of her stomach.  

And, God help her, when he came back to her and looked down at her face, his eyes were so full of…shit…something, that she felt it in the backs of her eyes.  

Yes, when this man looked at her, she wanted to cry because she was so into him.  

Blake swallowed, opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, and she realized that she was waiting for a profession of love. His flared nostrils and flushed cheeks made him look like a man ready to spit sonnets, and she felt like she couldn’t bear the disappointment of what he wasn’t going to say.  

So she grabbed his face and brought it to hers – hard – and tried showing him how she felt by kissing the everloving shit out of him, eating his face off and swallowing down the stupid tears that for some reason were really close to the surface.  

He sucked in a breath and went even harder, kissing her like a storm, surrounding her with passion that was inescapable and wild, where shelter was nowhere to be found.  

She wasn’t sure she was going to make it.  

Izzy let go of his jaw, slid her hands down the front of his body, and touched him. Finally.  He hissed her name and froze, tension hardening every muscle in that big body. He ground out the words, “Holy. Hell. Yes. Iz. Fuck.”  

“Come on, Phillips,” she said against his mouth, overcome with need. 

“So impatient,” he replied, lifting his head to give her a smirk.  

She raised her hips and slid her body against his in response.  

Apparently, that was all it took.  His hands left her long enough to open a drawer and rip into a wrapper, and in a matter of seconds, he was sliding inside her body. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt all of him, so incredibly good and right and full and hot and gawwwwwwwd.  

But then he said her name.  

“Iz.”  

She opened her eyes, and he was watching her, looking like every wicked fantasy she’d ever had about him.  

She swallowed. “Hi.”  

That made him smile, the sweetest, most affectionate little grin, and he said, “God, I fucking love you.”  

Her chest burned, her ears buzzed, and she wanted to freeze that moment forever.  

But then Blake started moving, dominating her body with that sexpertise of his, and she lost the ability to think.  She wrapped her arms around him and held on tight as he made her burn. She might’ve blacked out at one point, and she definitely forgot how to form words for a solid ten seconds as he showcased just how good he was at pushing her to more than she'd known was possible, but she never wanted it to end.  

Nothing in her life had ever felt quite that exquisite.  

Well, until fifteen minutes later, when Blake wrapped his big body around hers, pulled the heavy comforter over them, kissed the top of her head, and turned out the light.  

She felt like she was home.  

And just like that, the worries that had plagued her disappeared. It was too late to turn back, so she was just going to listen to Blake.  

Don’t be scared, Iz. Just take a deep breath and let yourself fall. 

Really, what else could she do, now that she was half in love with him?  

***  

Blake sat down on a kitchen stool and opened Outlook. 

The clock on the microwave said 2:15, but he was still wide awake because his guilty conscience wouldn’t let him sleep.  Izzy, on the other hand, was totally out, looking adorable with her face buried in his pillow and his shirt on her back. 

The sight of her there, sound asleep under his blanket, made him want so many fucking things.  

But he couldn’t have them. Not yet.  

He took a deep breath and opened the email attachment, ready to accept whatever he found. He’d come up with a plan as he’d laid there with his face buried in her vanilla hair, and now it was time to formulate the strategy and hope she'd be able to forgive him later.