9. Chapter Nine

“Do you want a receipt?” Hell, no, Izzy thought, depressed by the amount of money she’d just paid to get her non-working car out of jail. She put her credit card back in her wallet and said to the guy behind the counter, “No, thanks.” “Young’s Towing will be picking up the vehicle within the hour,” Blake said, all business, and Izzy looked at him. When had he called the towing company? He was still in 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. Izzy looked down at her dirty Chucks, which were right next to his perfect butter-soft leather dress shoes. She knew she looked like a total wreck next to him. But she’d decided, when she got home from work, that a wise thing to do would be to change into scrubby clothes, wash her face, and pull her hair back into a ponytail. It had been less than a day since Blake told her he’d never make a move on her – and she totally believed him – but she figured she’d be less inclined to overthink their “spark” if she knew she looked awful. “Ready?” he asked, one eyebrow raised, and she nodded and turned toward the door. Once they were in his car, she said, “You live downtown, but the address you gave for your garage is out in Springfield. Isn’t that like twenty miles from your house?” “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 park in every day. Got it.” His big hands turned the steering wheel as he went around a corner. “My building has a garage for parking, but the Springfield bay is just a little project stall for repairs.” “Oh,” she said, trying not to imagine him leaning over the hood of a car with his hands wrapped around wrenches. “Do you have coveralls?” That made him glance over at her. “No.” “Gloves? Safety glasses?” “What are you doing here, Shay?” She giggled and said, “Just trying to picture you working on cars but it’s impossible because you’re so…” She waved a hand, gesturing at 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 sad little car.” She crossed her arms and said around a laugh, “What if I don’t feel like it?” “Too bad,” he said, his mouth in a little 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.” Izzy snorted. “Oh, I’ll be doing something to you while you work,” she said. Gahhhh - not what I meant! I meant physical harm, not sex acts! He didn’t say a word, but his jaw clenched, and she felt like acknowledging what she didn’t mean would make her suggestive suggestion even more suggestive. Or something. Shit. “But be careful what you wish for,” she charged forth with, refusing to let it get weird. “Perhaps I shall read aloud from my favorite novel or sing the entire Hamilton soundtrack.” “Why does this suggestion not surprise me?” “Because you can tell I’m artistic?” “Because I can tell you like to irritate me.” “Hey, do you have one of those little scooter thingies that you lay down on with the wheels so you can roll under cars? Because I think I’d like to play with one of those.” That made him glance over with a you’re-a-child smirk. “Creeper.” “No,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s not like I want to scoot under you. Somebody thinks pretty highly of himself.” “That’s what it’s called – a creeper.” He shook his head and said around a smile, “And yes, I have one.” “Well,” she said, “Dibs on the creeper.” Blake pulled into a parking garage in the center of the city, leaving Izzy to assume he lived in the high-rise above it. She got out of the car without a word, trying to act like she wasn’t crazy-impressed by his address. She followed him to the elevator enclosure, and when he pushed the up button, Izzy asked, “Can your cats have tuna?” He looked over at her. “Why?” “Just curious,” she said, pulling the pouch of Starkist out of her hoodie pocket. “Can they?” “Yes, they can have pocket tuna,” he said, “But they already have food.” “This will buy their insta-love for me, though,” she said. “I wouldn’t hold my breath.” The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. “Why?” Izzy asked, watching as he stepped in after her and pushed the button for the twelfth floor. “They don’t like tuna?” “They don’t like people,” he said. “Oh, well, I’m not people,” she replied, watching the doors close. Floor numbers advanced on the display as the elevator went up. “And all cats love me.” “We’ll see,” he said, pulling his phone out of his pant pocket and unlocking the screen. “Yes, we will,” Izzy muttered. That made Blake look up from his phone. His eyes were a little squinty, like he was thinking as his eyes moved over her face, and he asked, “Pepperoni or combo?” “Pepperoni,” she said, looking down because sometimes his eye contact was a little too direct. When the elevator reached the twelfth floor and the doors slid open, Izzy followed Blake down a long hallway with ivy-patterned grey carpet. Modern sconces on midnight walls illuminated their way like fairy lights on a dusky garden path. He stopped in front of 1213 and pulled his keys from his pocket. “I like your door,” she said, then wanted to smack her hand over her mouth for sounding like a child. I like your door - who said that? 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 door. “Thanks,” he said, unlocking the door and holding it open for her. “Is it weird to say that the minute I saw it, I knew I was going to lease this unit?” “Not at all,” she said, breezing past him and into his apartment. “That’s cute.” “For fuck’s sake, it’s not cute,” he muttered, and she felt the tiniest of shivers crawl up her back as he hovered somewhere behind her. She heard the door close and tried to tell herself that it was no big deal, being alone with him in his apartment. “Fine,” Izzy said around a smile, stepping over so he could lead her further into his apartment. “It’s totally lame.” He stopped beside her. Gave her a questioning eyebrow and asked, “Did you just call me lame?” “Did I stutter?” 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.” Izzy turned and stared, looking for the cat. Blake walked farther into the apartment, and she followed at his heels, reaching into her hoodie pocket to open the tuna pouch. “I’m home, buddy,” Blake said, and Izzy shook her head from her 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 her only chance for survival. A 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, buddy.” Blake scooped up the cat and stood, turning to look at Izzy. She smiled as he rubbed the cat’s head, and she stepped a little closer. “Hey, Goodyear,” she said, reaching out a hand to pet him. He hissed and made a little cat-growl noise, instantly backing her up. “Told you,” Blake said, sounding pleased as he kept rubbing Goodyear’s head. “It’s only because we just met,” Izzy said, rolling her eyes and pulling the tuna out of her hoodie. “He’ll love me soon enough.” “No, he won’t,” Blake said matter-of-factly. “Are you going to show me around your apartment or what?” she asked, waving the pouch of seafood around in hopes of a feline response. “Oh, don’t be snarky,” he said, treating her to a full-strength 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 her fishy stench. “Where’s the kitchen?” “Follow me.” Blake set down his cat, then led her through a living room that had huge windows, a gorgeous buff-colored turn-of-the-century sofa, a wall of bookshelves and a thick off-white area rug that looked like nap perfection. “That view does not suck,” she muttered to herself, looking out at the city as she followed at his heels. When they walked into the kitchen, Izzy had two thoughts. The first: Blake was an entirely different kind of adult than she was. His kitchen was large, modern, and didn’t have any random items sitting out. No empty pizza boxes, no cans lined up beside the sink, waiting to be recycled, and not a single dish was resting in the sink. It occurred to her that she should be mortified by the fact that he’d visited her small, not pristine apartment a few days ago. She should be, but for some reason, she wasn’t. The second: he had to have a cleaning service, right? There was just no way a young, busy guy had time to make his place shine quite that brightly. She was a big believer in the five-second rule, but in Blake’s kitchen she’d go a full thirty. Minutes. “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” for orange 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 her for a long second, his dark eyes all over her face, and she 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 she followed his finger, she 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. She raised her 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.” She 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 her off before taking the food out of the microwave. “Oh, I think you are. This level of pet care is seriously--” “No.” He raised his eyebrows and gave her 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.” She tried not to smile, but it was impossible. “If you say so.” “I do,” he said in kind of a loud, booming voice, and she coughed to cover her laugh. He walked the food over to a mat in the corner, where he set down the bowl. Goodyear was there in an instant, and Hole – Blake’s other cat - appeared out of nowhere to join the feast. “I think I can handle this. Doesn’t look too tough,” she said, watching them go to town on their food. Izzy glanced over at Blake as he was loosening his tie. She felt frozen for a second, immobilized by the movement that seemed intimate, like something she shouldn’t be seeing. She said, “If you want to go change out of your work clothes, I promise not to rifle through your things. Much.” “But can I trust you?” He teased, pulling off the tie and unbuttoning that restrictive top button. She heard his words, but her eyes were stuck on his strong neck. They didn’t want to move, for some reason, but she blinked fast and forced them up. “Sure,” she said. “Okay,” he said. “But if I catch you digging, there will be consequences.” “So intimidating,” she quipped. “Byeee.” His phone rang as she said it, and when he took it out of his pocket and looked at the display, he made a little groan noise. “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 her a look that was almost a smile before raising the phone to his ear. “This is Blake.”