Chapter Fifteen
Izzy
“Do you want a receipt?”
God, no , I thought, depressed by the amount of money I’d just paid to get my nonworking car out of jail. I put my credit card back in my wallet and said to the guy behind the counter, “No, thanks.”
“Young’s will be picking up the vehicle within the hour,” Blake said, all-business, and I looked at him. When had he called the towing company? He was still in a suit and tie, all VP vibes, and there was something ridiculously attractive about the authority he exuded.
“Sounds good,” the lot attendant said, nodding. “They know where it’s going?”
Blake answered in the affirmative, but also gave the guy the address of his garage, just in case.
I looked down at my dirty Chucks, which were right next to his perfect butter-soft leather dress shoes. I knew I looked like a total wreck next to him. But I’d decided, when I got home from work, that a wise thing to do would be to change into scrubby clothes, wash my face, and pull my hair back into a ponytail.
Blake told me he’d never make a move on me—and I totally believed him—but I also figured I’d be less inclined to overthink our spark if I knew I looked awful.
“Ready?” he asked, one eyebrow raised, and I nodded and turned toward the door.
Once we were in his car, I said, “You live downtown, but the address you gave for your garage is out in Springfield. Why so far?”
“I don’t work on cars that often,” he said as he maneuvered through traffic, “so I opted for the less expensive option a little further away.”
“So, it’s not the garage you regularly keep your vehicle in.”
“No.” His big hands turned the steering wheel as he went around a corner. “My building has a garage for parking. The Springfield bay is just a little project stall for repairs.”
“Oh,” I murmured, trying not to imagine him leaning over the hood of a car with his hands wrapped around wrenches. “Do you have coveralls?”
He glanced over at me. “No.”
“Gloves? Safety glasses?”
“What are you doing here, Shay?”
I shrugged and said, “Just trying to picture you working on cars but it’s impossible because you’re so…”
I waved a hand, gesturing toward his GQ looks and the interior of his luxury SUV.
“Well, you won’t have to picture it for long,” he said, switching lanes, “because I’m going to make you keep me company when I work on your hot rod.”
I crossed my arms and said around a laugh, “What if I don’t feel like it?”
“Too bad,” he said with a small smirk as he kept his eyes on the road. “I expect you to feed me, entertain me, and assist me while I bring your car back to life like some sort of mechanically inclined god.”
“Oh, I’ll be doing something to you while you work,” I said, then instantly realized how it sounded. That was not what I meant. I meant physical harm, not sex acts!
He didn’t say a word, but his jaw clenched, and I felt like acknowledging what I didn’t mean would make my suggestive suggestion even more suggestive.
Or something.
Shit.
“But be careful what you wish for,” I charged forth with, refusing to let it get weird. “Perhaps I shall read aloud from my favorite novel or sing the entire Hamilton score.”
“Why do these ideas not surprise me?”
“Because you can tell I’m artistic?”
“Because I can tell you like to irritate me.” Blake pulled into a parking garage in the center of the city, leaving me to assume he lived in the high-rise above it. When he parked, I got out of the car without a word, trying to act like I wasn’t crazy impressed by his address.
He gestured toward an elevator enclosure, and we walked in that direction. When he pressed the up button, I asked, “Can your cats have tuna?”
He looked over at me. “Why?”
“Just curious,” I said, pulling the pouch of StarKist out of my hoodie pocket. “Can they?”
“Yes,” he said. “But they already have food.”
“This will buy their insta-love for me, though,” I said.
“I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.
“Why?” I asked, watching as he stepped in after me and pushed the button for the ninth floor. “They don’t like tuna?”
“They don’t like people,” he said.
“Oh, well, I’m not people,” I replied, watching the doors close. Floor numbers started popping up on the display as the car went up. “All cats love me.”
“We’ll see,” he said, pulling his phone out of his pant pocket and unlocking the screen.
“Yes, we will ,” I muttered.
That made Blake look up from his phone. His eyes were a little squinty, like he was thinking as his eyes moved over my face. He asked, “Pepperoni or combo?”
“Pepperoni,” I said, looking down because sometimes his eye contact was a little too direct.
When the elevator reached the ninth floor, I followed Blake down a long hallway with ivy-patterned gray carpet. Modern sconces on midnight walls illuminated our way like fairy lights on a dusky garden path. He stopped in front of 964 and pulled his keys from his pocket.
“I like your door,” I said, then wanted to smack my hand over my mouth for sounding so dumb. But it was ridged with heavy wood panels and a huge brass knocker, like it was the entrance to a grand estate instead of an apartment.
“Thanks,” he said, unlocking the door and holding it open for me. “Is it weird to say that the minute I saw it, I knew I was going to lease this unit?”
“Super weird, actually,” I said, breezing past him and into his apartment. “It could’ve been a door made gorgeous on purpose, just to disguise that it’s actually a portal to hell.”
“Wood door—didn’t have to worry about that,” he said, and I felt the tiniest of shivers crawl up my back as he hovered somewhere behind me. I heard the door close, and tried to tell myself that it was no big deal, being alone with him in his apartment. “Hell’s portal would require fireproof metal.”
“I suppose,” I said, stepping over so he could lead. “Unless that’s what they want you to think.”
He stopped beside me. Gave me a questioning eyebrow and asked, “Who are they in this situation?”
I shrugged. “You know—them.”
He looked like he was going to smile, but instead he put his keys on the table just inside the door and said, “Hey. Goodyear.”
I turned and stared, looking for the cat. Blake walked farther into the apartment, and I followed on his heels, reaching into my hoodie pocket to open the tuna pouch.
“I’m home, buddy,” Blake said, and I shook my head from my spot behind him. The man was seriously a fearsome thing to behold as his deep voice called to the cat in sweet softness.
Silver bullets, maybe? Perhaps silver bullets were my only chance for survival.
The cat meowed and came around the corner, a sweet little fluffer who headed straight for Blake as he lowered his big body to a deep squat and said, “Hey, bro.”
Blake scooped up the cat and stood, turning to look at me. He rubbed the cat’s head, and I stepped a little closer.
“Hey, Goodyear,” I said, reaching out a hand to pet him.
He hissed and made a little cat-growl noise, instantly backing me up.
“Told you,” Blake said, sounding pleased as he kept rubbing Goodyear’s head.
“It’s only because we just met,” I countered, rolling my eyes and pulling the tuna out of my hoodie. “He’ll love me soon enough.”
“Don’t bank on it.”
“Are you going to show me around your apartment or what?” I asked, waving the pouch of seafood around in hopes of a feline response.
“Oh, don’t be snarky,” he said, treating me to a full smile. “If he could see your face, I’m sure he’d love you.”
“He’ll love me anyway.” The cat seemed entirely unmoved by my fishy offering. “Where’s the kitchen?”
“Follow me.” Blake led me through a living room that had huge windows, a gorgeous buff-colored midcentury sofa, a wall of bookshelves, and a thick off-white area rug that looked like nap perfection.
“That view does not suck,” I muttered to myself, looking out at the city as I followed him.
When we walked into the kitchen, I had two thoughts.
The first: Blake was an entirely different kind of adult than I was. His kitchen was large and modern and didn’t have any random items sitting out. No empty Amazon boxes; no cans lined up on the counter, waiting to be recycled; and not a single dish was resting in the sink.
I needed a time machine so I could go back a few days and be mortified as he visited my small and not-pristine apartment.
The second: He had to have a cleaning service. There was just no way a young, busy guy had time to make his place shine quite that brightly.
I was a big believer in the five-second rule, but in Blake’s kitchen I’d go a full thirty.
“So this is where you’ll find their food.” He opened his chef-quality refrigerator and pointed to the bottom shelf. “The orange containers.”
“Is the color indicative of something? Is orange cat-specific?”
“No,” he said, pulling out a container and opening it.
“I thought maybe the O stood for something like oh, no, it’s not for people. Or oops, this is horsemeat .”
That made his mouth kick up just a little. “ Only for felines ?”
“Exactly.”
He looked at me for a long second, his dark eyes all over my face, and I was about to ramble incoherently to ward off awkwardness, when he said, “The boys like their food warmed up—which I know is ridiculous, so spare me the mockery. I put it in this microwave for forty seconds.”
He gestured to the sink, and when I followed his finger, I saw that just to the left of it, under the counter, was a built-in microwave that looked old and crappy—it had a turn dial, for God’s sake. He opened the door, put in the food, and started the noisy old machine.
I raised my eyes to his in disbelief. “Do you…have a separate microwave for them?”
He gave a casual shrug and looked a little uncomfortable. “It felt wrong to cook cat food where you cook human food, so I bought an old microwave at Goodwill to use for their dinner.”
I couldn’t not smile at him, because he was beyond adorable. “Did you know that you’re a cat lady underneath your fancy suit?”
“I am not,” he said, flipping me off before taking out the food. I was impressed by his ability to hold an entire cat in his left hand while doing other things with his right.
“Oh, I think you are. This level of pet care is seriously—”
“No.” He raised his eyebrows and gave me a Stern Daddy look. “I hate these little pains in the asses, but it’s easier to just do what they want so they shut up and leave me alone.”
I tried not to smile, but it was impossible. “If you say so.”
“I do,” he said firmly, and I coughed to cover my laugh.
He walked the food over to a mat in the corner, where he dropped the bowl and the cat. Another cat—Hole, I presumed—appeared out of nowhere to join Goodyear for the feast.
“I think I can handle this. Doesn’t look too tough,” I said, watching them go to town on their food. I glanced over at Blake, and he was loosening his tie. I felt frozen for a second, immobilized by the movement that seemed intimate, like something I shouldn’t be seeing.
I said, “If you want to go change out of your work clothes, I promise not to rifle through your things.”
“But can I believe you?” he teased, pulling off his tie and unbuttoning that restrictive top button. I heard his words, but my eyes were stuck on his throat. They didn’t want to move, for some reason, but I blinked fast and forced them up.
“Sure,” I managed, slightly dizzy. “Why wouldn’t you?”
He raised an eyebrow, reminding both of us of my Scooter’s theft, and I rolled my eyes.
“Okay,” he said. “But if I catch you digging, there will be consequences.”
“So intimidating,” I quipped.
His phone rang as I said it, and when he took it out of his pocket and looked at the display, he let out a little groan. “I have to take this—it’s work.”
“Perfect. Go take it in your room but shut the door so I can rifle in peace.”
He gave me a look that was almost a smile before raising the phone to his ear. “This is Blake.”
Blake
When I walked into the kitchen twenty minutes later, I didn’t expect to see that.
Izzy was sitting on the island, dangling her legs back and forth while eating a slice of pizza and watching another old episode of Top Chef on my TV.
It wasn’t that she was doing anything unusual or wrong, it was that she looked so unbelievably at home. Like she belonged there.
I got that fucking buzz in my gut that I’d been interpreting as an annoying don’t-be-an-idiot alarm bell as I approached her.
“I like your shirt,” she said, giving me a smart-ass smile as her eyes stayed on my Frank Reynolds So anyway I started blasting T-shirt.
“I’ve got basketball tonight, and this is our uniform,” I explained.
“So it’s obviously quite serious,” she said, grabbing a half-empty bottle of Stella from the counter and lifting it to her mouth. “Want one of your beers?”
“Yes. Thank you so much.” I walked over to the fridge and grabbed one, then returned to the island. The bottle opener was beside her on the counter— right beside her—and her smell engulfed me as I grabbed it and uncapped the beer.
What the fuck was that—shampoo? Lotion? Perfume? It was like vanilla and baby powder but hot.
“Your cats love me now, by the way,” she said, and I had no idea if she was kidding or not.
But it was always that way with her.
“Do they,” I said, opening the pizza box and grabbing a slice.
“Well, no—but they will. I have a plan,” she said, picking up a crust from her plate.
“And that would be…?” I asked, raising the piece to my mouth while watching her nose crinkle as she grinned at me. I was still fucking obsessed with her nose crinkles.
She tilted her head. “Between me and the boys.”
“Is that right?” Someone on the TV was crying because their pork belly was too dry, and Hole was weaving in between my feet, but all I could do was stare down at her smiling face.
Dear God, she was so fucking pretty.
It wasn’t about her looks, though, as asinine as that sounded. She was pretty because she was alive and chaotic and funny and smart. Her eyes fucking sparkled and her nose crinkled and her mouth slid into smiles as if that were its default.
I looked at her lips and remembered what it felt like to kiss her. How it felt to have her sigh into my mouth and hold on to me as if she, too, was fighting the battle of endless imaginings.
“When do you medicate the fluffy guy?” she asked, her voice breathy as her eyes traveled all over my face.
“Whenever I want,” I replied, telling myself to move back while leaning a bit closer and resting one palm on each side of her on the butcher-block counter.
“Do you think he’ll take it from me?” she asked, her voice even quieter.
“Fuck, yes,” I said, hypnotized by her mouth and her words and the way her eyes kept fluttering down.
“Good,” she said in a near whisper, and I could almost feel the softness of her breath against my lips.
“So, um,” she said, blinking fast before breaking eye contact to look up at the TV. “ Shit. Um. Where do you keep the applesauce?”
Applesauce. Applesauce. What is applesauce again? I straightened, took a full step back, and felt like I was waking up from a dream.
“Applesauce,” I repeated, my brain scrambling to catch up. “Is in the fridge.”
What the hell had just happened? When had I dropped my slice of pizza on the fucking countertop?
I went over to the fridge, opened the door, and got out the jar of applesauce and Goodyear’s meds. Without looking back at her, I grabbed a plastic spoon and yogurt container from the drawer and went to find the cat.
“He’s in here,” I said, finding Goodyear on my chair. I took a deep breath. Nothing happened. Izzy probably didn’t even notice that you were a millisecond from kissing her.
I heard her feet as she jumped down from the island, and she looked totally normal and not freaked out as she came out of the kitchen and walked toward me. Yes, her cheeks were pink, but it was warm in there.
Really fucking hot, actually.
“Okay, show me how you slip the cat a mickey.” She shifted her weight to one leg and crossed her arms.
“Okay.” I showed her how to smash a pill in the bottom of the yogurt container and stir in applesauce.
When I picked up Goodyear and sat down on the chair, Izzy said, “Wait—you do this on an off-white chair?” She looked horrified. “What if you spill?”
“I don’t,” I said, wanting to laugh as she continued to look aghast.
“Note to Iz—sit on floor when you do this,” she muttered. “Continue, please.”
“Thank you.” I scooped up the medicated applesauce and held out the spoon, to which Goodyear immediately lifted his fuzzy little face and started taking it down. The guy had a thing for applesauce.
“He really likes applesauce,” she said, dropping to a squat beside me and watching Goodyear go HAM on the spoon. She reached out a hand and petted his head, which made the cat give her a closed-mouth growl while he eyeballed her but kept licking.
I did laugh at that, and she looked up at me, grinning and crinkling her nose.
Shit. Suddenly I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
And when she took the spoon from me to try feeding him, I realized I’d made a terrible mistake.
A gross miscalculation.
Because having her in my house, surrounded by my things and sleeping in my bed and leaving her what-the-hell-is-that-amazing-fucking-smell smell all over the place—well, that had the potential to change everything, regardless of whether or not anything physical happened between us.
And there was a tiny part of me that didn’t hate the idea of that change.
Damn it , I thought as that traitorous cat started purring.
It was just so fucking hot in that apartment.
Wasn’t it?
I was so focused on her at that moment that I didn’t hear a key jangling in the door, leading me to nearly have a heart attack when Jason and AJ burst into my living room a second later.
“Why aren’t you ready?” Jason said, looking at Izzy with his eyes narrowed, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“I texted like five times to warn you,” AJ said to me, shaking his head apologetically. “The Bricks are playing in the game before ours, so Jace wants to go early and heckle.”
“Come on, are you kidding,” I said. Jason was so obnoxious.
I glanced at Izzy, and she was looking up at my brothers with a curious grin.
“Izzy, these are my brothers. The loud one is Jason, and the slightly less loud one is AJ. Guys, this is Izzy.”
“Nice to meet you,” AJ said.
“Nice to meet you, too,” she replied with a smile.
“You’re giving Goodyear his meds, and the psycho isn’t even hissing?” Jason said in disbelief, watching my cat eat the laced applesauce from her spoon. “Who the fuck are you, Izzy?”
I was ready to jump in and explain away his behavior, but before I had a chance, she said around a smirk, “You’re a grown-ass man wearing matching shirts with your brothers. Who the fuck are you , Jason?”