Chapter Eight
Izzy Izzy took a bite of her pizza, set down her plate and lifted the ringing phone to her ear. “It’s 5:55 - you’re early.” “Want me to call back in five?” Blake asked. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and said, “Nah, but you’re going to have to listen to me finish this last piece of pizza and it’s so good I’m making bedroom noises.” “Gah – please no. Pizza again?” He laughed into the phone. “It’s only been a few hours since your last piece.” “Your point?” “Forget it.” The Darkling meowed from his spot on the floor, wanting her lap, but she had no interest in cat-hair pizza. “What did you have for dinner, Phillips? A brick of kale? Fifteen chicken breasts? Something from the tofu family?” “Those are seriously your guesses?” “I used to work with this super swole guy, and he literally ate five chicken breasts every day at work.” She couldn’t remember his name, but one time he’d showed her a video of himself lifting weights and then he’d been pissed when she’d laughed at the noise he made. It was a really weird noise. “He ate one breast during each fifteen-minute break, and three for lunch.” Blake said, “Do people still say swole?” “I don't know, but they should.” She finished her last bite of pizza, wiped her hands on her napkin and flipped on Little House. “So okay - I bet you had a veggie burrito and sweet potato tots.” His deep, quiet laugh caused her to snuggle a little deeper into the sofa cushions. He said, “That’s really specific.” “And right?” “And wrong. I had a turkey sandwich.” “So basically the same thing.” “Sure.” Izzy could hear dishes clinking as he said, “So listen. I was thinking about us.” Izzy’s fingertips got tingly and her heartbeat picked up. Us. God, did he want there to be an us? “Yeah?” She said casually, gnawing on her lip and waiting for more. The Darkling jumped on her lap and quickly voiced his displeasure at having to wait. “Yeah. I appreciate your Starbucks presentation and value its merits, but I think we’re making things too complicated.” “You do?” She glanced at the TV and watched Ma Ingalls walk into Olson’s Mercantile with a basket full 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." Blakes voice was cool and confident 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,” she 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 their burning, palpable attraction as an occasional spark - good to know. Izzy didn’t know what to say, so she asked, “What is that pounding noise?” “What?” “The pounding,” Izzy said, irritated she felt wholly 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 homemade cat food.” He is killing me, Izzy thought. Dagger, holy water, garlic - all of it would never be enough. The man was making homemade cat food; there was no protection strong enough. She said, “You know they sell cat food at the store. Bags of it. Ever heard of Meow Mix?” “Too old and pukey for Meow Mix,” he replied. “Ah. Well you’ll have to give me the recipe.” “Really?” “Geez, Phillips. No.” “Is there a reason you changed the subject, Shay?” he asked, his voice quiet and serious in her ear. “Not at all,” she 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?” She exhaled before saying, “I mean, yes - of course we can handle it.” “You have my word, Iz,” he said, 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 Blake had thought getting it out in the open would make him feel better, but it didn’t. The way she definitively said that makes me feel so much better confirmed what he’d suspected; that Izzy would never be comfortable being friends with him if she were afraid of something physical happening. He’d meant to assure her that she could let her guard down, but he felt…fuck, something about how relieved she seemed. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” he said, scooping the cat food out of the mixing bowl and pressing it into the air-tight container with a rubber spatula. “Let’s talk about your car.” She sighed, and the speaker phone sent her breath across the expanse of his 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? I assumed you were scientifically-engineered in a lab.” “Cute.” “Blake, I appreciate the offer – I really do – but I just can’t.” “I thought of something you can do for me,” he 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.” He 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 he thought he heard her squeak. He said, “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.” He washed his 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 him smile. He went into the living room, sat down on the couch and turned on the TV. Both of his cats were immediately on his lap; it was like they waited for him to sit. They liked to paw around to get comfortable, but he put his hands on their backs and helped them settle into a sit so they didn’t drive him crazy. “As you know, 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.” “That is 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 him happy as he 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. That made him grin, like a dipshit, all alone in his living room. “He has pills that I have to crush and put in applesauce, which he licks off of a plastic spoon.” “While you hold the spoon?” she asked. “Why do I feel like this is a cat-lady version of phone sex?” She started laughing - hard - and she said, “Oh, 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 he couldn’t help but fall into laughter right along with her as he switched and gave Hole’s chin a scratch. “You little deviant, quit using my elderly cat’s needs to scratch your weirdo itch.” “My apologies.” She cleared her throat and said, “Please continue.” He flipped past Little House and wondered if she was watching. “My other cat, Hole, is diabetic, so he needs two injections a day.” “I’m sorry, did you just say cat hole?” she said, still laughing a little. “No,” he replied, then added, “Well, yes but no. My other cat is named hole.” “This is very incredible,” she said, and he could hear the smile lingering in her voice. “Also please explain your cats’ names.” Blake 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 catsitting - I’m a thousand percent in.” “Side note: 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?” He looked at the boys and said, “Want to flip to Facetime so you can see them? Izzy Yes. No. I don’t know! Izzy was dying to see his cats, but could she just Facetime without preparation? She stalled with, “Can you do that, mid-call?” “Sure,” he said. “You just hit the button.” She did a quick self-appraisal - sloppy bun, glasses, YOUR MOM t-shirt. She was a mess, but since he’d admitted to feeling nothing for her except friendship and a random spark, what did it matter? “Show me the cats, then,” she said, feeling nervous as she waited for the switch. FaceTime did its magic, 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 his hair afterward. He was sitting on a beige couch, wearing a faded red KC t-shirt that said 0:13 in yellow letters. 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. Is it hot in here? It felt hot to her all of a sudden. “Nice shirt,” he said, smirking as his dark eyes crinkled at the corners. “Where’s The Darkling?” She raised her phone so he could see the cat sitting on the back of her neck. That made his lips slide into a full-on grin. She 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 hairball 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." She only half-heard his words because she was obsessed with his face. The way big, powerful Blake looked at his feline friend as he talked shit on him made her 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," she said. "Not possible. And there's more than one," he said. "That sounds made up.” “So,” he said, re-settling the cats against his midsection. "Are you watching Little House?" “You know it,” she said, a little 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 her line of sight. He shook his head and said, “Bird just landed on the railing of my deck. Somehow Goodyear always knows something’s happening and blindly follows Hole, literally.” “Show me your deck,” she said, then laughed when he gave her an eyebrow raise. She re-enunciated, “D-e-c-k deck.” “Ah,” he said, and then he stood up 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 much?” she said, a little hypnotized by his Facetime eye contact and his deep voice saying my big deck. “Only to the stubborn,” he replied. She heard him open the sliding door, and then he turned the camera around. “Wow,” she said, a little in awe of the high-rise, downtown view. He obviously lived at the edge of downtown, way outside of her price range. “I bet you could kill someone with an apple from that height.” He turned his phone back around and gave her a you are ridiculous look. “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, and then I can have it towed to my garage.” Izzy still felt weird about that. All of it. “Um, okay, as long as you promise your cats will be awful for me while you’re gone.” “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?” Blake asked, knowing full well what it was.Izzy looked behind her at the workout tower she never used. “That? It’s a workout thing.” “A thing, huh?” It was almost midnight, and they’d been Facetiming for hours. It hadn’t been intentional, but they’d started watching the same episode of Top Chef somewhere around nine and had essentially been binge-watching together ever since. Sidenote: Izzy was pathetically Team Sam, even though Blake had told her all the reasons the guy wouldn’t win, whereas Blake was intelligently cheering for Ilan, the obvious frontrunner. He said, “I bet you don’t even know how to use it.” She scowled at him. “Yes, I do.” “You have scrawny arms – can’t believe you. Sorry.” She rolled her eyes at him through the camera, then stood. Like he knew she would. “Watch and learn, Mr. Chest.” Things went blurry for a minute and then he was staring at the workout tower, so she must’ve propped her phone against something. He watched her come into view in that stupid t-shirt and black leggings, and he leaned back against the couch and grinned. “Now, don’t be jealous of my strength, Blakeley,” she said, dancing around like a boxer getting ready for a fight. “This isn’t something everyone can do.” “Right.” It was weird, he thought as she acted like a dork in front of the camera with her messy hair and nerd glasses. His former fiancée was charming in a perfect sort of way (when she wasn’t lying to him). Skye was gorgeous and elegant. He’d been crazy about her, ready to marry her, but he’d never felt this…charmed by her. It was probably just because he actually had fun with Izzy. He was friends with her, whereas he hadn’t really been with Skye. Izzy wrapped her hands around the handles and brought up her legs in front of her. Said, “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?” Blake shook his 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.” He crossed his 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,” he said. “Then show me or it’s not true, Phillips,” she replied, her stubborn chin raised. Blake stood and started walking toward the spare bedroom. “Fine, but you’re about to feel really stupid.”
Izzy Holy crap – his bedroom. Izzy saw it in a flash as he walked down the hall with the camera facing forward, but it was too quick for her to register anything other than a very big bed. Of course he had a big bed. He flipped on the lights in another bedroom 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 hers. He set the phone down – she assumed on the desk – so it faced the tower. “Ohmigod - am I going to see the chestal secrets of Mr. Chest’s chest?” she asked. “You wish,” Blake said, and then he reached up with his long arms and grabbed the pullup bar. Without a word, he started doing pullups as if they were the easiest thing in the world. “Booooo,” she said, giggling as her 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 haven’t said it since then.” Izzy 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 she could see that jutting hipbone thing that was pretty much an anatomical aphrodisiac. Sweet holy hipbones, she needed smelling salts. “Stop it, you pathetic loser, before I puke,” she said. “Your form is atrocious.” He dropped himself to the floor and beamed at the camera, smiling in a way that made her feel like he knew how hot she was for him. “Sure it is.” “What about the other part?” she asked, but she felt like a perv as she said it because she 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 her want to bite his apple-bottom biceps, so she said, “Oh, those. I did like a hundo this morning.” He dismounted, winked and said, “Okay, Iz.” She rolled her 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 she thought from this initial Facetime visit to his apartment). “I probably should - it’s pretty late,” she 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 her face as he said, “I’m sure you have more pizza to eat, anyway.” “There are a few leftover pieces,” she agreed, and there was something so warm and comfortable about their mutual teasing that she was already homesick for it, even though they weren’t even off the phone yet. They made plans for him to pick her up the following day, after work, to get things rolling with her car. But after the call was disconnected, Izzy couldn’t settle down enough to even consider sleep. She was wired, all keyed-up from hours of Blake, and she kind of didn’t know what to do with herself. She turned off the lights, laid down, and was trying to force sleep when her phone buzzed on her nightstand. She rolled over and picked it up. Blake: You awake? She grabbed her glasses and slid them back on her nose before responding. Sadly, yes. Wide awake. Blake: Good. Izzy: Mean. Blake: I was thinking - you should probably come over to my place tomorrow. Izzy gasped and sat straight up in bed. Whaaaat? He wanted her to come over? How was she 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. She rubbed her fingertips over her 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. Izzy was trying to keep her brain from overload, but she was going to be eating dinner with Blake tomorrow. Just she and Blake, alone in his apartment. With his very big bed. And his pull-up abdominals. Gahhhh. Also, trying to remember that she could only like him as a friend – that they would only ever be friends – was incredibly difficult when she was more attracted to him than she’d been to anyone. Like, ever. In her entire life. She was trying to get a grip on her whirling Blake thoughts when he sent another text. Blake: Would you consider staying at my apartment while I’m gone? I hate to ask, 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?! Stay. At. Mr. Chest’s. Apartment. She thought jiofqpwehtp8439qghiea;igdg. She responded: Um. Blake: It’s close to work, too, so you won’t have to mess with the bus. Three minute walk. Izzy wanted to say yes, but it felt like a bad idea. A terrible idea. Her phone buzzed yet again, and she felt her cheeks go warm when she 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 was happening? Was she having a dream? She slapped her 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. She pulled back the covers and got out of bed. She might as well go grab a book, because there was no way she was going to go back to sleep now. Life just got really interesting and her brain was preparing to explode. She texted as she 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 her already riotous belly. Blake: Don’t be scared, Iz. Just take a deep breath and let yourself fall.