Chapter 15
Blake 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 the 15th St. 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…whole. 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 felt right. His apartment somehow felt more like home. Shit, she was making him weak as hell. When he walked into the bedroom, though, those feelings were amplified. 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 tortoise shell 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. Even though he had less space with her in his bed, it somehow felt bigger and warmer with her there, like a bed he never wanted to leave. “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 better.
Izzy Izzy couldn’t believe that Blake was still asleep. It was nine o’clock, she was dressed 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. Instead, she fed the cats, left him a note, 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: But your head is a scary place. 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. Texted: 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? Izzy: The clothes I left at your place after catsitting. Blake: How much longer will you be running? 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? Izzy: Isn’t it weird how many words there are for sex that don’t really sound like a good time was had by all? Pounded, drilled, nailed. I mean, it sounds like you’re building a house. Blake: Correction – did you build a house last night? 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: 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: That reads like a verb. Also - 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