Chapter Twenty-Nine
Izzy
“Seriously? You really think Patrick Mahomes is the guy?”
“He had four hundred twenty-five 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,” I countered, tugging on the bottom of the Beastie Boys T-shirt I’d stolen from Blake’s closet that morning and had been wearing since we got home from the zoo. It was getting chilly and I was going to need to put on pants soon, but the game had just started and I was too comfy to go all the way into the bedroom.
“Wow.” Blake gave me a look and tossed a shell in my direction. “ So profound.”
“Profundity is my forte.”
“ Profundity isn’t even a word.”
“Googling, dipshit.” I laughed and opened Google. We were each sitting on opposite ends of my couch—because I’d forced him to scoot over as punishment for calling my fantasy football team “abysmal”—but then the Darkling had ruined everything by settling on Blake’s lap so he couldn’t come back to me.
I loved what an unwilling cat lover he was.
“Boom—profundity,” I said, reading the definition aloud, but he just shook his head and tossed more peanuts in my direction.
After the zoo, he’d brought me home so I could feed the cat and, well, go home. But instead of saying goodbye, I’d invited him in to watch football, which we’d been doing ever since.
It felt like we were both trying to stretch out the last waning hours of our weekend together.
It’d been so perfect it was terrifying.
“I need a soda,” I said, getting up. “Want something?”
His dark eyes were all over me, a smile on his lips, and I muttered, “Pervert,” before rolling my eyes and going into the kitchen. Blake walked in when I was closing the refrigerator, and the sight of his socks on my tacky linoleum floor made me happy.
Incandescently happy.
So weird, right? But VP Blake in his stocking feet was a glorious sight to behold.
Because I felt like I’d gotten to know an entirely different person over the weekend, a person I was even more interested in than VP Blake and Mr. Chest. For example, as odd as it sounded, seeing him get totally tripped up by his fear of heights made me feel insanely close to him.
Like I really knew him.
“You want a Dr Pepper?” I 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. You know, since some little shit kept me up all night.”
Disappointment settled over me, even though we’d both said over our living room pizza picnic that we needed to stay at our respective apartments with work hovering in the morning.
“Yeah, get out,” I said. “I’m done with you anyway.”
“Nope.” He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed tightly, lifting me off the ground as he added, “We’re only getting started.”
I tried to be cool, but it was impossible not to smile at that because I just freaking adored him. I adored him and wanted everything.
So I looked away from his face before he could see my naked adoration, and I 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 my face, like he was trying to see if I was serious or not, and then he lifted me higher and carried me over to the table. My heart started racing as he gave me a look, plopped me on the table, pushed my knees apart, and stepped closer.
“Were you into it, Iz?” he said in a quiet growl as he dragged his teeth along my jawline and his hands slowly slid the oversize T-shirt up my thighs. He raised his head and asked, “Were you down for some table action?”
“Yes,” I sighed, looking straight into his eyes. “I seem to be into everything when it comes to you.”
Something in his face changed when I said that. All at once he looked sweet and serious, and he leaned closer and rested his forehead against mine. He swallowed and said, “I know the feeling.”
“It’s bizarre, right?” I whispered, raising a hand to his stubbled jaw.
He closed his eyes for a half second, leaning into my touch, and when he opened them, they were bright and hot and intense. “Fucking bizarre and so fucking perfect, Iz.”
His mouth found mine as his hands made quick work of my clothes, and I took care of his pants while never breaking contact with that power kiss.
In mere seconds he was right where I needed him, consuming my mouth as he crashed into me on the kitchen table, and I felt emotional as I locked eyes with him, somehow homesick for him at that very second even though the moment hadn’t yet passed. He rocked into me, making me wrap my legs around him to hold him closer, squeeze him tighter, to try to lock up his body the way he’d locked up my heart.
“Fuck,” he hissed, sliding his hands underneath me and changing the angle to where it was no longer physically possible for my eyes to stay open. Or for me to think. He was so good, so in tune with every little thing that I didn’t even know I wanted, that I just dug my heels and nails into him and let myself fall into the blissful escape.