Dream Maker

by Kristen Ashley

  “I don’t know, Danny. Lottie’s my friend and I like her a lot. And this situation is intense. You don’t take advantage of friends like—”

  He wrapped his other arm around me, pulled me to his front and gave me a squeeze with both of his arms to cut off my words.

  Then he spoke his own.

  And he did this with an odd light in his bright-blue eyes.

  One I’d never seen on him or on anyone.

  I read it as happiness.

  Even…

  Joy.

  And then my world would never be the same when he said what he had to say, words that explained that light.

  “Baby, you are about to learn that you should expect more from the people in your life than remembering you need a toothbrush. A lot more. And I’m all kinds of down with that.”

  I looked at his face.

  I felt that light shine down at me.

  I felt his arms around me, the strength of his body pressed to mine.

  I even still tasted him in my mouth.

  And having all of that, I knew precisely what I had to do.

  For now.

  And for later.

  So, for now, I nodded.

  Mag smiled.

  Man, he wasn’t handsome.

  He was straight-up beautiful.

  And I was right.

  I knew exactly what I had to do.

  So, for now, I smiled back.

  “Right, then,” I heard from behind me. It was the African American lady’s voice, “we’re gonna need a whole lot more toast and bacon than that to feed this crew.”

  “I’m on toast,” someone else said.

  “I’m on bacon,” another voice came.

  Mag rolled me to his side and did not excuse himself to put on his shirt or whisper in my ear maybe I should throw on some jeans.

  He tossed his arm around my shoulders, tucked me to his side, and appeared for all the world to be settling in to allow the Rock Chicks to make breakfast at his place.

  For everyone.

  Lottie had clearly lost her pique and was grinning at us.

  “Ally, deliver her to Fortnum’s, I gotta go make coffees,” Tex ordered.

  “Got it,” Ally, the brunette, replied.

  “I think someone needs to pop out for more bacon,” the redhead, who was surveying the contents of the fridge, said. “A lot more.”

  “I’m on that,” Roxie replied, and she exited behind Tex.

  “I’m Daisy.”

  I turned my head and saw the platinum blonde was close, and with her was the African American lady.

  “This is Shirleen,” she continued, jerking a thumb to the woman beside her.

  “’Sup?’ Shirleen asked.

  “Um…” I didn’t answer.

  Daisy then smiled huge.

  “Welcome to the Rock Chicks.”

  And when I bit my lip, she emitted her tinkly-bell laugh.

  Chapter Nine

  Toothpaste

  Evie

  My day had started out crazy.

  And moved to bizarre.

  And I didn’t know how to handle it.

  We ate breakfast at Mag’s pad (all of us) and the bad part about that was, during some of it, he was in his shower, which meant he left me alone with a number of lovely, funny, clearly kindhearted (but definitely crazy) women.

  And I didn’t know how to handle myself alone with a number of lovely, funny, clearly kindhearted but crazy women.

  I mean, the gals at Smithie’s I’d call friends.

  But seeing these women around each other, I realized we only gabbed when getting ready or on breaks or when we were swiping off makeup before going home.

  I didn’t have time to actually be friends with them.

  Babysit their kids when they were in binds, yes.

  Go clubbing or out for brunch?

  No.

  Form deep, abiding bonds over shared experiences, laughs, good times, bad ones, forging friendships that would endure for eternity?

  Definitely no.

  And this took my mind elsewhere.

  This being to the fact I’d never really had any friends. Even when I was young.

  It’d hurt back then, that I was never invited to any birthday parties or sleepovers.

  My mom’s advice had been, “Try to stop being so…weird.”

  My dad’s was, “They don’t like you, fuck ’em.”

  He’d even used the F-word. I’d been nine.

  My teachers loved me because I was smart and I’d started having to be the mature one in my family from a young age, and I think they guessed that and felt sorry for me.

  But friends?

  Sitting and watching the Rock Chicks I came to the realization I’d eventually buried the fact that I never could make friends.

  So I didn’t really have any.

  As I was ruminating on this, not happily, I learned that Mag fortunately did not take long showers or primp prior to work.

  He came out in short order, scarfed down food I did not make for him as part of a multilayered thank-you, then he led me to his front door by holding my hand, which felt beautiful.

  There, he’d taken me loosely in his arms.

  Which also felt beautiful.

  He’d then said, “If they get you into a car chase, make sure they drive right to a police station.”

  Which freaked me out.

  “Kidding,” he murmured, right before he bent and touched his mouth to mine.

  Which felt more beautiful than all the rest.

  He’d then left, which was good, even if it was bad, and not only because I liked him, but in this situation, he’d become my touchstone, and not having him around freaked me out more.

  The Rock Chicks read my freak-out and thus Roxie shared that their friend Jules was “The Law.” I’d been introduced to them all: Indy (redhead), Jet (blonde), Roxie (also blonde), Ava (another blonde), and Ally (the brunette) rounded out Daisy and Shirleen. The Stella they mentioned was Stella of the famous rock band Stella and the Blue Moon Gypsies and she now lived in LA, but she was currently on tour or she’d be there “faster ’n snot” (Daisy’s words) to be “in on your action” (also Daisy’s words).

  “Sorry?” I asked.

  “She obviously hasn’t read the books,” Jet mumbled.

  “You probably should read the books,” Lottie suggested, making herself some scrambled egg whites at the stove.

  From my perusal of his fridge and cupboards prior to starting breakfast, I discovered Mag had an Evan-approved balanced diet of say, a quarter healthy stuff, and three-quarters absolute garbage.

  Lottie, as evidenced by those egg whites, was known to treat her body like a temple.

  Mo, I had no idea, but he looked like he could drink acid and his body would regard it as fuel.

  “She was a vigilante slash social worker,” Indy said. “Jules, that is. Now she’s a mother slash social worker slash wife slash hot chick slash Rock Chick.”

  I blinked but said no words.

  “Breaking it down,” Ava took up the thread. “Go to Indy for hair advice, Jet for recipe advice, Roxie for fashion advice, and Ally or Jules to kick someone’s ass for you.”

  I blinked at her again.

  “I’m hair advice too,” Daisy claimed.

  Jet sucked in her lips and lifted her brows.

  Indy carefully shook her head at me so I’d see it, but Daisy wouldn’t.

  Rock Chick Mental Note Two: Don’t let Daisy do my hair.

  Then again, Daisy’s was currently fashioned into a Farrah-Fawcett-on-steroids ’do, so I could see that.

  Shirleen, who was stretched out on Mag’s couch, called, “I see you got a commando boy, but just sayin’, you come to me if you need the Hot Bunch. I schedule their asses. I’ll get one free quick, you need someone shot or trussed up and thrown in a trunk.”

  I turned my eyes to Ally, who seemed the most sane of the crew.

  “Hot Bunch is how we refer, collectively, to
our husbands. And they don’t shoot at people or shove them in trunks.” She paused and finished, “Normally.”

  Oh man.

  “We’re harmless,” Indy promised. “So are our men.”

  “Unless you can expire from bein’ cool as shit, hot as fuck and havin’ too much fun, am I right, sugars?” Daisy proclaimed.

  “She’s right,” Roxie said.

  “So right,” Ava added with a smile.

  “In other words,” Lottie called from the stove, “we got you.”

  She smiled at me happily, in her element, with her people, engaged to a great guy, financially stable and thinking she’d finagled an epic setup between two friends that was working fantastically, regardless (or maybe because of) the circumstances.

  I just didn’t have the heart to tell her she was very, very wrong about that last part.

  Breakfast done, cleanup done, they took me to my place and made me stand outside on the landing and shout at Indy, Jet and Roxie, who were inside, getting my stuff.

  I was disheartened to note that a lot of stuff I called after, they called back, “Do you have another choice?” or “We’ll swing by Walgreens.”

  They packed a measly bag that was, I didn’t fail to note the irony, a Trader Joe’s bag, with some clothes, Roxie mumbling, “I’ll corral Tod and Stevie and do a little shopping,” and they took me to Lottie’s, where I showered and changed.

  They then took me to the police station.

  Now, I was no stranger to police stations.

  However, I’d never been in one with people who belonged there and not in the way of criminals, witnesses to criminal acts or victims of the same.

  Jet and Roxie were married to cops.

  Indy and Ally’s dads were cops.

  This was family.

  I met Eddie (a gorgeous Hispanic man who belonged to Jet) and Hank (a handsome boy-next-door type, but he was way no longer a boy, who belonged to Roxie).

  I also met men named Mitch and Brock, who were particular friends of the Rock Chicks, not to mention “tight” with Hawk, Mag and Mo’s boss.

  We were brought coffees by uniformed officers.

  The girls shot the shit with practically everyone who crossed our paths.

  And both Eddie and Hank stood vigil, like I needed moral support, while I gave my statement to a young detective who told me to call him “Gav.”

  Hank (incidentally, Ally’s brother and Indy’s brother-in-law, totally all in the family) pointed at Ally when we were leaving and asked, “You got her?”

  Which received the little sister response of “Don’t be an ass.”

  “I just asked a question,” Hank retorted.

  Which gave Ally pause to say, “Is there something I need to know?”

  Which I thought might be something I needed to know.

  “Not yet,” Hank answered.

  And this was a relief, kind of.

  “Then don’t be an ass,” Ally repeated.

  To which Hank moved his attention to Roxie and asked his wife, “Do you feel like moving back to Brownsburg yet?”

  She did not respond except to shoot him a bright smile and blow him a kiss.

  Wherever Brownsburg was, they weren’t moving there, I knew this even before Hank heaved a visible sigh and strolled away.

  Roxie linked arms with me and guided me out, saying, “It’s part of the reason I love him. Lee and Ally were so wild, the big brother gene got so ingrained in him he can’t stop himself. If Lee was here, he’d ask the same question even knowing they both have their shit tight. I mean, Ally’s the second-best private investigator in the city, but only because she goes it alone and Lee has a team. Like, in most cases, Hawk calls her first if he needs added firepower.”

  Added firepower.

  Geez.

  So, Ally was a PI, she sometimes worked with Mag’s boss, and this was why everyone acted like she was Rambette.

  I could see this. She was trim and gorgeous and exuded competent badass.

  I envied her.

  Hell, I envied all of them.

  After this, they took me to Fortnum’s.

  I barely got through the doors before Tex was shoving a coffee drink in my hand (he was, I’d learned, the barista at Fortnum’s) and booming in my face, “I call that the ‘Textual.’ Because, first, you ain’t gonna be fuckin’ texting when you’re drinking that because you’ll be about nothin’ but drinkin’ that. And second, it’s my signature and it’s got the word Tex in it. Get it?”

  “I get it,” I replied.

  “So, take a hit and tell me what you think,” he ordered.

  I would take a hit because I liked coffee (though I preferred tea). But I took that hit knowing I was going to tell him I loved it even if I loathed it mostly because he seemed kinda friendly, but he also seemed loony and proud of his coffee, and I didn’t want to see how friendly could turn in the way of Tex.

  Then, after I took a sip of a latte flavored with almond, cherry and chocolate, my eyes rolled back into my head.

  “I’ll take that as approval,” Tex semi-boomed, then strode away.

  I was then seated in a couch that sat under the big windows that made up the front of the store and Ava shoved a pink book at me.

  It had the big words ROCK CHICK on the front of it.

  “Volume one,” she said. “There are ten, but two are novellas, so don’t panic.”

  She then plonked down in an armchair across from me and shouted, “Tex! I need a skinny vanilla, stat.”

  “I only do deliveries to women whose lives are in danger!” he bellowed what was clearly not a joke. “Get your ass up here, you want a coffee.”

  She grinned at me and hauled her ass up to the counter.

  Ally, Daisy and Shirleen all went to work, Roxie went shopping, and Jet and Indy worked at Fortnum’s (Indy owned it) so they got to work too, after introducing me to Duke, a long-gray-haired Harley dude who had a rolled bandana around his forehead.

  All this while Lottie and Ava hung with me, sipping coffee.

  That was the first time my phone rang.

  The screen said DANIEL MAGNUSSON.

  I’d have to change that to “Danny.”

  Right before I deleted it.

  I took the call on a “Hey.”

  “Hey, comin’ to you for lunch. What do you want?”

  He was coming to me for lunch?

  That wasn’t part of Tex’s plan.

  I wasn’t sure we should deviate from Tex’s plan.

  “Um…”

  “Culver’s?” he suggested.

  “What?”

  “Fried cheese curds and frozen custard?”

  Gross.

  “Together?” I asked.

  I listened to him laugh in my ear.

  God.

  Beautiful.

  “No, baby,” he murmured. “I’ll get you Culver’s. I’m in the vicinity. Make your week.”

  My week was made meeting a protective hot guy who could kiss, didn’t forget to bring me a toothbrush and had a beautiful laugh I could convince myself I wanted to hear until my dying day.

  His week included staking out late-night, clandestine meetings at storage units, me being a bitch to him, having to enter my ruined apartment armed and a sit-down with my brother.

  Totally had to get my body with the program in order to save Mag from the disaster that was my life.

  “I don’t own any workout clothes,” I told him.

  “You’ll get set up again, Evie,” he assured.

  “No, I mean, even before my belongings were decimated, I didn’t own any workout clothes. I took pride in that. If I keep eating like you eat, I’ll need workout clothes, and right now, I can’t afford them.”

  He sounded appalled when he asked, “No yoga pants?”

  That was when I started laughing.

  And again, my body, most especially my mouth, was not getting with the program.

  “So, how’d it go at the station?” he queried into my laughter.


  “And he slips that in after promises of fried cheese curds and frozen custard and making me laugh,” I whispered.

  “How’d it go, honey?” he whispered back.

  How it went was, I took care of me by reporting a dangerous situation to the police, but I did it feeling like I was hammering nails into my brother’s coffin.

  “It’s done.”

  “It’s gonna be okay.”

  His definition of okay, with a living, breathing Evie, and my definition of okay, with a living, breathing me and my brother were not the same.

  Even so.

  “Yeah,” I muttered.

  “Ask around, text orders, and I’ll be there soon.”

  “Okay.”

  “Later, babe.”

  No boyfriend in my life, or even a guy I dated, called me “babe.”

  I said not a word, except, “Later, Danny.”

  We hung up, I took orders, typed the longest text of my life to send them to Mag, and once it swooshed away, the bell over the door went, which happened so much, the staff had to tune it out or it’d drive them insane.

  I’d heard of Fortnum’s and the coffee there (though, again, I was a tea person). I’d heard of the Rock Chick books, though never cracked one open, because even if I loved to read, I never had time for it. I even knew Lottie’s friends and family came to see her dance on occasion.

  But they were there for Lottie, as well as Smithie, so none of the girls worked their table (because, first, swinging your ass in Lottie’s friends’ faces: gross, and second, because of that, it would be way weird to work for that tip).

  But all this took on new meaning with seeing just how popular a used bookstore with a big coffee bar at the front of it was.

  I looked down to the book that lay on the couch beside me only to have Lottie call, “Hey.”

  I lifted my eyes to her.

  “Outside all the shit you wouldn’t be okay about, you okay?” she asked.

  I forced a weak smile.

  “Yeah,” I lied.

  She studied me.

  She was damned savvy and street smart to boot, and since I didn’t want her reading me, I didn’t want her studying me.

  Thus, I turned my attention back to the book.

  I was on page ten and a little afraid, at the same time very interested to meet Indy’s husband, Lee, when the bell over the door rang.

  It was that I was into the book.