Accidentally Amy

by Lynn Painter

He was like Roy Kent’s taller American brother or something,

statements like that were a straight-up assault on her ovaries.

Since the moment she’d met him, his entire existence had been an assault on her ovaries. And now he was going to add car-fixing and stumble-stopping to the dopamine equation?

I'm Facetimeing YOU tonight at 6:01 and I expected a detailed visual tour of your ass. She quickly fired-off a follow-up text. Izzy: NOT LITERALLY. "Your ass" as in a "your mom" joke. You get it, right? If you moon me via Facetime I shall report you to the FCC. Blake: I don't think you need that coffee. Also. Maybe while I’m gone, you should look up what the FCC does, since you clearly have no idea. Izzy: You're not the boss of me. Blake: I am quite literally the boss of you.

“So I was thinking,” Izzy said, and Blake could see in his periphery that she was turning toward him in the passenger seat. “God help me.”

And he would never want her to think Date Izzy was any better than every other version.