Dream Maker (Dream Team 1)

“I’m in too,” Axl said.

That meant, whatever went down with them while he was away, Evan had earned their approval.

Not a surprise, she was kind of a dork, but it was seriously cute.

He nodded.

Boone lifted a hand, Axl lifted his chin, and they took off.

Mag shut the door and locked it.

He was turning out lights and telling himself it would be invasive to check on Evan to make sure she was sleeping when he heard the door to Mo’s room open.

He arrested when he saw her in the sliver of the door she hadn’t opened all the way.

Boone or Axl had given her one of his tees to sleep in.

Christ.

Yeah, she had great legs.

“Hey,” she said, opening the door farther and leaning against the jamb.

Oh yeah.

Great fucking legs.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

“I…” She gave her head some short shakes then asked, “You went to go talk to Mick, didn’t you?”

Shit.

Busted.

“We’ll chat about this tomorrow,” he told her, moving her way.

“He didn’t do anything to help, did he?”

He stopped in front of her and murmured, “Evie.”

“It’s okay,” she said.

“It’s really not,” he replied.

“I’m used to it,” she mumbled.

“You shouldn’t be,” he returned.

She sucked her lips between her teeth.

“You gonna be able to sleep?” he asked.

“Sure,” she lied.

Damn, he wanted to hold her.

There, in the doorway to Mo’s old room.

Or take her to his bed, stretch out beside her and hold her all night.

Give her something solid. Give her proof not everyone in her life was a dick.

He didn’t do either.

He walked back to the kitchen, nabbed the toothbrush and tube of toothpaste that he’d picked up for her, brought it back and handed it to her.

“Didn’t think to ask your brand,” he said.

She was staring down at the stuff in her hand, seemingly frozen to the spot.

“Evie?” he called, and her head came up.

“Toothpaste is toothpaste,” she replied, her voice husky. “It’s just sweet you remembered.”

At least he gave her that.

Though, from the look on her face, it seemed, for her, it was a fuckuva lot more than toothpaste.

“Danny, I don’t know how I can thank—” she began.

“Stop, baby,” he murmured. “Anyone would do what I did when they walked up to you with your apartment like that.”

“Not anyone.”

That was definitely her experience.

“You’re a good guy and now I feel like an even bigger bitch I was so ugly to you last night,” she whispered.

“We’re beyond that,” he reminded her.

“Okay,” she said unconvincingly.

“Try to get some sleep,” he urged.

“Okay,” she repeated.

“If you can’t, my room’s right over there.” He pointed to the door in the unit opposite hers, across the kitchen. “Knock, honey. I’ll get up, we’ll chat, watch some late-night movies, whatever.”

“Okay,” she said again, though he knew she wouldn’t disturb him just like he knew she probably wouldn’t get any sleep. “Thanks again, Danny.”

“Don’t mention it, Evie. Rest well.”

“You too.”

Slowly, she slid out of the door, closing it behind her.

Mag stood staring at it, the feelings boiling inside him again.

He’d developed coping mechanisms to handle his temper.

Talking to Mo, Auggie, Boone, Axl, some of them or all of them.

Working out.

Finding someone to fuck.

And last recourse, getting drunk, though sometimes that could bite him in the ass.

He could call any of his friends and they’d talk or come over and listen.

Mag didn’t do that.

It might tweak Evie.

Not to mention, at this juncture, with her life a mess, she didn’t need to learn he was all kinds of fucked up.

So instead, he turned off the kitchen light, walked to his room and went to bed.Mag woke because he smelled bacon.

He stared at his pillow, then he threw back the covers, angled out of bed, walked to his door and pulled it open.

Yeah.

Fuck him.

That was what he’d hoped to see.

Evie, in his tee, in his kitchen, cooking breakfast.

If she didn’t want him to see her legs, she’d be in her clothes.

She wanted him to see her legs, her in his tee, and all that communicated.

Thank Christ, today was starting a helluva lot better than yesterday.

She was standing at the stove.

She turned at the sound of his door opening, her mouth moving like she was about to say something, but when she clapped eyes on him, she went completely still, her gaze glued to his chest.

Mag slept in loose shorts.

He worked at his body because he liked doing it.

He did it because it helped him keep his emotions in check.

And he did it because it was a requirement of his job.

But right then, he was fucking glad he did.

“Mornin’, Evie,” he said, moving out of his room.

She blinked rapidly, her eyes shifting down to his abs, lower, then skimming quickly up.

He never would have imagined he’d wake up the morning after last night (and the one before) and walk out to his kitchen grinning.

But that was what he did.

He buried the grin, leaned a hip against the counter of the island, crossed his arms on his chest, which made her drop her eyes to it again before they speeded back up to his face, and he caught his lip twitch before he asked, “You manage to get any sleep?”