Page 60 of Accidentally Amy

I fucking hated that idiotic moniker, but Iz had said it fifteen times over the past few days, just to irritate me, and it had taken root. She was such a little shit, and now I said things likerandotexting buddies. Obviously our friendship was causing me to shed brain cells.

She texted me about what she was wearing, the noise her coworker made when she chewed potato chips, the macaroni and cheese she’d made in my kitchen, and her thoughts on the mayor’s plan to launch a streetcar project.

I texted her about Patriots fans, airport bathroom hand dryers, the book I was reading, my grandmother’s phone calls, and my opposing views on the mayor’s streetcar proposal.

We’d texted the entire three days I’d been in Boston and FaceTimed every night. I’d even FaceTimed her when I called my grandma on the hotel room phone, just so she could hear how unorthodox my favorite relative was.

Basically, she’d become like one of my buddies. Hell, I was just as comfortable talking to her as I was with my brothers, only with her I got little gut punches when she did certain things. Smiled, laughed, talked about my bathtub, snuggled with my cats; shit like that gave me a pinching pain just above my kidney.

Which I ignored because it was irrelevant.

I pulled out my phone and tried texting her again as I got into the elevator.I am in the building now.

I’d been texting her since 5:00 a.m., when I decided to change my flight and come home a couple hours early. But she hadn’t responded. I didn’t want to scare her by showing up unexpectedly, but I was also dying to get home and get started on the weekend.

Of course, the only real plans I had were to go for a run, watch football, and fix Izzy’s car, but after the past few days of nonstop work, that sounded fucking amazing.

I unlocked the door, opened it slowly, and said, “Izzy?”

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. I could hear the TV, but no movement. I said more loudly, “Izzy? It’s me. I took an earlier flight.”

Was she asleep? Perhaps the new bed wasthatgood, so comfortable that it rendered the sleeper comatose.Please, God of Insomnia, let that be the case.

I took two steps into the living room and said, “Iz, I’m ho—”

My mouth snapped shut when I saw her.

For some reason, the sight of her sleeping on my couch made that pinching feeling so sharp that it almost hurt.Fuck.I quietly approached as my gut burned.

Her hands were tucked under her cheek, her hair wild across my pillow—mypillow—and a disconcerting emotion I couldn’t identify settled on my chest like a brick as I looked down at her. Protectiveness? Longing? Fondness?

Something about seeing her there, cocooned in my blanket, asleep on my couch, made me homesick for…something.

Fuck, I was a mess, and I was also a fucking creep, watching her sleep like I was goddamn Joe Goldberg.

“Izzy.” I dropped to a squat, moved my mouth a little closer to her ear, and said, “I’m home, Iz.”

“Chest.” Her mouth turned up into a smile, even though her eyes stayed closed, and she turned her head and pressed her lips against mine.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Iz,” I said, moving my face away from hers, “wake up.”

“Iamawake,” she purred, reaching out and bringing my face back to hers with both hands on my cheeks.

Before I could think, she kissed me, her mouth soft and warm as she opened her lips under mine. I held myself still, unsure of what to do when my head was exploding.

Was she even awake?

“Kiss me, Chest,” she said against my mouth, a smile in her voice. “Unless you don’t want to.”

She moved her hands down to my neck, and the movement threw my squat off balance. I caught myself by bridging one arm over the back of the couch and one on the front, and Izzy apparently took that as a move. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and pulled me closer, and all of a sudden I was on my knees beside the couch, my upper body leaning in as she bit down on my lower lip.

I’m done, I thought—maybe even said out loud—as I opened my mouth wide over hers, wanting to fucking consume her. She made a noise in the back of her throat that shot heat through me as her hands moved to my chest and her mouth went wild.

She kissed like sex and battle, like domination and competition, like going all fucking out and leaving nothing on the motherfucking floor, holyshit. I wanted more—wanted it all—as I felt her fingers flexing, gripping the front of my shirt.

My hands clenched the sofa as her smell—vanilla and something sexy—burrowed into my senses and made me drunk on fumes. I opened my eyes, needing visual confirmation that this was really Izzy, destroying me like I’d imagined her doing a hundred fucking times.

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