Dream Maker

by Kristen Ashley

  He didn’t appear as elated as that news should make him.

  “It was super nice,” I told him.

  “Have you done that for them before?”

  My gaze moved to his forehead.

  “You’ve done it before,” he said.

  I moved my eyes back to his. “We look out for each other.”

  “So, it was just your turn.”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled.

  “I gotta say, I’d hoped you had the day off so we could relax and do somethin’ fun, like go see a movie and then I could finally take you out to dinner. I figure it’ll suck, but in the end, it’ll put your head in a good place, if you know what’s goin’ on with your pad.”

  “I’ll treat you to a movie and dinner after we sort through my pad.”

  “You’re such a brat,” he returned. “I’m paying.”

  “Danny—”

  “And I’ll obviously be with you so I can look these women over for the sole purpose of giving the guys shit about them.”

  I stiffened. “They’re awesome.”

  “Yeah, and the boys are dragging their feet, like I did, and as it panned out,” he gave me a bit more of his weight before he took it away, “that was a stupid mistake.”

  “Well, I made it too.”

  “You so did. As you can see, I’m a nice guy.”

  I started laughing.

  He touched his mouth to the laughter on my lips.

  Then we were both off the couch because Mag made that so.

  And as was his way, he walked me to the door to Mo’s old room, holding my hand.

  He stopped outside it, let go of my hand, but took me in his arms and brushed his lips against mine again.

  That wasn’t the goodnight kiss I’d wanted but considering how it went with us, it was probably the wise choice.

  “Shower, crash, I’m on breakfast duty tomorrow,” he said.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m on breakfast duty tomorrow.”

  “Compromise, we’ll go out and hit brunch somewhere before we meet your friends.”

  That was totally doable.

  “Deal,” I agreed.

  He grinned at me, bent and touched his lips to mine again, gave me a squeeze, murmured, “Sleep well, baby,” then he let me go and walked back to the living area.

  “You too,” I called right when the TV went off.

  I went into the bedroom, through it, right to the bathroom.

  And during my shower, I didn’t think of all that had befallen me.

  I didn’t think about the girls at the club and how much it meant, what they did tonight and how they made it clear what they felt about me.

  I didn’t think about arguing with Auggie or how I belatedly realized he’d given me my first brotherly hug that did not come attached to gratitude that’d I’d done something to earn it.

  And I didn’t think about Mag, our episodes that morning (both of them), his sweetness that night, and how warm it felt, not scary, not anxious, that every moment shared he might be the one.

  No.

  I didn’t think of any of that.

  I thought of a woman named Nikki and how in the hell she’d let go of a guy like Daniel Magnusson.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Force of Nature

  Evie

  The next morning, I was at Mag’s coffeemaker, scooping in coffee, when the door to his bedroom opened, and he appeared in it, messy-haired, sleepy-eyed and cranky-looking.

  Even with that last, my mouth watered.

  Because he was messy-haired (and that hair!) and sleepy-eyed (and man, those eyes).

  And bare-chested.

  “You fuckin’ suck,” he declared.

  That killed the mood and my eyes went squinty.

  “What?” I asked irritably. “Are we now in a competition about who’s going to start the coffee?”

  He didn’t answer.

  He walked right up to me, pulled the coffee scoop out of my hands, tossed it on the counter, swept me in his arms and laid a wet one on me.

  He might be messy-haired and sleepy-eyed, but he’d brushed his teeth.

  Yum.

  He also smelled all musky man.

  I loved that.

  It was getting heated, I liked that heat, and then he ended it.

  I was blinking up at him as he was smoothing the hair away from my face, staring down at me, now lazy-eyed, but always gorgeous, when he said, “I want you to think today about alternate sleeping arrangements tonight after I treat you to dinner and a movie.”

  Was he…?

  I continued to blink up at him.

  Was he asking me to take the day to consider having sex with him tonight?

  I mean…

  How sweet was that?

  “If I sleep with you,” he went on, “I might be able to exhaust you so I can beat you to the kitchen and make you breakfast without any backtalk.”

  The “exhaust you” part gave me a tingle.

  The “backtalk” part made me squint my eyes at him again.

  “You know, many men would want the little woman making them breakfast,” I pointed out.

  “What I know is, many men are morons. You’re a man at all, you take care of your woman. You beat that competitive streak, I’ll even bring you breakfast in bed.”

  That sounded awesome.

  I did not share that.

  “You know, most women can take care of themselves, say, by feeding themselves, say, by cooking breakfast.”

  “Now you’re just bein’ ornery,” he groused.

  “Who uses words like ‘ornery’?” I asked.

  “I do, when I’m trying to beat back the need to carry you to my bed and eat you for breakfast.”

  Oh…

  My.

  My legs went weak, my fingers dug into his shoulders, and I whispered, “Danny.”

  “Torture, all that’s you across my condo, and I’m alone in my bed,” he muttered.

  Oh my God.

  He was so…

  Into me.

  I moved my hand to fiddle with a loose, dark curl at his neck and promised, “I’ll think about alternate sleeping arrangements tonight. But just to say, I don’t consider sleeping with someone until at least the sixth date. So, since we’re already living together, which I figure puts us at least in ninth- or tenth-date territory, it’s looking good for the both of us.”

  He gave me a squeeze, a grin and a murmured, “Good to know, honey.”

  “And if you’re treating dinner and the movie, I’m buying brunch.”

  His cheerful, I’m-gonna-get-me-some expression morphed back to cranky.

  “Follow me, my handsome Danny, out of the ’80s, into a bright future,” I urged on a tease.

  “How is it, when you act like a dork, the need to bang you strengthens?” he asked.

  “I have it on good authority me being a dork is cute.”

  He dipped his head to me, his eyes changed to something profoundly beautiful and equally profoundly hot, and he whispered against my lips, “That good authority knows what he’s talking about.”

  He then kissed me.

  I kissed him back.

  It got heated.

  But he ended it, turned me in his arms, let me go and put a hand to the small of my back to give me a little shove toward my room, saying, “I’ll finish coffee. You get ready for brunch. I’m starved. Keep your bathroom door closed, honey, and I’ll leave your cup on the nightstand.”

  I did as ordered because I was hungry too.

  And because I wanted to be out in the world with Mag, doing normal things normal people do.

  Normal couples do.

  And because it was dawning on me that I’d never had this.

  “This” being what just happened in Mag’s kitchen with Mag.

  I didn’t even have it with my ex.

  The confidence to tease and boast, that last, even in jest.

  To talk frankly about impending intimacy with no hint of anxiety becau
se I knew to my bones with the way we kissed, it’d be good for me and for him, because he was into what I had to offer.

  I’d never been that sure.

  I’d never felt that confident.

  I’d never felt this way before at all.

  Not with what just happened with Mag in his kitchen.

  Not before that, waking up, raring to take on the day, a day where I knew I was waking up to him, and time with friends, rather than a day to endure or exist through until I was again asleep.

  And I thought, maybe Mag had been right.

  Maybe what Lottie wanted for us wasn’t about her looking after her boy.

  Maybe it was about her guiding me to what I needed to see about my life, my place in it, what I deserved and the people around me the way they should be seen.

  The bad.

  And the good.

  And the hope.

  And the fact I deserved a time like I just had with Mag in his kitchen.

  And I deserved a guy like Danny Magnusson in my life.

  “Okay, well, apparently, this jackhole didn’t have it out for your shoes, which I gotta say is too bad because no one needs this many pairs of Chucks,” Ryn declared, standing in my bedroom with one of my navy Chucks held up in one hand, one of my burgundy Chucks in the other.

  “Chucks are timeless,” Hattie chimed in.

  “Agreed,” Ryn replied, finding the mates and returning them to my shoe shelves in the closet. “But there’s not a single high heel in this joint.”

  “I only wear heels when I strip,” I told her.

  Ryn looked at Pepper, openly befuddled, and asked, “Is that even possible?”

  “Don’t ask me,” Pepper replied. “I had to buy under-bed storage so I had more space in my closet for my heels. The bitches at DSW send me birthday cards.”

  I looked to Hattie and laughed.

  This had happened to me a lot that day.

  Laughter.

  Including during brunch, something that Mag alternately teased, joked and audaciously flirted his way through, to the point my sides hurt from laughing so hard.

  It was kind of our first, real, official, going-out-somewhere-together date.

  And it was the best I’d ever had.

  On that happy memory, Mo strolled into the room and pointed at a box that I’d gone through that Ava and Lottie had filled with decimated knickknacks.

  Perhaps it was the girls (and Smithie) being so generous, therefore I knew the road to restoration would not be as painful as I thought.

  Perhaps it was my epiphany that morning, with the various and sundry ones I’d been having the last few days.

  Perhaps it was because I was in the best mood I’d been in for as long as I could remember.

  But there was no mourning, just an understanding that the box was filled with nothing but what was now garbage. Understanding that Mo had carried a great many boxes of the same down to his truck.

  All those little bits and bobs I’d collected over the years held no meaning to me anymore.

  They were just things I’d bought along the way to make my space pretty.

  And I wasn’t going to thank whoever did this for the opportunity.

  But, silver lining…

  It felt fitting that, where I was now, how I felt now, about a lot of things, that I had the chance to start from scratch.

  “This for the heap?” Mo asked.

  “Yes, Mo, thanks,” I answered.

  He bent, hefted it up and looked to me. “The bed of my truck is filled. Lottie and me are takin’ it to the dump. We’ll come back and get some more of the furniture. Yeah?”

  Obviously, Mo and Lottie showed as well to help.

  “Yeah, Mo, thanks again,” I replied.

  He jerked up his chin, disappeared, Lottie appeared in his place and it struck me again how perfect they were for each other.

  She was a little thing, slender, slim-hipped, slightly above average height, lots of blonde hair, and even in a sweater and jeans and minimal makeup, she was top to toe feminine.

  And Mo was tall, broad, bald and aggressively masculine.

  Even in a lineup with choices, I’d pick those two to be together.

  So maybe, the world just worked as it should.

  Maybe, out of the crap, goodness rose up, and you just had to be aware enough of what was going on around you to see it.

  I mean, they used manure to fertilize plants and flowers.

  Was I right?

  “We’ll swing by Fortnum’s on the way back and bring coffees. You girls in?” she asked.

  “Totally,” Hattie said. “Do they do chais there?”

  “Tex would disown me if I asked for a chai,” Lottie declared. “Runner-up?”

  Hattie shared her runner-up and we all gave our orders (mine, it went without saying, was the Textual).

  Lottie took off.

  And Pepper got up from the ruins of my mattress to show me the picture of a couch she’d pulled up on her laptop.

  It was orange velvet, had a slight curve and tucked upholstery at the back rest that gave it a ruched look.

  It was the bomb.

  I then saw the price tag, and it was also an eighth of the money they’d given me last night and I was mentally budgeting about half of that for a new sofa.

  “You absolutely need this,” she declared.

  How would Mag feel about an orange-velvet, curvy couch?

  “Babe,” the man in my thoughts called, and I looked to the doorway. “Pots and pans proved indestructible, those are put away. Your plates and shit are mostly a wash, though a couple of cups withstood. And your vinyl was a mess, but I sorted it and most of it survived. Your Fleetwood Mac Rumours was cracked and Pearl Jam Ten was scratched, which sucks. But the rest is good, so I boxed them. We’ll haul them to my place.”

  I had not noted he had a turntable, but although I was not emotionally attached to my knickknacks, I was to my vinyl, so I was down with having it in a safe place.

  “Thanks, honey,” I said, then bid, “Come have a look at this couch.”

  He moved into the room.

  And we all watched as he did, and I had a feeling it wasn’t only me who enjoyed the show.

  He looked at the laptop.

  And his change of expression nearly made me choke on the effort of swallowing the bubble of laughter that surged up my throat.

  He then looked at me. “Are you being serious?”

  I started giggling and replied, “Not anymore.”

  “Christ,” he muttered, but then cupped the back of my head, bent to kiss my forehead, let me go and sauntered out, warning, “It’s gonna be noisy ’cause I’m gonna be vacuuming.”

  And he disappeared down the hall.

  “I just had an orgasm because that man announced without a single hint of whining that he was going to vacuum,” Pepper decreed.

  “I had an orgasm with the forehead kiss,” Hattie shared.

  “I hope he doesn’t know you don’t own a pair of civvy high heels,” Ryn noted.

  “Danny doesn’t care about high heels,” I told her.

  She studied me a second before she looked to the hallway and murmured, “I’m rethinking putting off Boone.”

  We heard the vacuum go on.

  “And I’m rethinking putting off Auggie,” Pepper said, and when I looked to her, I saw she was also gazing at the hallway.

  Hattie said nothing.

  And I wondered if Axl could break through that shyness.

  I hoped so.

  Pepper closed her laptop and went to help Ryn with tidying my shoes as I folded down to the carpet beside Hattie, who was going through the pile of clothes that Ava and Lottie had set aside.

  “These I think are mendable or still wearable,” Hattie said, pointing to a pile. She shifted her finger to the other pile. “These are—”

  She didn’t finish because she jumped, I jumped, and the air went static because we heard the terrifyingly loud sound of glass shattering along with
a gunshot over the noise of the vacuum.

  Then another gunshot.

  Mag!

  I bounded to my feet, ready to head that way, but Hattie grabbed my hand, waylaying me, all while Ryn rushed the door.

  She was closing it when she flew back as it flew open.

  And there was Snag.

  In my bedroom.

  Pointing a gun at Ryn.

  “Back the fuck off,” he growled to her.

  She slowly backed away.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  A gun.

  On Ryn.

  And where was Mag?

  He turned the gun on me.

  I pushed Hattie away from me.

  “You. Come. Now,” he ordered.

  I didn’t hesitate a second.

  I went to him.

  He grabbed my upper arm in a painful grip and dragged me down the hall.

  I whimpered when I saw the spray of blood on the wall in my living room, the vacuum resting on its side, still whirring, and Mag’s feet in prone position coming out from behind the remains of my couch that had been pulled from the wall in preparation of being removed from the apartment.

  “Did you shoot Danny?” I asked tremulously, something snaking through my gut, so poisonous, I feared I’d throw up, at the same time the urge was so strong to pull away and go to Mag, I was struggling with beating it back.

  But if I pulled away, the girls might be in (more) danger.

  And if he took me away, they’d be free to call 911 to get help for Mag.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Snag answered.

  And then, even if I was willing, he dragged me out my front door with an excruciating yank on my arm.

  “Where is it!” Snag shouted in my face.

  “I don’t know!” I shouted back for the millionth time.

  He then backhanded me so brutally, the chair he’d tied me to tipped over and skidded several feet.

  And I lay on my side, tied to that chair in that cold warehouse that didn’t have any fucking windows, seeing as they’d all been broken out, so it definitely didn’t have heat, and I didn’t know what to focus on.

  The pain radiating out of my cheekbone, or the same thudding in my head where it’d cracked against the cement floor when I tipped over.