Dream Maker (Dream Team 1)

So, last, I needed to get Axl out of Cherry Creek mall.

I gave the girls a hang-on-one-second finger, walked over to him, and his gaze went from scanning the store to scanning me from my head, past my NASA tee, my faded, distressed jeans, down to my red patent-leather sandaled feet.

“Hey,” I said when I stopped close.

“Dig you, babe, but if we’re not out of here in fifteen minutes, I’ll either kill somebody or fake a heart attack,” he declared.

Another “babe” from another of Mag’s boys.

I was almost not registering them anymore.

And I had an affirmative.

I needed to get Axl out of there.

But, as to the matter at hand.

“What do you think of these shoes?” I asked, sticking out a foot.

He cast his extraordinary light-blue eyes at my foot.

They came back up to my face.

I held my breath at his expression.

“You don’t wanna know what I think of those shoes.”

Oh.

All right.

Well then.

“Okay. What do you think Mag will think of these shoes?” I asked a different question.

“You two are moving in together,” he noted.

“Yes,” I confirmed.

“Which, I’m assuming, means you two enjoy getting it on.”

I pressed my lips together.

He took that correctly as a positive response, though I wasn’t sure it was indicative of the grand scale of just how positive that response was, but I suspected he didn’t want to know that part.

“Mag could have a severe case of West Nile virus, and if you were in the mood, you could put those on, and he’d still do you.”

I turned instantly and announced loudly to the girls, “I’m getting them.”

“Woo-hoo!” Ryn hooted, throwing her hands up and doing a shimmy, making her hair sway and her boobs jiggle, which in turn brightened the day of another male who was shopping with his partner and clearly finding it tedious.

Until now.

I turned back to Axl. “We’ll get these and then go get Textuals.”

He jerked up his chin and didn’t hide his relief.

He also didn’t ask what a Textual was, considering I’d introduced all the boys to them and now it was our group coffee drink.

Okay, maybe it was weird, but I thought there was something super cool about having a gaggle of friends who’d assumed a group coffee drink.

I’d never had that.

I really liked it.

And maybe it was also weird that I couldn’t wait to introduce the girls to Textuals so they could join my coffee group.

The more, I was finding, the merrier.

I cast a glance at the girls again, and now that the decision had been made for me to get the shoes, I saw they’d risen from their chairs and started to browse.

And this included Hattie.

Though she did it casting sidelong looks at Axl.

Longing sidelong looks at Axl.

Something she’d been doing since he picked us all up for this outing.

And here he was, standing removed, which meant distant, and badass, which meant unapproachable.

Hmm.

I edged closer to him and said, “You know, no bullets have flown for weeks and Hattie’s right there. You could probably take five minutes while I check out to have a chat with her. And then, on the way to Fortnum’s, she could sit in the front seat.”

Those light-blue eyes intensified on me and I saw they could become ice-blue eyes.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re happy,” he stated.

“Yeeeessss.” I drew it out.

And I was.

And not simply because no bullets were flying.

Mag asked me to move in on a Sunday, and it was only Tuesday, so it wasn’t like in the intervening time we’d arranged for me to get out of my lease, moved my stuff and I’d redecorated his bedroom (because it was a little sparse in there and veritably screamed MAN!) and reorganized his cupboards (something, we disagreed, he needed me to do).

But I had my vinyl and my Chucks at his place so it already kind of felt like home.

“People who are happy want others to be happy like they are,” Axl shared. “Especially when they’re the gettin’-some-on-a-frequent-basis kind of happy. They want everyone walking in a fog of oxytocin, endorphins and pheromones like they are.”

“I’m not sure I’m in a fog,” I sniffed.

His lips quirked. “Evie, you decided in a split second you’re gonna buy a pair of shoes, and with your style, the only time you’re gonna wear ’em is when you wanna make Mag jump you. You probably aren’t ever even gonna wear those shoes out of the house. You’re in a sex-happy fog.”

I could no longer debate this issue, mostly because he was right.

“Hattie’s really sweet,” I cajoled.

“Hattie the way Hattie is, Hattie’s gotta make the first move,” he returned.

“Hattie’s not gonna make the first move,” I retorted. “She’s crazy shy.”

“I know that. And I misspoke,” he replied. “I made the first move. And she blew me off. So what I should have said was, she wants to give it a shot, she’s gotta make the second move.”