accidentally amy

Blake paced around the kitchen as he texted: I know it’s the weekend, but is there any way we can meet up tomorrow? It’s important. Your office, Starbucks, your house - wherever.  

He knew Brad wouldn’t respond in the middle of the night, but that man had bothered Blake after-hours so many times that he didn’t even feel bad for--  

His phone buzzed. Holy shit - that was fast. Blake opened the message.  

Brad: Can’t - at the lake house with the fam. Is everything okay?  

Dammit. Blake sighed and responded: It’s fine, I just need to talk to you ASAP.   

Brad: Early meeting on Monday? I can meet you at Starbucks at six.  

Blake was usually the second person in the office every day; Brad was always the first. Six-thirty was his normal start time, which was probably why the man was on his third wife and had chronic high blood pressure. He replied: Six o’clock it is, but let the record show that I texted you the minute after I opened the updated org chart.  

Brad: Noted.   

Blake swiped out of his messages and plugged the phone into the kitchen charger. Hitting the lights, he exited the kitchen as the room plunged into semi-darkness. The city lights outside of the window provided a little illumination, which usually made him feel less alone when he couldn’t sleep.  

But tonight the lights didn’t matter.  

Because Izzy was wrapped in his blanket, his shirt on her body and his socks on her feet. He felt…fuck, whole, was it? That seemed far too dramatic, fucking romantic, even, but whenever he was with her, he wanted nothing else. He thought of nothing else. Everything else ceased to exist. When he was with Izzy, he was with everything.  

He walked through the living room, and even that looked different with her there. Her bag on the couch, her shoes on the floor, her shirt lying on the area rug as if she’d undressed on the way to bed. 

It was strange, he thought, because he really liked tidiness. For some reason, though, seeing her things made him feel some kind of fucking way.  

Shit, she was making him soft as hell.   

When he walked into the bedroom, that bullshit was amplified to the Nth degree. Because there, on his nightstand where he usually set his glasses when he went to bed, were her glasses. It felt polarizing, staring at her crooked frames with the smudged lenses, and he had the overwhelming urge to do something to keep them there indefinitely.  

Yeah, he was clearly losing it.  

He went around the bed and climbed in beside her, doing his best not to wake her. She was out - dead to the world - sound asleep with her hands tucked under her cheek on his pillow. He wanted to look at her, to watch her sleep, but he was pretty sure that was another level of creepy that he needed to steer clear of.  So he rolled over, settled onto the other pillow, pulled the blanket up, and closed his eyes.   

“Everything okay?” he heard her ask, her voice slurred and a little gravelly with sleep.  

“Fine,” he replied, his eyes still closed.  

“You took away my warmth when you left,” she said, scooting closer until she was curled into his back. He felt her breath on the back of his neck and her knee snaking between his as she murmured, “Mmm, better.”  

He felt every muscle in his body relax like he’d been given the sweetest sleeping pill, and he took a deep breath of Izzy air. Holy shit, she was right - that was way fucking better.  

***  

Izzy couldn’t believe that VP Blake was still asleep.   

It was seven o’clock, she was dressed (in his big t-shirt and a pair of his baggy shorts that she’d had to waist-roll two times) and ready for a run, while Blake lay face down on the bed as if comatose. She would’ve imagined him as one of those doing-burpees-at-five-am dudes, but apparently he liked sleeping in.  

For some reason, that contradiction was adorable. She wanted to jump on his back and bounce up and down, just to irritate him awake and see his sleepy scowl.  

She fed the cats, left him a note so he didn’t overdose Goodyear, and quietly left the apartment. She still had his code from when she’d cat-sat, so she didn’t bother with a key.  It wasn’t until her second mile that she finally heard from him. His notification silenced the Post Malone that was blaring through her Air Pods and he texted:  Where did you go?  

She stopped and replied: I’m under the bed.  

Blake: You don’t seriously think I’m going to look, do you?  

Izzy: In my head, you did.  

Blake: Was I wearing coveralls, little perv?  

Izzy snorted and moved off of the sidewalk and onto a bench. Texted: First of all, it’s LIL PERV. Second, no coveralls this time. This time you’re only wearing that pretty chest and a very-precarious sheet.  

Blake: What makes it so precarious?  

She grinned and pictured naked Blake, sound asleep in his big bed. The way it’s SOOO close to sliding off  and exposing your junk.  

Blake: Have I ever told you that you have a way with words?  

Izzy: Don’t have to - I know it.  

Blake: So AGAIN - where did you go?  

Izzy: I’m running. Well, I WAS running until you texted. Now I’m sitting on a bench outside of a barber shop.  

Blake: In your skirt?  

Hmmm…she wondered where that skirt was. Blake had removed it from her body and she hadn’t seen it since. She texted: In your pants. I swear I didn’t rifle, but you had a pair of workout shorts folded on top of the dryer so I borrowed them.  

Blake: Are they falling off of you? They must be huge.  

Izzy: That’s what she said.  

Blake: That doesn’t make sense.  

Izzy: That’s what HE said?  

Blake: Still not there.  

Izzy: How about that’s what you said when I said I was wearing your shorts?  

Blake: FFS, Shay. How much longer will you be running?  

She giggled. There was something so rewarding about irritating VP Blake. She texted: Two more miles. But the time varies GREATLY.  

Blake: Greatly??  

Izzy: Well, it depends on if I’m feeling lazy, or if I see a dog, or if I got railed last night and am sleepy - that sort of thing.  

Blake: Did you get railed?  

She grinned and noticed that the man sitting at the bus stop was looking at her like she was out of her mind. She texted: Ohmigawwwwwd, Chest, you wouldn’t BELIEVE the night I had.   

Blake: Good?  

Izzy: I wouldn’t want him to know and get a big head, but this man was unbelievably good.  

Blake: He knows.  

Izzy: Oh, he does not.  

Blake: Trust me. You make this noise that sounds a little bit like a sexy guinea pig and you get super-bitey; it definitely lets a man know how he’s doing.  

Izzy: So you know it was good for me because I became vermin-like.  

Blake: YUP.  

She figured she should be offended but with Blake, she rarely was. She texted: Well you make this growly noise that rumbles in your chest and your fingers get all grippy, so I know you liked it because YOU became a cat.  

Blake: You also know I liked it because I came so hard I nearly blacked out.  

“Ohmigawwwwd,” she squealed, gaping at her phone, and the bus stop dude clutched his grocery bag like he knew she was coming for it. She responded with: I have to go run before Bus Stop Man calls the cops.  

Blake: Why? What are you doing?  

Izzy: It’s this perverted little cackle, like I’m turned on and also very amused. I imagine it’s mildly unsettling to a stranger.   

Blake: Do you want company on your run, Weirdo?  

Izzy: Well yes, but I feel like you might be slower than me and hold me back.  

Blake: I promise to try my hardest.  

Izzy: I’m sitting in front of Alliance Barber Shop. You’ve got 20 mins.  

Blake: I’m still in bed - how am I gonna run two miles and be there in twenty minutes?  

Izzy: Sprint, dumbass. Or drive.  

Blake: Drive, she says.  

Izzy: Yes! Drive here, we run, and then we drive to breakfast after.  

Blake: I was going to MAKE you breakfast.  

She felt all gooey inside, like she was about to just melt into a thick puddle of happy honey. She texted: You were?  

Blake: Homemade pizza because I know you hate breakfast food.  

Izzy: Oops I just made the guinea pig sound.  

Blake: Fuck, yes, I’m on my way.  

Izzy: YESSSSS.  

Blake: I seem to recall you saying that a lot last night.  

Izzy: I pretty much chanted it.  

Blake: Fucking amazing night, Shay.  

Izzy: Agreed, Phillips.  

Blake: I’m pretty sure I saw God that last time.  

Izzy: No, that was me, silly.  

Blake: My mistake, Goddess.  

Izzy: #newnickname  

Blake: #youwish  

Izzy: #drivecarefully  

Blake: #iwill  

***  

“How old were you?” Blake asked.  

“Five,” she replied, toeing off her shoes in the entryway as Blake shut the door behind them.  

“Seems like you should’ve been old enough to know better,” he said, wondering when the hell he’d become the kind of guy who liked hearing childhood stories. He usually didn’t give a shit about preschool antics, but with Iz, he could listen all day.  You told me ‘bout your past, thinking your future was me - the lyric came at him out of nowhere.  

“Maybe Scotty was a little shit - did you ever think of that?” she asked, her nose crinkled as she pretended to be pissed. “Did anyone?”  

He watched her pull the ponytail out of her hair, then dig in all ten fingers to shake it out. Those little mannerisms were somehow something to him all of a sudden. He wanted to learn every single one. He crossed his arms and said said, “But you said he cried every time he saw you coming.”  

“Are you going to talk about Scotty the Shit all day, who probably deserved my tackling back bites, or are you going to show me how to work your fancy showerhead?”  

He grabbed her hand, linked his fingers through hers and pulled her toward the master bathroom.   

The run had been entertaining, with Izzy shit-talking the entire time about how fast she was while simultaneously telling him to slow down. After that, they’d grabbed breakfast while walking around the farmer’s market. He’d wolfed down a protein-packed breakfast sandwich sold to him by a certified beekeeper who also taught yoga, and Izzy wolfed down a glazed donut she’d found at the gas station across the street.  He'd been mortified when the flower vendor told Izzy the “adorable” story of how he’d needed to find the perfect flowers yesterday and was a bit of a psycho about it, but when her lips turned up into a huge grin and she sarcastically batted her eyelashes at him and put her hands over her heart, he’d stopped caring.  

“You know,” she said as he flipped on the bathroom light, “It’d probably be best for the planet if we just showered at the same time.”  

“I do love the planet,” he said, opening the glass door and turning on the water.  

“I knew it,” she said, leaning down to pull off her socks.  

“But I think you just want to see me naked.”  

She straightened and shook her head. “That’s a mighty big ego you have, sir.”  

“I think you want to see my mighty big--”  

“Shhh.” She covered his mouth with her hand, giggling. “Don’t say it.”  

“Say what?” he said from behind her palm, feigning innocence even though they were both remembering the night before.   

The things she’d said.  

The things he’d said.  

She leveled a look of warning at him before dropping her hand.  

“What?” He squinted and said, “You can’t say it now? Because I seem to recall that pretty mouth saying some filthy things in my bedroom.”  

Her eyes sparkled with humor, with challenge as she stepped out of her shorts and pulled off his t-shirt, then stripped down to nothing. “I’d rather use my mouth for other things. You coming?”  

She walked around him and stepped into the shower.  He just stood there, frozen, looking at naked Izzy as she turned away from the shower stream, so the water was hitting her back, and she leaned her head all the way back to get her hair wet.  

Because she hated getting her face wet. You told me ‘bout your past, thinking your future was me.  

“Stop staring at my micropenis and get in,” she said, her eyes closed.   

He was naked in a second and stepping into the shower, his hands reaching for her waist to pull her close. He said, “What did I say about calling your amazing breasts--”  

But she cut him off by grabbing the back of his head, pulling him down to her level and kissing the living shit out of him. The hunger of it, the want, nearly buckled his knees as he squeezed her waist and tried keeping up with her.  

Hot water poured over them as warmth pulsed through his veins. This…this he could do forever. He reached around her to grab the body wash, not breaking contact with her mouth as he squeezed out liquid soap and started lathering her back.  His hands traveled all over her slick skin, back-to-front, head-to-toe. 

He was a fucking junkie for her reactions. A sigh was great at first, but then he needed a moan. When his hands made her moan, his adrenaline spiked and he could barely breathe from the burning need to hear her scream. And when his mouth delivered that hot as fuck sound, he finally felt like he had his fix.

Until she slid down his body, her fingers scraping down his thighs, and she proceeded to make him lose the capacity to think at all.

***  

“Seriously? You really think Patrick Mahomes is the guy?”   

“He had 425 passing yards last week,” Blake said, cracking open a peanut shell. “It’s a no-brainer.”  

“Last week is last week, this week is this week,” she said, tugging on the bottom of the Beastie Boys T-shirt she’d stolen from Blake’s closet and had been wearing all day. It was getting chilly and she was going to need to put on pants soon, but the game had just started and she was too comfy to go all the way into the bedroom.  

“Wow.” Blake gave her a look and tossed a shell in her direction. “SO profound.”  

“Profundity is my forte.”  

“Profundity isn’t even a word.”  

“Googling, dipshit.” Izzy laughed and opened Google, intent on proving him wrong. They were each sitting on opposite ends of her couch - because she’d forced him to scoot over as punishment for calling her fantasy football team weaksauce - but then The Darkling had ruined everything by settling on his lap so he couldn’t come back to her.   

She loved what an unwilling cat lover he was.  

“Boom - profundity,” she said, reading the definition aloud, but he just shook his head and tossed more peanuts in her direction.   

After the shower at his place, he’d brought her home so she could feed the cat and, well, go home. But instead of saying goodbye, she’d invited him in to watch football and they’d been doing that the entire day. Sunday Night Football was just about to start, and Izzy was bummed that the weekend was coming to an end.  It’d been so perfect it was terrifying.  

“I need a soda,” she said, getting up. “Want something?”  

His dark eyes were all over her, a smile on his lips, and she muttered pervert before rolling her eyes and going into the kitchen. Blake walked in when she was closing the refrigerator, and the sight of his socks on her tacky linoleum floor made her happy.  Incandescently happy. 

So weird, right?  But VP Blake in his stockinged feet was a glorious sight to behold. Sweats, messy hair - God, she wanted it all.  

“You want a Dr. Pepper?” she asked.  

“Actually, I should probably take off. Tomorrow is going to be a stressful day at work, so I should be a good boy and get a decent night’s sleep. Y’know, since some little shit kept me up all night.”  

She couldn’t stop the disappointment, even thought they’d both said over their living room pizza picnic that they needed to stay at their respective apartments with work hovering in the morning.  

“Yeah - get out,” she said. “I’m done with you anyway.”  

“Nope.” He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, tightly, lifting her off the ground as he added, “We’re only getting started.”  

She tried to be cool, but it was impossible not to smile at that because she just freaking adored him. She adored him and wanted everything.   

So she looked away from his face before he could see her naked adoration and she changed the subject.  

“Did you know that when you set me on the table yesterday, I kind of thought you wanted to sex me up? On the butcher block dinette?”  

His gaze moved over the span of her face, like he was trying to see if she were serious or not, and then he lifted her higher and carried her over to the table. Her heart started racing as he gave her that look, plopped her on the table, pushed her knees apart and stepped closer.  

“Were you into it, Iz?” His voice was quiet and a little growly as he dragged his teeth along her jawline, as his big hands slowly slid the oversized t-shirt up her thighs. He raised his head and asked, “Were you down for some table action?”  

“Yes,” she sighed, looking straight into his eyes. “I seem to be into everything when it comes to you.”  

Something in his face changed when she said that. All at once he looked sweet and serious, and he leaned closer and rested his forehead against hers. He swallowed and said, “I know the feeling.”  

“It’s bizarre, right?” she whispered, raising a hand to his stubbled jaw.  

He closed his eyes for a half-second, leaning into her touch, and when he opened them, they were bright and hot and intense. “Fucknig bizarre and so fucking perfect, Iz, I can’t even.”  

His mouth found hers as his big hands made quick work of her clothes, and she took care of his pants and the task of wrangling his wallet from his pocket while never breaking contact with that power kiss. 

In mere seconds he was right where she needed him, sighing into her mouth as he crashed into her on the kitchen table, and she felt emotional as she locked eyes with him, somehow homesick for him at that very moment even though the moment hadn’t yet passed.  He moved, rocking into her, making her wrap her legs around him to hold him closer, squeeze him tighter, to try and lock-up his body the way he’d locked-up her heart.   

“Fuck,” he hissed, sliding his hands underneath her and changing the angle to where it was no longer physically possible for her eyes to stay open. Or for her to think. He was so good, so in tune with every little thing that she didn’t even know she wanted, that Izzy just dug in her heels - and her nails - and let herself fall into the blissful escape.   

***  

Izzy: You awake?  

Blake smiled as he looked at her message. Yes, he was lying in bed, in the dark, but he was definitely still awake. He texted: We literally hung up the phone four minutes ago.  

Izzy: Well you fell asleep really fast last night, so…  

Blake: No, that was you, Princess Snore.  

Izzy: I don’t snore.  

Blake: No comment.  

Izzy: I don’t!  

Blake pictured her, face down and sound asleep beside him. He texted: Isabella Shay, I’m not saying you snore, but if you did, it would be the most adorable sleepy sound I’ve ever heard. Like a motherfucking kitten.  

Izzy: Flipping you off.  

Blake: Grabbing your finger and sucking.  

Izzy: ABORT MISSION! THIS IS NO WAY TO GET SLEEPY!  

Blake sat up, grinning like a dipshit, and fluffed his pillow. Texted: Is that why you texted? So you could get sleepy?  

Izzy: No. I texted you to say that no matter what happens, this weekend was perfect.  

What the fuck was that? Did she know? He texted: “No matter what happens??”  

Izzy: LOL I just mean that regardless of any other thing that happens in my life, in the world or in the universe, this weekend will be preserved in my heart as perfection.  

Well, shit. Blake felt that in his stomach, in his heart, in his goddamn mind, because it was exactly how he felt, too.   

I love you. He wanted to say it. He wanted to tell her a hundred times that even though it was too soon, he totally loved the shit out of her.  

Fuck, maybe he’d tell her tomorrow, after everything went down.  

I love you, Iz.  It’s what he felt in his very core, but instead he texted: I love your profundity, Iz.  

Izzy: And I love hearing you acknowledge the word profundity. Goodnight, Mr. Chest.  

He laid back on his pillow, looked out at the city lights, and texted: Goodnight to you, Starbucks Amy.