Page 40 of Accidentally Amy

“What?” She set her messenger bag next to the bike, since she couldn’t run with it, and gave me a look. “What do you mean?”

“If you sit in thebackseat, nothing can accidentally transpire between us.”

She furrowed her brows and tilted her head, considering the idea. “Hmm…I’m not sure.”

“For the love of God, Iz,” I said, slamming the trunk closed and looking down at her like she was a child. “Get in the damn back seat.”

Her eyes narrowed, and I thought she was going to debate yet again and make me lose my mind, but then her mouth—goddamn,that mouth—slid up into a sexy grin. She gave her head a shake, shrugged her shoulders, and said, “My best friend makes me sit in the back seat of his car like I’m a little bitty baby child. Nice.”

She walked around me, opened the passenger-side back door, and climbed into my car.

I had only one thought as I got in and buckled my seat belt: I fucking love my new best friend.

Chapter Thirteen

Izzy

I looked at my watch—almost noon.

I ignored the growl in my stomach and wished time would move faster. My breakfast—a can of Rockstar and a chocolate Pop-Tart—was no longer doing the trick, and I needed sustenance. I usually ate lunch at eleven, like a senior citizen, but that day, I was holding out until twelve thirty.

No reason—I just feel like waiting, I thought as I got out my compact and added a little blush and lip gloss to my face.

Thirty minutes later, when the alarm on my wrist buzzed, I stuck my debit card in the pocket of my skirt and stood. Grabbing my black peacoat, I slid my arms into it as I left my office, heading for the exit like my ass was on fire.

Butterflies were going wild in my stomach as I rode the elevator down, which was ridiculous, because I was just grabbing food.It’s what people do at lunchtime, right?Nothing weird about that at all. Just because I knew thatcertain peopleenjoyedthe Monday specials at Caniglia’s food truck, and they usually took their lunch sometime between twelve thirty and one—well, that shouldn’t make me nervous. Lots of people did that.

I pulled out my phone as I walked the two blocks to the mobile Italian restaurant.No texts. It wasn’t a surprise, really, that Blake was radio silent during the workday; he was all-business, after all, and we’d made rules.

But after he’d dropped me and the bike off at my building after coffee, we’d pretty much been in an endless texting conversation for the rest of the day.

I’d texted him while we each watched the same football game, I’d texted him as I’d gone down into the creepy basement to do laundry, and I’d texted him while I’d given the Darkling a bath. For someone so aboveboard and executive-like in person, he was surprisingly fun on the phone.

That morning, when I’d been walking toward the building (I had to take the bus downtown because my car was still impounded), I’d felt my phone buzz in my purse. And when I pulled it out, Blake had texted,I can see you from my window.

The Ellis building was an all-windowed skyscraper, and even though I knew Blake worked on the fifteenth floor, I had no idea where exactly that was on the face of the building. So I’d stopped and responded:You have to be lying.

Blake:Black tights, black boots, black coat, red purse and—is that a piece of toast in your hand?

I’d laughed and texted back:A Pop-Tart. And quit being a creeper.

Blake:I was simply looking out the window, and there you were. Shocked the hell out of me, tbh.

Izzy:Can you tell what I’m doing now?

I’d switched Pop-Tart hands so I could hold up my arm and flip off the building.

Blake:Not very nice.

Izzy:You’re interrupting my breakfast stroll; THAT isn’t very nice. Can you tell what I’m doing NOW?

I started hopping on one foot.

Blake:Making a spectacle of yourself.

Izzy:No one is watching me but you.

Blake:The man behind you begs to differ.

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