Dream Spinner (Dream Team Book 3)

by Kristen Ashley

  One, it was nice coming home to her.

  Two, they were falling in love with each other.

  With this in mind, he told her, “I’ve never lived with a woman.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’ve never lived with a woman,” he repeated.

  “Um … okay.”

  “That said, my last long-term relationship, she was over a lot. We both preferred my place when one of us slept over. So I gave her a drawer.”

  “A drawer,” she said, partly contemplative, partly teasing. “That’s big stuff.”

  “I thought it was. She was ticked it was just a drawer.”

  “If I had a diary, and therefore wrote in a diary, and you gave me a drawer, I’d have to go out and buy heart stickers and glitter washi tape so I could fully commit my ‘Dear diary, today, Axl gave me a drawer,’ memory as it deserved.”

  He started laughing again.

  “I haven’t lived with a guy either,” she told him.

  “Seems so far we’re both naturals,” he remarked.

  A wave of warmth hit him from the passenger side of the vehicle.

  He then saw her out of the corner of his eye move in so she could kiss his jaw.

  She sat back and it took a minute before she queried, “Can I ask why you mentioned that?”

  “Never in my life came home to a woman.”

  Hattie didn’t respond.

  “Been comin’ home to you now for days, didn’t think on it, all that was going on. Had a second to think on it, and I like it. So I thought you should know.”

  At that, she pushed the limits of her seatbelt again to give him another kiss on the jaw, this time wrapping her hand around the other side of his neck to give him a squeeze.

  He felt her touch and smelled her perfume.

  Yeah.

  He liked her in his Jeep too.

  Axl enjoyed her kisses, but he decided not to share that in case she did it again, and her touch prompted more action, the kind where he’d turn around and dis his mother on dinner.

  They drove the rest of the way, back in their comfortable silence.

  Until he pulled into his parents’ side drive.

  “Holy crap,” she whispered.

  As they passed by, he studied the sprawling house with its red brick, black shutters, white woodwork, and curved portico.

  The green lawn was perfectly manicured. The front hedges flawlessly clipped. The dual elms on either side of the front of the house mature and towering.

  An opinion on something Axl had never considered hit him with a surety that surprised him.

  He hated his parents’ home.

  It was classic, pompous, had zero uniqueness, no personality, and the best things you could say about it were that it was big, it was sturdy, and at a push, it was stately.

  But it was boring.

  If you had to guess who lived in that house, you’d probably say conservative, elderly and uptight.

  Except the elderly, all true.

  He drove around back to the huge area that included four garage doors, an archway covered in some flowering plant that didn’t quite hide the pool and tennis court beyond and the small detached mother-in-law house where his mom and dad’s assistant/ housekeeper lived.

  And he hadn’t felt the feeling he was feeling as he parked since his dad reamed his ass in front of his teammates and coaches for coming in second in the hundred-yard dash in regionals his sophomore year.

  But he knew what the feeling was.

  He was embarrassed.

  “Okay, so your dad isn’t like, a successful attorney. He’s, like, a super-duper, mega successful attorney,” Hattie noted.

  “We’ll just say his firm does the very least pro bono work they can do and not look like complete assholes rather than total assholes. Every hour is a billable hour. And he works a lot.”

  “Axl,” she called, her voice searching, soft.

  He turned to her to see her gaze the same as her voice.

  “Are you okay, honey?” she asked.

  Shit.

  He wasn’t.

  “We do it, it’s done,” he said.

  She let her seatbelt go that time, came in and touched her glossed lips to his.

  She pulled back, still staring into his eyes.

  “There’s one thing I already know I’ll always love about your parents. They made you.”

  Fucking fuck.

  Another punch right to the sternum.

  She read his intent before he did what he intended.

  He knew it when she ordered, “Don’t mess up my lip gloss.”

  “I’m gonna mess up your lip gloss, beautiful,” he warned.

  And then he did.

  When he was done, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as she reapplied.

  They got out of the Jeep, walked to the house and went in the back door, which led them into the massive kitchen.

  And to his mother hovering while Lisa, their woman who did everything, was cooking.

  This was something else that hit him as a surprise, like a shot.

  His mom was just his mom. He’d always thought she was beautiful in a detached way any kid would think their mom was beautiful.

  But as he took her in right then, he saw she really was something.

  Tall, blonde, features that were classically attractive, she’d always been slender. Though the last year or so he’d noticed abstractedly that she’d been putting on weight, it looked good on her. It made her look healthier. Even more animated.

  And in the moment of coming to this realization, Axl noted something else.

  Her clothes were more casual than usual.

  Hattie and he were dressed more formally than she was, something Axl hadn’t noticed his mother ever do “in company.” And they would consider the first visit with Hattie to be having company.

  She was wearing pressed chinos, a crisp white Oxford shirt with the collar popped and a pair of neutral flats.

  He knew the shoes were Louboutin, but unless someone recognized the style, or saw the lipstick-red sole, they wouldn’t.

  What they weren’t were Chanel, his father’s preferred footwear (and accessories) for his mother.

  And that was so much so, even Axl knew it. He couldn’t count how many times he’d heard his father say, “Rachel …no. You need to go back and put on the Chanel.”

  There was something almost rebellious about those Louboutins.

  And definitely the chinos.

  “Sweetheart,” she greeted, moving direct to him while smiling at him, at the same time darting curious glances to Hattie.

  “Ma,” he greeted back.

  She arrived at him and did the mother thing with her hands on his shoulders. He put one to her waist and bent down for her to kiss his cheek.

  He straightened and put a little pressure in his hand as he turned them to Hattie.

  “Mom, this is Hattie Yates. Hattie, baby, this is my mom, Rachel Pantera.”

  Hattie had a hand up and a smile on her face that did not look fake, but he could tell by the stiff line of her neck and shoulders that she was nervous.

  “Mrs. Pantera, really lovely to meet you.”

  “Hattie, please call me Rachel,” his mom invited, taking her hand then covering it with her other and holding it. “Nice to meet you too, and what an amazing dress. So effortless but so chic.”

  “Wow, thank you, Mrs…. sorry, Rachel.”

  Before Axl could introduce Hattie to Lisa, his father made his entrance.

  “Did I hear … ?”

  Axl tensed when he heard his dad’s booming courtroom voice.

  “ … Axl’s Jeep?” The man appeared in the kitchen. “Yes! There’s m’boy.”

  And then there was his father.

  To make certain you didn’t miss how important he was, he hadn’t changed from work. His look gave the implication he’d just arrived home, shrugged off his suit jacket and pulled off his tie. But never fear, he’d arrived in the nick of time.<
br />
  Axl had inherited a good deal from his father. Not just the dark hair turned silver early, but also his height, his build and his blue eyes.

  His mom moved away from Hattie and immediately Hattie edged closer to Axl.

  So close, her shoulder brushed his.

  He slid his arm around her waist.

  “My God, look at you,” Sylas Pantera said to Hattie. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing?”

  Every fiber of muscle in Axl’s body strung tight.

  She wasn’t a fucking pretty fucking little fucking thing.

  Fuck.

  Right off the bat, reductive language to put Hattie in her place.

  So yeah.

  It was going to be one of those nights.

  Fuck.

  “Mr. Pantera,” Hattie forged in, not leaving Axl’s side but lifting her hand Sylas’s way.

  His dad waved in front of himself, booming, “No, no, no. Sylas. Call me Sylas.”

  Then he took her by the shoulders, pulled her from Axl’s hold and bent down to kiss her cheek.

  He let her go and Axl instantly claimed her again.

  “Kid,” Sylas greeted him.

  “Dad,” Axl replied.

  “You look fit,” Sylas stated.

  “You do too,” Axl returned.

  “Work good?”

  “The usual.”

  His father’s mouth tightened.

  Work was a thorny subject, mostly because his dad didn’t exactly know what Axl did, and even if he did, he wouldn’t know exactly what that entailed because Axl couldn’t tell him.

  And Sylas didn’t like not knowing things.

  So much so, there was a likelihood that his father had Hawk’s operations investigated. He had an in-house investigator, and as named partner, his father wouldn’t hesitate to use firm resources as he saw fit.

  But even if he did, there was only so much to be discovered.

  And Sylas would know just how much was not.

  “I guess that’s good,” Sylas said tightly. “Now, are we going to stand in the kitchen all night, or am I making cocktails?”

  “I could use a cocktail, darling,” his mom put in.

  “Always,” Sylas returned, with an ogle to Hattie and then a dismissive, “It’s martini time.”

  Rachel swayed back an inch at the not-so-veiled insult couched in an inference his mother had a problem with alcohol.

  Something, to Axl’s knowledge, she did not have.

  Axl fought punching his father in the throat.

  Hattie forged into the breach.

  “I love martinis too, Rachel. Are you vodka or gin?”

  “She’s both if it has an alcohol content,” Sylas answered for his wife.

  And there it was again.

  What the fuck?

  Dots of pink hit Rachel’s cheeks, she didn’t quite hide the side eye she shot at her husband, and Hattie’s fingers curled over Axl’s at her waist.

  That was when he realized how hard they were digging in.

  He released the pressure and dropped his head to look at her.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “Don’t be,” she whispered back, keeping her fingers around his.

  “What’s this?” Sylas asked.

  “Nothing,” Axl said shortly. “I could use a martini too.”

  Sylas looked to Hattie and jerked a thumb at Axl. “Gotta get this kid to start drinking scotch. Now, that’s a man’s drink.”

  Hattie, doing her best to defuse the tension, shot him a bright, playful smile. “Well, Sylas, James Bond drinks martinis and I’m relatively sure everyone thinks he’s pretty danged manly.”

  “Yes, but he’s fictional,” Sylas parried.

  And then Hattie did something brilliant.

  She capitulated immediately, stating “Touché,” in a way she made it clear she couldn’t give fewer fucks about what Sylas thought was a manly drink, so she certainly wasn’t going to argue about it.

  Which brought Sylas up short, physically.

  His body jerked with it.

  Done with him, Hattie looked to his mom.

  “Rachel, this kitchen. It’s amazing. I hope we have time tonight for a tour of your home.”

  “How about we do that now while Sylas is making our martinis?” Rachel invited. His mom looked to his dad. “And mine will be vodka, Sylas. Like it always is.”

  Hattie, looking up at Axl, began, “Oh, I don’t—”

  She didn’t want to leave him with his father.

  “Go, honey,” he encouraged. “Vodka or gin?”

  “Vodka.”

  “Olive or a twist?”

  “Either,” she replied, squeezing his hand and then smiling gamely at his mom as she let him go and moved out of the curve of his arm.

  Axl stuck close in order to say hello while Rachel introduced Hattie to Lisa.

  Then the women took off and Axl followed his dad into the library, which was where he kept their drinks cabinet, so it was where they did a lot of their entertaining.

  This so he could thrill people with his massive book collection that covered the floor-to-ceiling shelves on all the walls, impress with his baseball signed by Johnny Bench or bask in the gasps when people noticed his Chihuly Persian set.

  “You really want a martini?” Sylas asked, picking up the shaker.

  “I really want a martini. Vodka. Olive. Dirty. Same for Hattie.”

  His dad prepped to mix, but after he had the ice in, the olive juice, he reached to the vodka and looked to Axl. “You didn’t know which she preferred.”

  “I don’t know if she likes celery or how she feels about the polar ice caps melting either. We haven’t been married for five years. But I’ll find out.”

  “How long have you been seeing her?”

  Long enough she’s living with me, about four days.

  That would make his father’s head explode, and as such, he wanted to say it, but since he wasn’t five, he didn’t.

  “Not long,” he said instead.

  “Not long,” Sylas repeated under his breath. “It’s like pulling teeth.”

  “We’re new, Dad. Mom called to ask me over to dinner. I let it slip that I’d met someone special who I think is important and Mom wanted to meet her. So Hattie’s here. And I’d appreciate it if you’d be cool while she is.”

  “I’m always cool,” Sylas replied.

  “Calling her a pretty little thing isn’t cool.”

  Sylas stopped pouring Cîroc and lifted his brows at Axl. “She’s pretty, and my guess, she’s eight inches shorter than you, if she wasn’t wearing those heels, so that’s little.”

  Axl drew in a deep breath, turned his head to look out the window, then he went to a couch and folded his body in it.

  “You’ve always been so fucking sensitive,” Sylas said in a voice that it was like he didn’t want Axl to hear what he said, but he absolutely wanted Axl to hear what he said.

  He should let it go.

  He did not let it go.

  “Could it be, with a woman who is right now touring my parents’ home with my mother, which means she’s important to me, that I’m sensitive to the fact that I want her to like my parents?”

  “I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t like us.”

  “You’ve never been called a pretty little thing. If you were, you might reconsider that opinion.”

  Sylas stopped fixing the top on the shaker, set it down and turned fully to Axl.

  And the games were about to begin.

  He was not proved wrong.

  “Well, fuck, my boy’s one of those enlightened men who maybe shouldn’t call themselves men.”

  “Only you could take the word enlightened and make it seem like a bad thing.”

  “It is when it really means you’re a pussy.”

  “We’re done.”

  Axl didn’t say that.

  Hattie did.

  His head jerked toward the sound of her voice and he saw her standing in the doorwa
y with his mother, both their faces flushed with anger.

  Surprisingly, since she’d shown so little emotion around his father for as long as he could remember, his mother looked ready to detonate.

  But Hattie …

  Jesus.

  Hattie.

  She turned to Rachel and said, “I’m so, so sorry.” And then to Axl, she stated, “Axl, I’d like to go home now.”

  He rose from the couch, having no clue how to play this, considering he was falling in love with her and she was going to eventually have to have a relationship with his parents.

  Though he was leaning toward getting the fuck out of there and trying it again once his father got his shit together.

  But Sylas moved to the center of the room, and in a cajoling voice said, “I know what that must have sounded like. You don’t understand. My son and I have a certain kind of banter.”

  “Well, regardless that it didn’t sound at all like banter, I know you used the word pussy in a derogatory way, and since I have one, and it’s rather precious to me, I find that offensive,” Hattie returned.

  Axl had to look to his feet to concentrate on not shouting with laughter or walking across the room to give her a high five.

  He lifted his head when Hattie continued.

  “But that’s beside the point. Your son means a great deal to me. He’s a really good man. He’s funny and he’s sweet and he’s insightful and he treats me with kindness and respect. He’s protective and he’s supportive. And he’s a fantastic cook. And if you think all of that is ‘pussy,’ well, I agree. Because it’s pretty damned fantastic, if you ask me.”

  “Brava, Hattie,” Rachel crowed.

  Hattie’s body jolted like she had no idea anyone else was in the room.

  “Sylas, apologize to Hattie,” Rachel demanded.

  His dad knew many things, as he’d be the first to tell you, and one of them was: when you face a surprising adversary, you use any means available to find a way to best them.

  This time, he picked contrition and charm.

  “You’re absolutely right, Hattie. For too long that word has been used egregiously, and it was equally crass, my usage of it.” He went for the gusto, putting his hand on his chest. “Sincerely, I apologize.”

  “It wasn’t me you were baiting,” Hattie returned.

  Well, shit.

  Axl couldn’t stop smiling.

  His father turned to him and the skin around his eyes was tight.