Page 51 of Accidentally Amy

I texted as I 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 my already riotous belly.

Blake:Don’t be scared, Iz. Just take a deep breath and let yourself fall.

Chapter Fifteen

Izzy

“Do you want a receipt?”

God, no, I thought, depressed by the amount of money I’d just paid to get my nonworking car out of jail. I put my credit card back in my wallet and said to the guy behind the counter, “No, thanks.”

“Young’s will be picking up the vehicle within the hour,” Blake said, all-business, and I looked at him. When had he called the towing company? He was still in a 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.

I looked down at my dirty Chucks, which were right next to his perfect butter-soft leather dress shoes. I knew I looked like atotal wreck next to him. But I’d decided, when I got home from work, that a wise thing to do would be to change into scrubby clothes, wash my face, and pull my hair back into a ponytail.

Blake told me he’d never make a move on me—and I totally believed him—but I also figured I’d be less inclined to overthink our spark if I knew I looked awful.

“Ready?” he asked, one eyebrow raised, and I nodded and turned toward the door.

Once we were in his car, I said, “You live downtown, but the address you gave for your garage is out in Springfield. Why so far?”

“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 regularly keep your vehicle in.”

“No.” His big hands turned the steering wheel as he went around a corner. “My building has a garage for parking. The Springfield bay is just a little project stall for repairs.”

“Oh,” I murmured, trying not to imagine him leaning over the hood of a car with his hands wrapped around wrenches. “Do you have coveralls?”

He glanced over at me. “No.”

“Gloves? Safety glasses?”

“What are you doing here, Shay?”

I shrugged and said, “Just trying to picture you working on cars but it’s impossible because you’re so…”

I waved a hand, gesturing toward hisGQlooks 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 hot rod.”

I crossed my arms and said around a laugh, “What if I don’t feel like it?”

“Too bad,” he said with a small 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.”

“Oh, I’ll be doingsomethingto you while you work,” I said, then instantly realized how it sounded. That wasnotwhat I meant. I meant physical harm, not sex acts!

He didn’t say a word, but his jaw clenched, and I felt like acknowledging what Ididn’tmean would make my suggestive suggestion even more suggestive.

Or something.

Shit.

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