13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Izzy “Yeah, baby, right there,” Izzy moaned. “Shut up,” he grunted through gritted teeth. “But honey, the way your shirt is riding up so I can see your lower back is just working for me,” Izzy said, really doing her best to sound disgusting. “I know I told you I’d stop, but it’s impossible for me to keep from losing my shit when you’re tossing all of this car-fixing-porn in my face.” “Has anyone ever told you,” Blake panted, obviously struggling to do something to the new alternator he was installing in her vehicle, “that you’re an obnoxious pain in the ass?” “Oh, tons of people. All the time. But don’t change the subject.” He made a laugh sound but kept working. “And the subject would be…?” “How aesthetically-pleasing this whole video chat is.” Izzy looked at the Facetime display and saw they’d been talking for over almost two hours - basically the entire time he’d been working on her car. It felt like five minutes. She’d never - in her entire life - had as much fun as she had with Blake. It was like their brains were in-sync or something; he always got her weird sense of humor and played with her in the most delightful way. Which was probably what made their whole maybe-taking-this-to-the-next-level thing so petrifying. What if it ruined everything? “I can’t tell you how glad I am that my work is getting you off,” he said, and her stomach dipped. Somehow hearing him say getting you off was a turn-on. But everything about him was a turn-on. “Listen, bruh, I’ve got to go,” she said, clueless as to what she was going to wear that night. She wanted to look good, but not trying-too-hard good. “I’ve got a date tonight with a guy I met at Starbucks, and I want plenty of time to get ready.” “Is that right?” He looked away from her engine and directly into his phone, which he’d propped on top of his rolling toolbox, and pointed at her. “Good lookin’ fella?” “You could say that,” she said, smiling like a lovesick teenager. “Smart?” He set down his tools and wiped his hands on his thighs. “Oh - not at all,” she teased, laughing when he gave her a shocked look. “He requested a physical challenge during Billboard Assholes, if you can believe that, and he also puts chia seeds in everything. I mean, who does that, right?” “How the hell do you know about the chia?” he asked, looking amused. She shrugged. “When I took care of your cats, I couldn’t help but notice you had the industrial-sized bag in your pantry.” “You snooping little shit,” he said, picking up the phone so he could move it closer to his face. His eyes were twinkly when he asked her, “What else did you notice?” “Okay - confession,” she said, amused that with Blake, she wasn’t even embarrassed. “I did snoop, but like, quick glancing looks into drawers - I didn’t touch or rifle through anything.” He gave her a look like he didn’t believe her and said, “What’s the coolest thing you found?” Izzy thought about that for a second before saying, “Your drawer full of glasses. I took a picture of myself in every single pair.” That made his lips slide into the teasing grin that she’d decided was her favorite of all his smiles. (The current top five were 1. Teasing grin, 2. Sexy smirk, 3. Sarcastic near-smile, 4. Full-on sunshine, and 5. You’re-an-idiot-but-it-amuses me lip twitch.) He said, “So when you say I didn’t touch or rifle through anything, you mean besides wearing all of my glasses and violating my chia privacy.” “I didn’t wear them, I tried them on,” she said, feeling as if the clarification mattered. “And who has eight pairs of nice glasses? I think you might be a sociopath.” “I wear glasses every day, even if I wear contacts for a few hours, so eight pairs for 365 days seems minimal to me.” He tilted his head and said, “If you ask me, the person with only one pair is the sociopath.” “No need for name-calling, and no one asked you.” “So what’s the least cool thing you found, then?” he asked. “Aside from the buttload of chia?” “How much chia constitutes a buttload, Shay?” “Count the ones in your pantry and that’s the answer, Phillips.” “Naturally. Weird thing. Go.” “Okay - the thing I found troubling in your apartment was the geriatric sex book.” He coughed out, “Excuse me?” Izzy grinned at his horror. “There’s a book in your hall closet that looks like it came out in the 1950’s, and it’s called Delicious Sex. I mean, I’m all for honing your craft and reading all the resources, but I don’t think--” “Holy shit - was it on the bottom of the closet, in that stack of books on the floor?” he asked, pressing his fingers into his temples. “Yeah.” “Awwww, gawwwwd - those books belong to my grandparents.” He looked queasy as he squinted and said, “There’s seriously a sex book in that stack?” Izzy started laughing. She’d been about to accuse him of lying, but he looked too disgusted for her not to believe him. She said, “Not just a book about sex, but a book about delicious se--” “Stop it.” He shook his head and pointed at her, feigning anger. “Your snooping has ruined Nana and Papa for me, you little shit.” “Yeah, I’m gonna go now,” she said, her laughs simmering to a smile. “See you at six?” His fake rage slid into a nice smile. “See you at six.”

Blake Blake: I can see you peeking through the blinds. Izzy smiled as she watched him walk up to the stoop, looking down at his phone. Stepping away from the window, she texted back: I’m watching for my hot date, Egomaniac. Not everything is about you. Blake: Open the goddamn door. Izzy took a deep breath. Just hours earlier, she’d been nervous to see him because she’d been embarrassed about kissing him. Now she was nervous because they were going on an actual date and would likely be doing even more kissing by the end of the night.  She was tied up in anticipation and excitement and terror, because something about the night felt big. She slid the phone into the pocket of her tweed skirt (new and cute and perfectly matched to a white ruffly pirate shirt with an open cardigan), crossed the living room, and pulled open the front door. Gawwwwwwwd.  Blake stood there, looking beautiful, which was nothing new. Good hair, knee-weakening cologne, and a V-neck sweater/ button-down shirt combo that showcased the hell out of that mile-wide chest and spectacular pecs; the man could serve a look. But those things were nothing - nothing - compared to the way he was looking at her. He looked like she felt, like he was filled with anticipation and intensity, and that was enough to make her want to faint. Especially when he was holding a bouquet of bright yellow daffodils. And smelling like something she wanted to bite. “Hi,” she said, feeling breathless and incapable of words. That made him smile and hold out the flowers. “Hi.” “Ohmigod, thank you. I love daffodils. Did you know that?” She tried remembering if she’d ever told him that as she took them from him. “I did not know,” he said, his voice a little quieter than usual. “But you’re welcome. My mother always said that daffodils are like two flowers in one, so, uh, that is why I chose them, I guess.” She nodded. “Let me just put them in water,” she said, walking away from him and trying to find calm as she headed for the kitchen. “And then we can go.” “Sure,” he said. He cleared his throat, and then he added, “I also have some other flowers that the florist talked me into. I, ah, I don’t think they’re really a thing for a dinner date, but she was kind of bossy and insisted you’d want them so I...” And he just trailed off. That made Izzy stop in the kitchen doorway. She turned around, and Blake was still standing just inside the door, holding a…wrist corsage? “Is that for me?” she asked. He looked embarrassed and gave her a little half-shrug. “Yeah, but it’s totally fine if you don’t want it. The lady--” “Oh, I want it.” She rushed back to him and looked down at the pretty yellow and white roses. She hadn’t gone to any formal dances in high school but had always wanted a corsage. “It’s gorgeous.” “Really?” He was looking down at her with wrinkled eyebrows. “Are you messing with me?” “No,” she said, getting a little sidetracked by the curl of his black eyelashes. “I love it. And I love that you couldn’t tell the florist no.” “Well, let me put it on, then,” he said, his eyes on hers as he lifted her wrist with his free hand and attempted to slide on the corsage. But the elastic band got hung up on her ring, and then again on her pinkie finger. She looked down and - dear God - saw the tiniest shake in his hand. “Are you…nervous?” she asked, unable to believe it as she looked up into his face. “No,” he said, dismissively, and immediately followed it up with, “Actually yes. Fuck.” That made Izzy smile through her nerves. “Me, too.” “It just feels important,” he said, looking down and straightening the flowers on her wrist. “Tonight, that is.” Izzy nodded. “Weird, right?” He returned his gaze to hers. “Very.” “But that’s dumb,” she said, her nervous energy taking over. “Because it’s not.” “It’s not?” “No,” she said, rubbing her lips together. “You’re just feeding me because I’m amazing, and I just happened to wear make-up and a proper bra for the occasion. No bigs.” He raised an eyebrow. “Proper bra?” “An undergarment,” she explained, shifting her weight to one foot as her big mouth took over. “With wires inside of it to push the ladies up and make them more appealing to the male gaze.” He looked like he wanted to smile. “And you don’t usually, um--” “Yeah, no.” She waved a hand and said, “I don’t have a lot to work with upstairs, so I’m all about comfort. Jog bras and bralettes are my jam.” Shut up, you idiot! Izzy always rambled when she was nervous, but this was perhaps her first overshare of which foundation garments were her fucking jam. Blake cleared his throat. “I see.” “Ohmigod - did I just ruin the illusion?" Why was her mouth so freaking vomitous all the time? She said, "Was my admission akin to a man opening a date by sharing the details of his micro penis? Should we just call it a night now, before you have to spend money on dinner when you know you don't want micropeen?” “For fuck’s sake, Iz,” he said, sounding irritated. “Oh, my God, I did!" “I don’t give a shit about your micro penis, okay?” He grabbed the front of her cardigan in both hands and pulled her closer, frustration and amusement shining in his brown eyes. “I spend hours every day obsessing about all of you, every little bit.” “You do?” she said, her voice barely there. “Yes, I fucking do,” he said around an exhale. “So you can’t talk about your underthings without making me crazy. Without making me think about your skin and your body and the way you’d look in goddamn lace.” Dear Lord. She felt winded, instantly rendered oxygen-deficient by the forceful heat behind his words. She rested her hands on his chest and said, “How did you manage to tell me I have a micro penis, yet still make me want to give you a standing ovation?” “I’m a hell of a good presenter.” “I’d say so,” she said. “No wonder they sent VP Blake to Boston.” “Yeah.” He got a wrinkle between his eyebrows, like he was distracted by his thoughts, and he swallowed. “I’m ready to be fed now,” she said, and that seemed to remind him to forget about work. “Unless you’re just stalling because of the--” “Swear to God if you say micropenis one more time--” “Fine,” she whispered. They left the apartment, and when Blake opened her door for her, she rolled her eyes. “I appreciate the chivalrous gesture, Phillips, but I promise you that I know how to open a car door.” That made his mouth split into the Full-on Sunshine. “Noted.” His face was right there, right above hers, and she desperately wanted him to kiss her. “By the way,” he said, lifting a finger and tracing her eyebrow with the softest touch. “It is killing me not to kiss you, but I don’t want to mess up your pretty red lipstick.” “Please destroy it,” she blurted out, “Unless you’re chick--” All ten of his fingers slid into her hair - thank God she’d straightened it, not that she would’ve cared - and he kissed her like it actually had been killing him. She raised her hands to his strong face and kissed him back with everything she had, hoping to make him feel even half of what he delivered whenever his lips met hers. Going up on her tiptoes, Izzy pulled his head closer, taking the lead as she attempted to consume every addictive bite of Blake that she could get. He growled into her mouth, his fingers flexing, and the heat of it all made her burn. Kissing Blake was so much more than just kissing, and she suspected nothing would ever compare. It was teeth and tongue and lips and breath, teasing and sliding and utter oral chaos - an onslaught, and hands-down the most erotic activity she’d ever participated in. Aside from sex itself. “Get your ass in the car,” he said, his lips barely above hers, so close that she could still feel their impression, “Before we get arrested.” “Kissing isn’t illegal,” she whispered, rubbing her lips against his. “But what your kisses make me want to do against the side of my car is.”

Blake “So I was thinking,” Izzy said, and Blake could see in his periphery that she was turning toward him in the passenger seat. “God help me.” “On a normal first date, the two people get to know each other slowly. But since we already know each other, maybe we should do an information speed-round.” Her mind was always whirring. It was dizzying and fascinating, all at once. He sighed, “Please explain.” “Okay, so usually there are things that date-ees want to know but cannot ask. About exes, family stuff, how many babies the other wants; off-limits topics that make you sound crazy or desperate if you ask them, right?” “Right…?” “So how about, at dinner, we allow all questions. Because obviously if you ask me about an ex, I know you aren’t a potentially-jealous psycho. And if I ask you if you want to get married someday, you know I’m not trying to tie you to the altar and baby you up.” “I don’t think that expression is right.” “But you feel me, right?” “Sure.” Blake pulled up to the red light and looked over at Izzy. Yeah, he fucking felt her. She looked so incredible that he’d had to force himself to stop looking at her at every opportunity. If he didn’t make a conscious effort, he might never stop staring.  And he would never want her to think Date Izzy was any better than every other version. Because Izzy was the sexiest person he’d ever met - all the time. In her messy ponytails and dirty glasses, in her skirts and heels at work; he was painfully attracted to her, no matter what. It had way more to do with the crinkles in her nose and the sound of her laugh than anything else. But tonight - holy shit. Her long hair, that lipstick, those legs in that skirt; all of it together would tempt anyone with eyeballs. But combine it with the punch of her quiet perfume and the fact that she’d gotten dressed to go out with him, and he was fucking on edge. “Okay,” she said, leaning forward to turn up the volume on the radio. “As soon as we order, it is on.” “Are you close with your family?” Izzy asked, breaking her roll in half. “You already know my only-child family history, so now I need yours. And give me the ugly truth.” Blake picked up his lowball glass and gave her a look over it, like he was disappointed in such a datey question. “I’m close with my parents and my grandparents on my mom’s side. Only talk to my dad’s parents at holidays. I have two younger brothers who bug the shit out of me, so I guess you could say we’re close, as well.” She nodded. “Interesting.” “Not in the slightest,” he said, and he took a drink of his Scotch. “Next question, then,” she said, rolling her eyes at his tone. “Have you ever been in love?” He set down his glass. “No.” That made her tilt her head and narrow her eyes. “Really?” He let a quick breath out his nose. “I was engaged not that long ago, but after the fact I was able to see that it wasn’t the real thing.” “Really?” Izzy grabbed her wineglass, fascinated by the thought of Blake with a ring. “What happened after the fact?” He stared at her for a long minute, like he was weighing his thoughts, and then he said, “I realized that I had stronger feelings for one of my friends than I ever had for her.” “Oh.” She stared back at him, her heart beating in her forehead. “Is that right?” “It is.” “Mmm, interesting,” she managed, feeling so flustered she didn’t even know how to string words together. “My turn.” Blake leaned forward a little, the light from the table’s candle reflecting in his dark eyes. “Have you ever been in love?” She shook her head. “Nope. Never. Not even close.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for a story, which made her shrug and say, “I’ve never even gone out with someone more than twice since high school, so I’m - as Halsey would say - bad at love.” “Who?” he asked. “Halsey,” she replied, taking a bite out of her roll. “Is that a friend of yours?” “Ohmigod, she’s like a huge rock star,” Izzy said, trying to politely talk with roll in her mouth. “You’ve seriously never heard of Halsey?” “Does she sing anything I’d know?” “Um, Bad at Love, for starters.” That made him smirk as he watched her chew. “Which is your theme song. Full circle right here, ladies and gentleman.” She rolled her eyes. He said, “Why don’t you date?” If she hadn’t been Question Game’s creator, that might've felt intrusive. She shrugged and said, “I’m not big on talking to people I don’t know.” “But you never shut up.” “Because I know you.” “Online dating?” “I’ve tried the apps but I’ve never done more than scroll.”  She felt like a loser, like it was obvious she was a total loner, so it was time for the next question.  “Kids and marriage - in or out?” she asked. “Holy shit, are you trying to tie me to the altar and baby me up?” “I don’t think that expression is right,” she said, laughing.  Which made Blake laugh, too, and that was the end of the question portion of the date. They fell into themselves after that, leaning on the sarcastic banter that was their natural language of choice. It wasn’t until their plates were cleared and they were enjoying a post-dinner glass of wine that things changed.  Blake was talking about one of the new machines at the gym, and Izzy said, “Y’know, I haven’t gone back there since the day I saw you in the elevator.” “Why not?” She shrugged. “They didn’t have heavy enough weights for me, I guess.” That earned her a cocked eyebrow. “Really.” She knew she shouldn’t overshare, but the wine and relaxed dinner had loosened her tongue. She ran a finger over the rim of her glass and said, “Because if I go all the time, my routine visits will gradually dim the memory of that first time. And I don’t want to ever forget that chemistry-filled elevator ride.” His smile disappeared and he looked serious. “I mean, I know it’s a no big deal thing now - you’re Blake and I’m Izzy. We’re friends or whatever. But at the time, it was like this great cosmic coincidence, that I would run into Mr. Chest from Starbucks, and I always want to remember the magic of all that crackling potential.” He didn’t say anything. At all. He just watched her. “Obviously I’m buzzed,” she teased, rolling her eyes and lifting the glass to her lips. “I shall shut up now.” “Don’t,” he said. “I think about it every single time I step into that elevator. It’s our elevator.” “You do?” she asked, unable to be cool. “It is? Seriously?” “Hell, yes,” he said, his jaw flexing. “I rotate between the memory of what it was, and the fantasy of what it could’ve been.” “You fantasize about the elevator?” Izzy leaned forward on her elbows. “Ohmigod, I do, too. All the time.” His eyes dipped down to her mouth as he said, “About you hitting the stop button?” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “That’s where it starts.” “Tell me where it finishes, Shay,” he said, quietly and calmly. No one around them would ever guess that he was asking her to share a sexual fantasy.  No one who’d ever known her would guess that she would. “With my hands on the wall,” she said, stuck somewhere between embarrassment and total arousal. “And with you behind me, most of the time.” He raised his eyebrows like he was amused, but his jaw was rigid. “Most of the time.” “It varies, y’know?” “Yeah, I fucking do know,” he said, and Izzy's stomach dipped. “So tell me, Chest,” she said, intimidated and totally turned on by his hot eyes. “Where it finishes for you.” She didn’t know what she’d been expecting – Blake wasn’t the kind of guy to back down from a challenge so of course he'd answer – but it wasn’t, “Your back against the elevator wall, your legs wrapped around my waist, and my name on your tongue.” “Ah,” she managed, unsure of how to behave as her body spontaneously combusted. “I, um, I think I like yours better.” “Do you want more wine?” he asked. “No, thank you.” “Do you want to go?” “Yes, please.”

Blake Blake pulled into the parking garage as Izzy rambled about the song on the radio. The entire drive to his place had been off, with Izzy babbling as if silence would kill her while thoughts of sexual fantasies pinged through his head. Izzy tried to jump start a conversation, but it wasn’t meant to be. He was fucking incapable of thinking about anything other than the image she’d put into his depraved mind. When they got out of the car and walked to the bank of elevators, Blake couldn’t help himself. He grabbed her hand and laced his fingers through hers, needing to touch her. That made her grin at him and say, “You couldn’t stay away, could you? You just had to touch me.” He just looked at her, because she wasn’t wrong. Izzy hit the up button, and she rubbed her thumb back and forth over his hand as they waited. “I think the boys will be happy to see me.” “Nah – they’ll hate you again. Short-term cat memory.”  The doors opened and they stepped inside. “There is no such thing, and those two are hopelessly devoted to me.” The doors slid closed. Izzy pressed the button for his floor with her free hand. “I wish I had tuna in my purse.” “Said no one ever,” he replied. The elevator started moving, and it hit Blake like a freight train.  Blake watched the numbers lighting up, hyperaware of Izzy’s scent and how close she was and the size of her hand in his. In the fucking elevator. She looked at him then, and something in her eyes was different. “Blake,” she whispered, like she was going to say something, but she didn't. He turned toward her, just the slightest bit, and he knew she was thinking the same thing. He could feel it in the way she looked at him. The air crackled, they watched each other for a long second, and then everything exploded.

Izzy Blake’s huge hands came up to her face as his mouth came down on hers. She kissed him back with ferocity while she pushed her body into his, moving him – both of them – closer to the stop button. “Fucking yes, Iz,” he said against her lips as she reached around him and depressed the button.  The elevator jerked to a stop, causing them to stumble a step. Blake took advantage of the impetus to move, turning them and pushing her up against the wall. Was. This. Really. Happening? Was Izzy really pinned against him, in the freaking elevator, while he kissed her like he wanted to eat her whole?  She kissed him back with the same unhinged intensity that he was giving her, snaking her arms around his shoulders, crazed with lust. His hands slid up the back of her thighs, stopping at the bottom of her skirt as he whispered, “Is this okay?” “Don’t you dare stop,” she said, needing him like she needed oxygen at that moment. Every nerve in her body was buzzing and connected to the points on her skin where his hands were resting. “Shay,” he panted, his fingers tightening on her skin before sliding higher. She bit down on his lip and moaned into his mouth when he touched her - holy hell the man knew what to do with his hands – and she lost the ability to formulate logical thoughts as he made her fucking climb. Gawwwwwd. It got frantic as the alarm started going off, reminding them of their limited time before maintenance arrived. A cacophony of zippers and wild hands and ripping wrappers joined the jangling elevator bell as he lifted her in his hands and then —

Blake “Oh, God,” Izzy moaned, her heels bringing him in closer as her head fell back against the elevator wall. “Holy shit.” Blake gritted his teeth and froze, his knees nearly buckling from the feel of her surrounding him. Nothing had ever felt that good, and when she opened her eyes, he felt her gaze in his every molecule. “Chest,” she bit out as he started moving, her eyes closing as she met him move-for-move. He could feel her gripping fingertips through his shirt and sweater, and it made him fucking burn. She’d been in every one of his fantasies since the day they’d met, but the reality of sex with Izzy was incomparable. She breathed, “You do not suck at this, Phillips.” “Nor do you,” he quipped, his entire body overcome with that annoying emotional pinch as he looked down at her face. He was in the middle of the hottest sexual encounter of his life, a mind-blowing escapade against the wall of an elevator, yet he desperately wanted to kiss the tip of her freckled nose. “Iz,” he said, rasping out her name through a clenched jaw. Every fucking muscle in his body was tense and taut as their pace got faster, hotter. She pulled his face down to hers and started kissing him, desperate and hungry and wild, and that’s when things caught fire. He stopped hearing the deafening alarm as every one of his five senses – his entire consciousness – narrowed in on that one spot where they were joined. “We should probably stop,” she said, panting, sounding like someone absolutely not interested in stopping. “Before we get arrested.” “I just. Want,” he started, and then – like a sex goddess - she gave him exactly what he’d been waiting for. All ten of her fingernails pressed into his shoulders as her entire body tightened and flexed around him, making him growl out fucking thank you holy shit before following her fucking amazing lead.