Dream Spinner (Dream Team Book 3) - Kristen Ashley (bearly read books .txt) 📗

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?) and 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