Dream Spinner (Dream Team Book 3)

by Kristen Ashley

  I moved toward the wide hall, which I saw last night led not only to the bathroom, but another room at the other end.

  I headed to the bathroom first, noting the hall walls were mirrored on one side, before I noticed they were actually mirrored doors to two closets on either side of the entry to the bathroom.

  Interesting.

  The bathroom was more of what was in his bedroom. Chrome fixtures. White walls and white penny-tile floors. White marble countertops with gray veins. But the cabinetry was navy. As were the thick towels.

  I brushed my teeth.

  And with what I hoped was as little snooping as possible (but I only did it with a purpose, and that was not to snoop, it was about dental hygiene), I found not only did he have floss (and he told me to make myself at home, so I tore off a string), but also strengthening and whitening mouthwash (I had this too!). So I used some of that as well.

  Done in the bathroom, I wandered back out into the hall, and instead of going back to the bedroom, I went the other way.

  At the other end was a room, not as big as the master, but not much smaller.

  It was an office with a desk, a laptop on the desk, two handsome wire trays on either edge, both stacked with papers. Desk chair behind. Another armchair and ottoman in the corner, this one slouchy but handsome. Some shelves filled with books and what looked like trophies and medals.

  And the pièce de résistance, a vintage stand-up Pac-Man video game against one wall.

  Sweet.

  Smiling to myself about Pac-Man, and still carrying Axl’s note, I walked out.

  In the bedrooms, the blinds were drawn so they were somewhat in shadow (though, not much blocked out the bright Denver sun, even dark blinds).

  However, light came bright in the rest of the house through lots of big windows.

  And I walked out of the office into a dining room area that was beyond a half wall from the living room. Black furniture. Round table. Four chairs, their backs curved, the style was elegant and classy but also modern. And in the middle of the table was a wide, squat, interestingly shaped glass bowl in hues of blue, black and clear.

  It was a fantastic bowl.

  It was also the kind of bowl a man who had monogrammed notepaper owned.

  On this thought, I started to feel a little weird, not exactly in a bad way, as I drifted into the living room.

  I’d spent time in that room last night, but I hadn’t taken in an inch of it seeing as I had a bevy of other awesome (after the scary) things to occupy my mind and my time.

  Now I saw it had a cool fireplace. Two couches perpendicular to it (gray). Two armchairs facing it (navy). Big TV over the mantel. Coffee table. End tables. Lamps. Black-and-white pictures on the walls, all of which seemed to be urban-life photography. Graffiti. Murals. The light rail of Denver at night.

  And there was a handsome chest in front of the picture window. On it was a piece that was made of polished nickel that looked like a starburst but it was fashioned to erupt, not as if it was going out and toward you, but like it was detonating from the surface of the chest into the air above it.

  It was magnificent.

  Way better than the bowl and the bowl was rad.

  I noted a throw blanket folded neatly on one of the couches, a pillow on top of it.

  Axl was tidy.

  I knew he was ex-military, perhaps that should be expected.

  But outside the chair covered in clothes in the bedroom, the rest of the place suggested he was seriously tidy.

  I wandered back past the dining area, into a kitchen.

  And that was the same as all the rest.

  White walls. Black-and-white-checked tile floor. White cupboards. White quartz countertop.

  But black appliances and graphite countertop appliances.

  Though the kitchen towels were navy-and-white stripes.

  “Axl has it going on,” I whispered.

  And he did.

  He was clean as well as tidy (which I was too). His style was stark and modern (as was my own), but it also had personality (as I thought mine did too).

  And he flossed and rinsed with tooth-strengthening mouthwash, as did I.

  I suddenly understood what that weird feeling was from before. Part of it was that I’d spent so long wanting to know him, now being in his space, learning what he was like, getting to know him, even when he wasn’t there, felt super nice. Not to mention, having an understanding that we were compatible in a few ways felt super nice too.

  The rest of it was seeing his place was not a bachelor pad.

  It was a grown man’s house.

  One where you lived and moved your girlfriend in when it got serious, and you stayed when you got married.

  But only for a while, because when you decided to have kids you moved so you could have more room.

  I got a little thrill at this thought as I walked to the counter where there was a coffee pod sitting next to a tall glass with a spoon in it that had a long handle.

  Axl had set me up for coffee.

  And he had cool coffee glasses.

  I didn’t even know there were coffee glasses.

  But Axl had them and they were super cool.

  Again smiling, I headed to the fridge to get some creamer.

  And found Axl was a creamer guy.

  In a big way.

  Three top-shelf brands, five flavors.

  I picked Starbucks white chocolate mocha, put Axl’s note next to my purse on the counter, tinkered with the machine for a few seconds to find out how to do it before I set the Nespresso to running, and then moved to check out what was behind the three doors in the kitchen.

  Side by side on the back wall: one, to a large garage, the other, to a walk-in pantry/utility room with washer and dryer.

  The door on the front wall that had a half window led to a rectangular deck that jutted out at the front of the house. The deck was probably twice the size of mine, had high walls around it, like mine, but without the lattice see-throughs.

  Total privacy.

  On the deck were two moon chairs with a glass-top table, all this (except the glass, obviously) black. A black-and-white zigzag-patterned rug lay under them.

  And last, there was a built-in, corner Jacuzzi, big enough for two.

  That Jacuzzi didn’t give me a little thrill.

  It gave me a nice shiver.

  Still feeling the shiver, I turned and headed back to the coffee when I noticed Dainty Cat had joined me.

  She sat on the kitchen floor just inside the door, tail swishing, staring at me with eyes that were indeed golden.

  And she was in full judgment.

  “You’d look around too,” I defended.

  She silently disagreed, expressed her disdain for my actions, her dislike of my person, and her indignation I was still there, all of this with swift, feline efficiency, then she got up and sauntered out.

  I watched her go, already half in love with her.

  I went back to my bag, grabbed my phone, stirred my coffee with the kick-butt spoon and texted Axl.

  I’m up. Managed to figure out coffee.

  Your house is rad.

  And thanks for the offer, but I don’t want

  to interfere with your busy day.

  I’ll call a Lyft.

  See you tonight.

  And thanks for not minding that

  I woke you up last night.

  I sent that and then sent:

  Oh, and your cat is gorgeous.

  And after that, I sent:

  And your mattress is awesome!

  I was so in the zone of happiness, in Axl’s house, drinking Axl’s coffee, being judged by Axl’s cat, freely texting Axl, that it didn’t occur to me not to tell Axl his mattress was awesome.

  I mean, it was.

  But I didn’t have to tell him that until maybe later, if that fabulous time came when he was on it with me.

  I barely got a sip of my delicious coffee (white chocolate mocha, my God, who knew?) a
nd nowhere near enough time to freak out about my mattress text before I got a reply.

  I want to take you home.

  I can be there in 30. You okay

  to hang until I get there?

  Was I okay to hang on his deck in his awesome moon chairs staring at his two-person Jacuzzi, thinking of him kissing me in it while I felt up his chest, all of this because he wanted me to hang due to the fact he wanted to take me home?

  Heck to the yes.

  Can I hang on your deck?

  You can do anything you

  want, baby.

  Upon me reading this, Dainty Cat joined me again in the kitchen in order to confirm her worst fears: I was still there.

  She then left.

  In that time, I hadn’t gotten over Axl’s last text.

  But thirty minutes wasn’t three hours and I was still in his tee with bedhead.

  I dealt with that, made his bed, found he had European pillows piled on the floor next to one of the nightstands. (A man who had European pillows? How did I get this lucky?)

  And I was out on the deck with my coffee and plenty of time to text Brett.

  Thank you again for not letting

  me blow it.

  And I know your sisters aren’t in Alaska

  to put space between them and you.

  I hope you feel you can tell me the

  story one day.

  What I know right now is that I’ve

  never had a big brother, but still,

  you’re the best one ever.

  I soaked up some vitamin D, drank my coffee out of Axl’s hip coffee glass, and got back from Brett:

  Pleased it worked out, sweetheart.

  Speak soon. ♥♥

  Now seriously.

  What motherfucker put heart emojis on his texts?

  I was still contemplating this, and a fair few other things (most of those other things having to do with the Jacuzzi, none of them having to do with contacting Dad to tell him it was pizza delivery for him that night—I’d tackle that later, after some of my joy died down and he had less time to make a fuss about it) when I heard a car approach then a garage door go up.

  Not knowing the neighborhood sounds, and since the houses were close in Baker, I couldn’t be sure, but just in case it was Axl, I got up and went into the kitchen.

  I was done with my coffee anyway and needed to clean the glass.

  I was right.

  It was Axl.

  And as I set the rinsed glass in the dishwasher, he came in the back door, wearing navy cargos and a navy tee.

  We both froze in place and stared at each other.

  We did this for a long time, like if one of us moved, the other would go up in a puff of smoke and under no circumstances could that happen.

  Then we did this for even longer, like we were prepared to do it forever.

  And I had to admit I could do this forever, because Axl was just that easy to look at.

  But more, I liked what this said. How much it meant to him I was standing in his kitchen, which made it safe for me to share how much it meant to be there.

  Dainty Cat broke it up by slithering to Axl and rubbing up against his leg.

  I chanced speaking.

  “Your cat doesn’t like me.”

  “My cat doesn’t like me,” he replied. “She’s only being nice because you’re here and now she has someone to like less than she likes me, and she wants to make sure you know it.”

  I burst out laughing.

  Axl moved to me while I did it, and he was grinning.

  He stopped close, though he could have gotten closer.

  Like, hello kiss closer.

  Sadly, he didn’t give me hello kiss close or a hello kiss.

  When I got a handle on my laughter, I said, “If asked, I would have said you were a dog person.”

  He shook his head. “Dogs are easy. You get a dog. You train him what to do, he does it. There’s no fun in that. You can’t train a cat. A cat does what a cat wants to do. It likes who it wants to like. A dog lives to please you. A cat lives to be pleased. Randomly, every week or two, she curls into me while I watch television. I feel like I’ve won a medal.”

  Through all of this, I was smiling up at him, and when he stopped speaking, I didn’t quit.

  Then he kept talking.

  “Though, if I wake up in the middle of the night, almost always, she’s with me at my feet or in the bend of my knees. Last night, she slept on the back of the couch. She senses me awake and then she’s gone. So I know somewhere along the line, I won her. She just wants to make sure I keep putting in the work.”

  Keep putting in the work.

  I was still smiling, but my heart had started beating a lot faster.

  I ignored that and asked, “What’s her name?”

  “Cleo, after Cleopatra, because she’s a queen.”

  Oh wow.

  Okay.

  I was getting that he really liked his cat.

  “Did you rescue her?”

  “Nope. I stole her.”

  I felt my head twitch in surprise. “You stole her?”

  “Yep.” He nodded. “My neighbors are assholes. Their kids are arguably bigger assholes. I saw the kids out there with her, I knew shit was about to get real. I was right. I didn’t like what I saw, and I won’t share what it was. I was deciding how to intervene when I was coming home from a run, and Cleo, still a little kitten, was in their backyard alone, freaked, mewing repeatedly, wandering the grass like it was a war zone and every step she took might mean she’d hit a mine. I jumped their fence and took her. The dad saw me, came over and got in my shit. I told him either he let me keep the cat or I take the cat to the vet and he can talk to a cop about why he’s letting his kids abuse an animal. And I advised him to keep that in mind if he thinks about getting his kids another animal. Haven’t talked to the man since. They still live there, and Cleo’s three years old. And they never got another animal.”

  He hadn’t shared the exact truth.

  He did, indeed, rescue his cat.

  Just not the normal way.

  So, Axl was a man who would rush into danger to rescue Ryn and jump a fence to rescue a cat.

  Yeah.

  How did I get this lucky?

  I didn’t want to ask my next.

  But I asked.

  “Did you …take her to see a vet?”

  He nodded, this time shortly.

  “She was malnourished, dehydrated and favoring her back right paw, but no breaks or tears, so the vet figured it was bruised. It took me a bit to talk him into letting me keep her. He was concerned I’d done that to her. I managed to convince him she’d be safe with me. So Cleo got the realm where she’d reign and I learned that, even if your cat views you as her subject, it’s seriously nice to share space with another living being who depends on you.”

  Okay.

  He just said that.

  He just said that.

  “That’s sweet,” I whispered my understatement.

  “Maybe. Mostly it’s true.”

  I had no reply.

  In fact, I didn’t want to talk anymore.

  I wanted a very belated hello kiss.

  This must have communicated itself to Axl because he got even closer.

  So much closer, I could feel his body, even if it wasn’t touching mine.

  And he had to bend his neck even more to hold my eyes.

  “So, you like my mattress?” he murmured.

  “It’s like heaven,” I said to his mouth.

  “Hybrid,” he replied.

  “Mm?” I hummed.

  “Memory foam and regular.”

  I was sure what he was saying was fascinating.

  But I was fascinated with something else.

  I’d never really noticed how magnificent lips were when they moved.

  Especially lips like Axl’s.

  “ Hattie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you wanna kiss me?”

&nb
sp; “Yes.”

  “Then, baby, kiss me.”

  “Okay,” I breathed, pushed up on my toes and kissed him.

  No hesitation, his arms closed around me, he angled his head and he kissed me back.

  Axl ended it with me pressed to the sink, my arms around his shoulders, his tall, hard body molded to mine.

  Man, he was a great kisser.

  And when he finished kissing me, and I swam out of how that made me feel, one could say I instantly became a disciple of that hot, hungry look on his face.

  “The Pac-Man machine is my favorite part of your house,” I whispered.

  “Did you play?”

  “Your deck beckoned.”

  His lips quirked. “Right. Another time.”

  I hoped so.

  “I’m ordering monogrammed notepads this afternoon,” I informed him.

  His lips quirked again. “Birthday present from Mom a couple of years ago. I think that’s the first note I wrote on one of them. Usually it’s grocery lists.”

  “Did she buy you the bowl on your dining room table?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She has good taste.”

  “Yeah.”

  “The piece in the picture window?”

  “That’s mine.”

  Nice.

  “Your middle name starts with an ‘S,’ ” I told him something he knew.

  “Sylas, after my dad.”

  “Ah.”

  “Yours?”

  “Marianne, after no one.”

  He smiled.

  Then, unfortunately, he said, “As much as I’m all in to chat all day with you in my arms pressed to my sink, honey, I gotta get back to it.”

  He said this low, without hiding his disappointment.

  I didn’t hide mine either.

  “Bummer,” I muttered.

  He gave me a squeeze. “You ready?”

  I nodded.

  He let me go.

  I went to my bag.

  When I saw his note next to it, I tried to surreptitiously tuck it in my purse.

  And then I thought, it’s not as if he doesn’t know I like him, we’d just been making out.

  And it wasn’t weird for a girl who likes a guy to want to save the first note he ever wrote her. A note where he said she’s adorable and he’s glad she woke him up in the middle of the night to sort their shit.