Dream Maker

by Kristen Ashley

  He did not.

  Now it wasn’t early, it wasn’t late, and he’d take a painkiller, but only when he knew Evie was settled after the day she’d had.

  They’d not had the dinner he’d wanted to treat her to prior to taking her to a movie.

  They’d had a chaotic dinner where people from the Rock Chick and Chaos crews descended from all around Denver, which meant around five hundred were in attendance, and the only reason it didn’t drive him around the bend was how obvious Evie made it that she was enjoying herself.

  She made this more obvious by babbling at him the entire way home about how Axl and Hattie, Boone and Ryn, and Pepper and Auggie were dancing around each other, but she could tell the girls, and the guys, were interested.

  Also, how great Lottie and Mo were together, how happy she was for them and how she couldn’t wait for their wedding.

  As well as how, after starting to read that Rock Chick book at Fortum’s, she thought Lee would scare her with his over-the-top “alpha-ness,” but it was Luke who freaked her out.

  And how she thought people in a motorcycle club were supposed to be terrifying, but Joker was “so cute” with his wife and kids.

  She’d only quit babbling at him when she started talking on her phone after getting a call in the elevator.

  He didn’t know she was such a talker, but he didn’t mind the babbling. It indicated she was getting more comfortable with him and he was all kinds of down with that.

  Not to mention, it communicated she seemed to be happy about just about…everything.

  In fact, the best part of the night was her babbling, seeing as he spent the dinner sitting next to her with her face the way it looked, his arm in a sling, putting up with people not in their crew sending them pitying looks, probably thinking they got in a car wreck or something.

  Mag never thought he’d wish for a car wreck, but he’d prefer that to the reality that he’d let it get to the point where Evie had been dragged from her home, then tied to a chair and beaten.

  He found the Fireball wasn’t in the freezer, it was on the counter.

  Apparently, Evie and/or her girls had helped themselves to his crutch.

  It was not as good at room temp as when it was chilled, but he wasn’t going to quibble.

  He was pulling down shot glasses when Evie said, “Thanks, that’s really appreciated. You take care too. ’Bye.”

  He had his hand wrapped around the bottle but his eyes to her when she took the phone from her ear.

  “My apartment manager,” she explained. “He shared he was not entirely at one with the police coming and going, dusting for prints and the like. And he was definitely not at one with gunplay on the landing, but he assured me the window is all boarded up, my door is secure, and he’s promised to have that window replaced Monday, latest Tuesday. Even so, he was worried there might be something of value in there some other hooligan, his word, might wish to commit a crime to take from me and that boarded-up window might not be much of a deterrent. But since Lottie and Ava brought over my jewelry and three pairs of my Chucks, and the rest I don’t care about, it’ll all be good. Except the Chucks that were left behind, and no one will take those. Though I’d like to swing by tomorrow and grab my vinyl.”

  She paused to take a big breath, then finished.

  “And the rest of my Chucks.”

  “We’ll do that,” Mag told her, and finally turned his attention to pouring the shots.

  “I’ll do that. I’ll ask Boone or Auggie or Axl to go with me,” she said, approaching him at the island. “You’re gonna drink that shot you shouldn’t drink after losing a goodly amount of blood today, then you’re going to go lie down, and tomorrow, you’re going to rest all day.”

  He had to admit, she was taking all of this a fuckuva lot better than he’d ever have called it.

  He also had to admit, it might have something to do with the blood loss, more to do with the pain, most to do with the emotion of the day, but he was fucking wiped.

  Dead on his feet.

  And last, he had to admit, she was normally cute when she was bossy.

  But no way in fuck was she going anywhere without him until he had visions of her lying on her side, tied to a chair, with an asshole holding a gun crouched over her under control in his head.

  “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he muttered, using his glass to push her glass toward her then taking his, and he downed the fire.

  He put the glass down and refilled.

  “Danny,” she said softly, reaching out and wrapping her fingers around his wrist. “Maybe you should go easy on that.”

  He couldn’t go easy on it until he knew she was settled and he could swallow a pill, which would probably knock him out.

  This was because it was boiling inside him.

  Christ.

  And he didn’t want to let her down. Hawk down.

  Himself down.

  But he was either going to shoot that shot or throw it across the room.

  He was about to tell her she needed to let him do what he needed to do when her phone rang again.

  She’d set it on the island.

  She looked down at it.

  He looked down at it.

  It said STEPDAD ROB.

  Seeing as she’d shared over dinner, and everyone who’d been witness to it had crowed how awesome it was (and Mag wished he hadn’t missed it), Mag was in the know about her activities that day in regard to her family.

  In the know and down with every decision she made.

  So, he was not all that down with the stepdad phoning.

  Evie looked up at him.

  “I think he’s worried about me and he’s the only one who’s given a shit throughout all this, so I think I should talk to him real quick just to let him know I’m okay.”

  Legos and groceries and heading out in the dead of night to meet some asshole in a Lincoln Continental, Evie was always taking care of someone else when she should be looking after herself.

  He didn’t like it.

  But it was her, and one thing he’d learned in his life, you had to let people be who they were.

  So he jerked up his chin.

  He did the shot when she let him go and turned away to grab her phone.

  “Rob?” she greeted. “Yeah, I’m okay.” Pause and, “Yeah, Danny’s here. We’ve had dinner. We’re just about to settle in, watch some TV and get some rest.” Pause then, “No. I haven’t told Sidney. Mostly because I didn’t want her worried but also because there was nothing she could do. But I’ve…well, for various reasons, I’ve cut ties with Mick and Dad.”

  She stopped talking then whirled to Mag, and her eyes were big.

  Cute.

  Mag ignored other things about her face, including the fact one of her eyes couldn’t get as big as it should when she made that face, and he focused on that cute.

  Strike that.

  He latched on to it like it was a lifeline.

  “You did?” she asked with unhidden surprise. “I-I…really don’t know what to say. But I think this is good. It probably doesn’t feel good, and I know she’s my mom, but you deserve better.”

  When she stopped speaking, Mag wasn’t sure, but he thought he caught her mouthing He left her.

  “What?” she asked into the phone. “Yes. But not tonight. I know you’re worried but I’m really all right. I’m with Danny and he’s,” she ducked her chin, “proven adept at taking care of me.”

  Mag felt some tension release in his neck and instantly his shoulder felt better.

  It wasn’t the Fireball dousing the burn inside.

  It was those last words Evie said.

  She turned a little away and spoke again into her phone.

  “Maybe we can set that up sometime later. I do want you to meet him but right now he’s not a super big fan of my family so maybe we can give him a little time, I’ll work on that with him and we’ll figure something out.” Pause then, “Yeah.” Pause and, “That means a l
ot, Rob. Truly, it does. And you being how you’ve been through all of this means a lot too. I’m sorry it led to what it did between you and Mom, but sometimes things happen for a reason.”

  She looked to Mag as she ended it over the phone with her stepdad.

  “Me too, Rob. Thank you. Love you and talk to you later. Try to get some sleep.” Pause and, “’Bye.” She dropped the phone from her ear and announced, “He left Mom and he wants to meet you.”

  “You’re right, I’m not a super big fan of your family, so I’m all in to break bread with Gert, who digs you and shows it, but that dude’s gonna have to wait,” Mag replied.

  “Gotcha,” she mumbled.

  Mag poured another shot and downed it.

  Evie watched.

  When he was done, she suggested, “Maybe we can lie down and watch a little TV.”

  “I was vacuuming.”

  Her head ticked.

  “Sorry?” she asked.

  “It was not a priority to vacuum. It was a priority to cover your ass. And I was vacuuming. Not covering your ass and look at you.”

  “Danny,” she whispered.

  But he couldn’t escape it no matter how hard he tried to block it out with her voice and her hair and her cute that he was learning could transcend almost anything.

  Except that purplish-red along her cheekbone that was swelling upward and partly closing her left eye and the striated grazes that were already scabbing over that ran about an inch long under her right eye.

  He poured another shot, saying, “You were probably out of your mind scared.”

  “I was, that he’d hurt you.”

  In surprise at these words, his gaze lifted again to hers.

  “Please, sweetheart, let’s stretch out in front of the TV.” She shot him a grin. “I’ll watch Anaconda.”

  “She lands on her feet,” he muttered.

  “What?”

  “You land on your goddamned feet!” he thundered, turned, and sidearm-threw the shot glass with such force, it embedded itself in the drywall opposite, liquor splashing a thin stream the entire way, fire searing through his shoulder as he did it.

  He then pivoted back to her.

  “It’s my job,” he thumped his chest, ignoring the new throb of pain that sent through his shoulder, “to keep you on solid ground.”

  He stood there, his chest rising and falling, and each time it did, a nag of pain shot through his wound.

  His arm was in a sling and he was staring at the woman he was set to make his, who looked like she’d followed her heart in the wrong direction and hooked up with O.J. Simpson.

  Christ.

  Christ.

  And as she stood across from him, staring back, not speaking, he knew he’d really blown it by letting his fucked-up lack of control get the better of him.

  Again.

  She’d already seen it once that day.

  Christ.

  That was, he knew that until she asked, “Do you have a TV in your room?”

  His chin jerked into his neck.

  “Say again?”

  “Well, I’m not about to get carried away in shenanigans that might tear your stitches, but you’d promised alternate sleeping arrangements tonight and I don’t want to be alone, I want to be with you. I also want you to lie your ass down and get some rest. So, do you have a TV in your room?”

  “Yeah,” he answered.

  “Right then, I’m gonna go put my pajamas on and you are not going to take that shirt off without me helping so don’t even think about it. I’ll do your boots and socks too. But you can do your jeans. And I hope you have ice cream, because I was too stuffed for sopapillas, but now I need something sweet, and I want ice cream.”

  After delivering that, she walked to the island, took the shot he’d poured her, downed it, then turned and strutted away, aiming words for him toward the room she was heading to.

  “Be out in a minute.” She stopped in the doorway and looked back to him. “And if you clean up that Fireball, I’m sleeping in here.”

  “I made the mess, I’ll—”

  “Shut up, Danny,” she ordered quietly.

  He shut up.

  “Do you have ice cream?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he answered.

  “Good, honey,” she muttered, then disappeared into Mo’s room.

  Mag stared at the empty doorway a beat.

  Then his head dropped, and he stared at his boots.

  He pulled his shit together, put her shot glass in the sink, the Fireball in the freezer and walked to his room.

  He had the bedside lights lit and the TV on low and was sitting on the side of his bed, toeing off his boots when she walked in wearing another pair of shorts and a cami, these in a swirly pink and green pattern.

  She stopped in front of him and put her hands on her hips, her eyes surveying his thermal.

  She then decreed, “We’re either gonna have to stretch the neck of that beyond recognition or cut it off.”

  He picked door number one.

  “No scissors, honey, this is my second-favorite Henley. Don’t make me shoulder that blow. I already lost my favorite one today to a bullet.”

  One side of her lips twitched, and she clicked her teeth.

  Clicked her frickin’ teeth.

  Fucking hell.

  Was he going to laugh?

  She approached.

  And no.

  He was not going to laugh.

  Because somehow, even after them going at each other in his kitchen three mornings in a row, she was entirely unaware of the effect she had on his cock.

  Especially when he could see her acres of legs.

  He knew this when he couldn’t see her legs, but he had a close-up of her tits since they were in his face seeing as she was up close and personal, clicking off his sling.

  “Baby?” he called, his voice tight for two reasons, amusement and his effort to fight his dick getting hard.

  “Yeah?” she answered.

  “You don’t want me to tear my stitches, it’d be good you got your tits out of my face, ’cause if you don’t, things are about to get the good kind of physical.”

  She hopped back.

  He grinned up at her, and since she’d unclipped it, he slid the sling off his arm.

  “You’re aware I wanna fuck you,” he noted, feeling his own lips hitch as he did.

  “Uh…yeah.”

  “Well, that’s because you’re cute. And it’s because you’re a dork. It’s also because your heart’s way too big for your own good. But just sayin’, it also has a lot to do with the fact you got mile-long legs, a great ass, perky tits, a lot of hair and you’re pretty as fuck and all of that is standing in my bedroom right now.”

  “Right,” she mumbled, her cheeks coloring.

  He stood, which brought him up close and personal again, but in a way he could control his reaction, and he cupped her jaw, tilting her head up so he had her eyes.

  “I want you at my side tonight too,” he told her. “We’ll watch TV. We’ll sleep. That’s it. I got some pain, and after ice cream, I’m gonna take a pill to control it that’ll probably put me out. So, we’re not goin’ there tonight. We’re not goin’ there until I can make it be what I want it to be the first time between us. But you’re in my bed, and to be clear, in the future, feel free to turn me on whenever the spirit moves you, but just for the time being…cut a guy some slack.”

  “Okay, Danny,” she whispered.

  “In other words, efficiency in taking off my shirt and then you can get the ice cream and I’ll change into my shorts.”

  She nodded.

  He bent and brushed his lips to hers before he sat back down.

  She scraped him with her nails on his stomach and his lat, which felt too good, but he let it slide as he watched her bite her lip with concentration while she stretched the fuck out of the collar of his thermal getting it over his head without making him raise his other arm.

  Then it was gone
.

  She stared at the big bandage on his shoulder.

  “It’s gonna heal fine,” he promised.

  Her gaze came to his and she repeated, “Okay, Danny,” before it was Evie who cupped his jaw, bent and touched her mouth to his and then straightened.

  “I’m gonna clean up too,” she told him. “So, take your time and call when you’re done.”

  “Right.”

  She shot him a soft smile and he watched her legs and ass as she walked out of his room.

  He got his jeans off, his shorts on, retrieved the pill bottle from his jeans, put it on his nightstand and was sliding his arm back into the sling when he called, “Babe! Do me a favor and grab the pillows off Mo’s bed! We might need ’em!”

  “Gotcha!” she called back.

  He finished with his sling, piled his pillows on one side and stretched himself out on the bed, propped up.

  He didn’t want to admit what a relief it was to take a load off.

  But it helped significantly with the pain.

  Evie came in with the pillows, left, and then the lights went out beyond his door and she came back with the carton of Tillamook Birthday Cake ice cream.

  “I approve of your ice cream selection,” she announced, sliding into bed beside him. “Birthday Cake is the best, with Malted Moo second runner-up.”

  “Monster Cookie,” he parried, taking the spoon she offered.

  “Oo, nice one,” she muttered, digging in.

  She’d put her hair up in a knot at the top, but tendrils were falling down her cheeks.

  Yeah.

  Just all kinds of pretty.

  “Babe,” he called.

  She looked at him and answered, “Yeah?” before she shoved a huge-ass spoonful of ice cream in her mouth.

  And only Evan could make shoving a huge-ass spoonful of ice cream in her mouth something that gave him an almost overwhelming urge to bang her breathless.

  He wanted to lock onto that thought.

  But he saw the purple, the swelling, the scabs.

  Okay.

  Focus.

  He had Evie and her bare legs in her pajamas lying in his bed with him, holding a carton of ice cream between them.

  And repeat.

  He-had-Evie-and-her-bare-legs-in-her-pajamas-lying-in-his-bed-with-him-holding-a-carton-of-ice-cream.