Chapter Fourteen
Izzy
I took a bite of pizza, set down my plate, and lifted the ringing phone to my ear. “It’s five fifty-five—you’re early.”
“Want me to call back in five?” Blake asked.
I wiped my mouth with a napkin and said, “Nah, but you’re going to have to listen to me finish this last piece of pizza.”
“Pizza again?” He sounded amused. “It’s only been a few hours since your last piece.”
“Your point?”
“Forget it.”
The Darkling jumped onto my lap, and I ran a hand over his fluffy back. “What did you have for dinner, Phillips? A brick of kale? Fifteen chicken breasts?”
“Those are seriously your guesses?”
“I used to work with this super-swole guy, and he literally ate five chicken breasts every day.” I couldn’t remember his name, but one time he’d shown me a video of himself lifting weights, and then he’d been pissed when I laughed at the noise he made. But to be fair, it was a really weird noise. “He ate one breast during each fifteen-minute break, and three for lunch.”
“Do people still say swole ?”
“I don’t know, but they should.” I flipped on Little House and said, “So I bet you had a veggie burrito and sweet potato tots.”
The deep, quiet laugh made me snuggle a little deeper into the sofa cushions. He said, “That’s really specific.”
“Wrong?”
“I had a turkey sandwich.”
“So basically the same thing.”
“Sure.” I could hear dishes clinking as he said, “So listen. I was thinking about us.”
My fingertips got tingly, and my heartbeat picked up. Us. God, did he want there to be an us ?
“Yeah?” I said casually, gnawing on my lip and waiting for more. The Darkling meowed his displeasure that I’d stopped petting, and jumped down from my lap.
“Yeah. I appreciate your Scooter’s presentation and value its merits, but I think we’re making things too complicated.”
“You do?” I glanced at the TV and watched Ma Ingalls walk into Oleson’s Mercantile with a basketful of eggs on her arm.
“Sure,” Blake said, and it sounded like he was pounding on something. “We’re both adults, right?”
“Right…?”
“So I think we can handle it.” His voice was all cool confidence as he said, “Just because we have a little chemistry doesn’t mean we’re at the mercy of our basest instincts, right? We’re not animals.”
“Animals,” I repeated, unsure of his point.
“There’s no reason we can’t be friends who do regular friend things. Saying we can’t ever be alone is completely negating the fact that we’re grown-ass people capable of ignoring the occasional spark.”
So he saw our burning, palpable attraction as an occasional spark —good to know.
I didn’t know what to say, so I asked, “What is that pounding noise?”
“What?”
“The pounding,” I repeated, irritated I felt disappointed that Blake’s discussion of us wasn’t a desire to find an us . “What is that pounding?”
“Oh,” Blake said, sounding confused. “I’m making cat food.”
Fuck me , I thought. Wooden stake, holy water, garlic—all of it would never be enough. The man was making homemade cat food. “Your cats are too good for Meow Mix?”
“Too old and pukey for Meow Mix,” he replied.
“Ah.”
“Is there a reason you changed the subject, Shay?” he asked, his voice quiet in my ear.
“Not at all,” I said, a little too bright and cheery. “I totally agree that we’re not animals.”
He coughed out a laugh. “Oh- kay , but what about the rest?”
I exhaled before saying, “I mean, yes—of course we can handle it.”
“You have my word, Iz,” he said, tone gravely serious, “that no matter how alone we are, I will always behave as if we’re standing in front of the board of directors.”
“Oh.” Always. “That makes me feel so much better. Thank you.”
Blake
I thought getting it out in the open would make me feel better, but it didn’t.
The way she definitively said, That makes me feel so much better , confirmed what I’d suspected, that Izzy would never be comfortable being friends with me if she was afraid of something physical happening. I’d meant to assure her that she could let her guard down, but I felt…fuck, something about how relieved she seemed.
“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” I said, scooping the cat food out of the mixing bowl and pressing it into the airtight container with a rubber spatula. “Let’s talk about your car.”
She sighed, and the speakerphone sent her breath across the expanse of my kitchen. “Let’s not.”
“Iz, listen to me. I don’t want to get in your business, but my dad is a mechanic. I grew up around cars. There’s a good chance I can fix it.”
“Oh, my God, you have a dad?” she said, always the smart-ass.
“Ha ha,” I said, picturing the asshole who’d taught me about cars when it was one of his court-appointed “dad” weekends.
“Blake, I just can’t.”
“I thought of a favor,” I said, grabbing a towel to wipe the outside of the Pyrex bowl. “If you need that to make it okay.”
She said, “I’m scared, but lay it on me.”
I put the cat food in the fridge, then took the bowl to the sink and started filling it with soapy water. “I have to go to Boston on Wednesday, and you could take care of my cats while I’m gone.”
She didn’t say anything, but I thought I heard her squeak.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes. Um.” She cleared her throat and said, “What exactly would that entail? Because pouring food into a bowl is not the equivalent of labor-intensive automobile repairs.”
“Oh, trust me.” I washed my hands, then turned off the water and let the bowl soak. “They’re very high-maintenance.”
“Tell me everything,” she said, sounding interested, which made me smile. She was so weird.
I went into the living room, sat down on the couch, and turned on the TV. Both of the cats were immediately on my lap; it was like they were on guard, just waiting for me to sit. They liked to paw around to get comfortable, but I put my hands on their backs and helped them settle into a sit so they didn’t drive me crazy. “Goodyear is blind, so everything has to be routine or he just walks in circles, meowing, because he can’t figure out what’s going on.”
“Oh, my God, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said.
“When you walk in the door, you have to say his name a few times, so he knows you’re there. I usually pick him up and pet him when he finally appears, just to ensure he knows everything is okay.”
Izzy squeaked again, which for some bizarre reason made me happy as I scratched Goodyear’s head and looked for something to watch.
“He likes his food—which I keep in the fridge—warmed up. He also needs his food and water to be in the exact same spot at all times, or again with the circles.”
“I’m so in love with your cat, Phillips, you don’t even know,” she said.
Which made me grin like a dipshit, all alone in my fucking living room. “He has pills that I have to crush and put in homemade applesauce, which he licks off a plastic spoon.”
“While you hold it?” she asked.
“Why do I feel like this is a cat-lady version of phone sex?”
She started laughing—hard—and said, “Oh, my God, it so is, Blake. Tell me what you’re wearing when you’re holding the spoon. Does he lick it fast or slow? ”
She started cackling, and I couldn’t help but laugh right along with her as I switched and gave Hole’s chin a scratch. “You little fucking deviant, quit using my elderly cat’s needs to scratch your weirdo itch.”
“My apologies, Mr. Chest.” She cleared her throat and said, “Please continue.”
I flipped past Little House and wondered if she was watching. “My other cat, Hole, is diabetic, so he needs two injections a day.”
“Are you kidding me with all of this?” she said, still laughing a little.
“I’m afraid not,” I said, wondering if it was too much for her.
“This is very incredible.” I could hear the smile lingering in her voice. “Also please explain your cats’ names.”
I stopped on SportsCenter and said, “I found Goodyear under my tire in the parking garage, and I found Hole in a hole behind my parents’ house.”
“Your lack of naming convention inspiration is truly remarkable.”
“Thank you.”
“Not a compliment.”
“Sure it was.”
“I am dying to see what your little guys look like,” she said, sounding excited. “Sign me up for the cat sitting, bro—I’m a thousand percent in.”
“I can barely move at the moment because they’re all over me.”
“What color are they? Are they fluffy?”
“You really are a cat lady, aren’t you?” I looked at the boys and said, “Want to flip to FaceTime so you can see them?”
Izzy
Yes.
No.
I don’t know!
I was dying to see his cats, but could I just FaceTime without preparation? I stalled with, “Can you do that, mid-call?”
“Sure,” he said. “You just hit the button.”
I did a quick self-appraisal—sloppy bun, glasses, YOUR MOM T-shirt. I was a mess, but since he’d admitted to feeling nothing for me except friendship and a random spark, what did it matter?
“Show me the cats, then,” I said, feeling nervous as I waited for the switch. Apple did its magic, Blake accepted the FaceTime, and then—
Oh, dear God.
There was Blake, only he looked nothing like VP Blake. His dark hair was messy, like he’d changed shirts and hadn’t cared to fix it afterward. He was sitting on a beige couch, wearing a faded red KC T-shirt that read 0:13 in yellow numerals. The cotton tee looked soft and worn, and it showcased that beautiful pec-cleavage-ridge thing that put the Chest in his Mister.
But worse than all of that gorgeousness? There were two cats curled up against his abs, one gray and one black, and his big hand was wrapped underneath them, holding them in place.
Was it hot in here? It felt hot to me all of a sudden.
“Nice shirt,” he said, smirking as his dark eyes crinkled at the corners. “Where’s the Darkling?”
I raised the phone so he could see the cat sitting on the back of my neck. That made his lips slide into a full-on grin. I said, “So tell me which one is which.”
“This little pain in the ass is Hole,” he said, gently lifting the gray cat’s chin to the phone. “He’s a hair ball nightmare and likes to sit on my ear when I’m sleeping, so I really should’ve dumped him back in the hole a long time ago.”
I only half heard his words because I was obsessed with his face. The way big, powerful Blake looked at his feline friend as he talked shit about him made me a little weak in the knees.
“And this is Goodyear.” Blake raised the fluffy black face to the phone and said, “I’m fairly certain the universe dropped him under my tire as some sort of punishment for my sins.”
“Or as a reward for the one good thing you’ve done in your life,” I said.
“Not possible. And there’s more than one,” he said.
“Doubtful.”
“So,” he said, resettling the cats against his midsection. “Are you watching Little House ?”
“You know it,” I said, surprised he remembered.
“Is that your plan for the rest of the night?” he asked. “Charles Ingalls and pizza?”
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll switch to binge-watching old seasons of Top Chef soon, but Charles is always with me in my heart.”
The cats jumped off his lap and ran out of my line of sight. He shook his head and said, “A bird just landed on the railing of my deck. Somehow Goodyear always knows something’s happening and blindly follows Hole.”
“Show me your deck,” I said, then laughed when he gave me an eyebrow raise.
I elaborated, “D-E-C-K, deck.”
“Ah,” he said, and then he stood and was moving. He was walking as he looked into the camera and said, “I’ll show you my big deck, and then we’re going to make a plan for your car.”
“Bossy,” I said, a little hypnotized by his FaceTime eye contact and his deep voice saying my big deck .
“Only to the stubborn,” he replied.
I heard him open the sliding door, and then he turned the camera around.
“Wow.” He obviously lived in the center of the city in some kind of high-rise, way outside of my price range. “I bet you could kill someone with an apple from that height.”
He turned his phone back around and gave me a you-are-ridiculous look as he walked back inside. “Now, about your car.”
“Okay, my car. I will take the title to the lot after work tomorrow and get it out of jail.”
“I can give you a ride, if you want.” He collapsed back onto the couch, and in a second, the cats were on top of him again. I couldn’t help but notice he didn’t even flinch it was so natural, and that was unfairly adorable. “And then we can have it towed to my garage.”
I still felt weird about that. “Um, okay, as long as you promise your cats will be the worst for me.”
“Oh, absolutely they will. They are the bane of my existence,” he said, sounding like he loathed them while they sleepily purred against his body.
Blake
“What the hell is that thing behind you?” I asked, knowing full well what it was.
She looked over her shoulder at the workout tower and said, “That? It’s a workout thing .”
“A thing , huh?” It was almost midnight, and we’d been FaceTiming for hours. It hadn’t been intentional, but we’d started watching the same episode of Top Chef somewhere around nine and had essentially been binge-watching together ever since.
I said, “I bet you don’t even know how to use it.”
She scowled at me. “Yes, I do.”
“You have scrawny arms—can’t believe you. Sorry.”
She rolled her eyes at me through the camera, then stood. Like I knew she would. “Watch and learn, Mr. Chest.”
Things went blurry for a minute, and then I was staring at the machine, so she must’ve propped her phone against something. She came into view in that stupid T-shirt and black leggings, and I leaned back against the couch and enjoyed the entertainment.
“Now, don’t be jealous of my strength, Blakey,” she said, dancing around like a boxer getting ready for a fight. “This isn’t something everyone can do.”
“Right.”
It was weird, I thought as she acted like a dork in front of the camera with her messy hair and nerd glasses. Skye had been charming in a perfect sort of way (when she wasn’t lying to me). She was gorgeous and elegant. I’d been crazy about her, ready to marry her, but I’d never felt this… charmed by her.
It was probably just because I actually had fun with Izzy. I was friends with her, whereas I hadn’t really been with Skye.
Talk about a marriage red flag.
Izzy wrapped her hands around the handles and brought up her legs in front of her. “You lift your legs, Phillips, and it strengthens the core. See?”
She brought her legs up and down.
“ That is how you’re using that thing?” I shook my head as she beamed proudly while dangling from the exercise apparatus. “What about the other side?”
“What?” She dropped her feet to the floor and let go of the handles.
“You’re supposed to grab the top of the other side and do pull-ups.”
She looked up at the pull-up bar, then back at the camera. “I mean, I suppose you could do that if you’re a pathetic little workout monkey, but this machine is for your core, dumbass.”
“It is not, dumbass. ” I crossed my arms and said, “It’s for pull-ups, and the part you’re using for your core is for back pull-ups.”
“That doesn’t even sound real, back pull-ups,” she said, walking toward her phone and carrying it with her as she sat back down. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I have the same machine, Shay,” I said.
“Then show me or it’s not true, Phillips,” she replied, her stubborn chin raised.
I stood and started walking toward the spare bedroom. “Fine, but you’re about to feel really stupid.”
Izzy
Holy crap—his bedroom.
I saw it in a flash as he walked down the hall with the camera facing forward, but it was too quick for me to register anything other than a very big bed.
Of course he had a big bed.
He flipped on the lights in another room that appeared to be an office/workout room. There was a big desk, along with a treadmill, an exercise bike, and a workout tower exactly like mine.
He set the phone down—I assumed on the desk—so it faced the tower.
“Oh, my God, am I going to discover the secrets of Mr. Chest’s chest?”
“You wish,” Blake said, and then he reached up with his long arms and grabbed the pull-up bar. Without a word, he started doing pull-ups as if they were the easiest thing in the world.
“Booooo,” I said, unable to stifle the giggle that escaped as my eyes were treated to Blake’s Feats of Strength. “That’s lame. Total weak sauce.”
“I haven’t heard that expression since middle school,” he said while not slowing or ruining his perfect form.
“I don’t think I’ve said it since then.” I couldn’t help but notice the hard strip of stomach that was exposed by his raised arms. Not only that, but his shorts hung low on his hips, so low that I could see that jutting hip bone thing that was pretty much an anatomical aphrodisiac.
Sweet holy hip bones, I need smelling salts.
“Stop it, before I puke,” I said. “Your form is atrocious.”
He dropped himself to the floor and beamed at the camera, smiling in a way that made me feel like he knew how hot I was for him. “Sure it is.”
“What about the other part?” I asked, but I felt like a perv as I said it because I was basically just requesting that he perform another Feat of Strength. “I think you made up something called a back pull-up…?”
He went around to the other side and started doing dip-down things that made me want to bite his apple-bottom biceps, so I said, “Oh, those. I did like a hundo this morning.”
He dismounted, winked, and said, “Okay, Iz.”
I rolled my eyes and said, “Don’t you have some chickens to eat or something?”
“Trying to get rid of me?” he asked, turning off the light and heading back in the direction of the living room (or so I thought from this initial FaceTime visit to his apartment).
“I probably should—it’s pretty late,” I said, not wanting to get off the phone but knowing it was the responsible thing to do.
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” he replied, a serious expression crossing his face for the briefest of seconds. His eyes seemed to search mine as he said, “I’m sure you have more pizza to eat, anyway.”
“There are a few leftover pieces,” I agreed, and there was something so warm and comfortable about our mutual teasing that I was already homesick for it, even though we weren’t even off the phone yet.
We made plans for him to pick me up the following day, after work, to get things rolling with my car. But after the call was disconnected, I couldn’t settle down enough to even consider sleep. I was wired, all keyed up from hours of Blake, and I kind of didn’t know what to do with myself.
I turned off the lights, lay down, and was trying to force sleep when my phone buzzed on my nightstand.
I rolled over and picked it up.
Blake: You awake?
I grabbed my glasses and slid them back on my nose before responding. Sadly, yes. Wide awake .
Blake: Good.
Izzy: Mean.
Blake: I was thinking—you should probably come over to my place tomorrow.
I gasped and sat straight up in bed. Whaaaat? He wanted me to come over? How was I even supposed to respond to that?
Blake: I leave for Boston really early Wed. morning, so I should probably show you everything you need to know about the cats.
That’s right—the cats. I rubbed my fingertips over my eyebrows and sighed. Texted, That works. After we go to the impound lot?
Blake: Yeah. I was thinking I can order a pizza for you to inhale while you meet the boys.
I was trying to keep my brain from overload, but I was going to be eating dinner with Blake tomorrow. Just Blake and me, alone in his apartment. With his very big bed. And his pull-up abdominals.
Gahhhh.
I was trying to get a grip on that when he sent another text.
Blake: Would you consider staying at my apartment while I’m gone? I feel bad asking, but I hate leaving Goodyear alone even more. And this way you won’t have to keep coming and going; way easier.
Stay at Blake’s apartment?!
I responded: Um .
Blake: It’s close to work, too, so you won’t have to mess with the bus. Three-minute walk.
I wanted to say yes, but it felt like a bad idea. A terrible idea. A colossally bad, terrible idea. My phone buzzed yet again, and I felt my cheeks go warm when I read his message.
Blake: I AM BEGGING. I’ll even let you sleep on my brand-new (being delivered Wed.) California king (with adjustable firmness) that is touted as the equivalent of sleeping on a cloud—that’s how desperate I am.
Staying at Blake’s apartment. Sleeping in Blake’s bed. What in God’s name is happening? Was I having a dream? I slapped my cheek and no—not a dream.
Izzy: Can I use your building’s amenities?
Blake: Of course.
Izzy: Can I eat pizza in your new bed?
Blake: Of course NOT.
I pulled back the covers and got out of bed. I might as well go grab a book, because there was no way I was going to go back to sleep now. Life just got really interesting, and my brain was preparing to explode.
I texted as I walked into the living room: I’ll do it, but I’m very afraid of falling in love with your cats .
It took a few minutes for Blake to respond, and his words did something to my already riotous belly.
Blake: Don’t be scared, Iz. Just take a deep breath and let yourself fall.