Page 93 of Dr. Aster

“Well, don’t you have it all?” I smiled, tucking into his side as we entered a door behind a landscaped hedge bush.

“I do now,” he said, squeezing his arm around my neck, bringing me close, and kissing my temple before we walked through a large area with white marble floors. “This is the garage.”

“There’s the 4Runner,” I chuckled, “and that’s just the Ferrari.”

“Just the Ferrari?” he laughed.

“Well, I didn’t mean it like that. I just figured you were one of those guys who owns this house, which should be on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, and you’d have more than two cars. I mean, you have a garage the size of a barn for one tiny little sports car?”

He laughed. “I’m not one of those types of people. I bought this house for the privacy and not the garage space.”

“But don’t rich guys like having all of that stuff?”

“You watch too much reality TV, gorgeous,” he answered. “No, we don’t all like having that stuff. I wasn’t raised with many vehicles, and I wasn’t lying when I said that buying that 4Runner was splurging for me. It’s not my style.”

“The 4Runner, or the extra cars?”

“Both.”

“Fair enough,” I said with a laugh. “Show me the rest of the place.”

John led me into the home, which was constructed with a shitload of windows, and on one side of the house, I could see straight out to the pool.

All his furniture was extremely modern, but it didn’t seem like it was John’s taste.

“Did you buy all the furniture?”

“Well, I didn’t steal it,” he teased. “I know what you mean, though. Yes, I bought it, but I didn’t pick it out. I hired some designers to decorate the place and make it comfortable for a bachelor.”

“Ah, so the ladies don’t try and make themselves too comfy?”

“Can’t get their asses out the next morning if they’re snuggled up on a sectional in a big fluffy blanket, now can I?”

“Wow. So, when do we ladies know when the clock strikes twelve around this place?”

“That was a joke,” he smiled at me, leading me up steps along the wall with a large abstract metal and copper painting hanging on it. “I don’t invite women to my place. I’m not a fan of being haunted by the memories of random women in my private space.”

“But I’m here.”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me, gorgeous,” he smiled. “You’re here because I plan on enjoying this relationship, and I’m praying it will only grow from here.”

“Your place is quite beautiful,” I said, peeking into each room as we passed them. “I love the natural wood vibe you’ve got going on.”

“All of that is made out of cypress,” he said. “All the dressers, end tables, anything wood except my dick comes out of Monterey County, where the designers recommended an old gentleman who does woodworking for boutique stuff. Anyway, he pretty much made every major piece in every room of the house.”

“I like that,” I said, running my hand along a table that lined the hallway we walked through. The woodgrains looked like the line of a gentle wave moving through the smooth surface of the table. “It’s gorgeous.”

“I hope you don’t think the gray and tan of everything is too boring. It’s not very feminine,” he smiled with a cute, curious expression.

“John, it’s your home. I think it’s very much you.”

“I don’t even know what that means. Do you like it?”

I smiled and ignored the massive bed on a platform in one of the suites he brought me into.

“Are you actually nervous?” I had to ask.

“I am,” he answered with the most adorable, bashful smile.

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