Page 56 of Little Monster
As soon as I step into the house, my jaw opens in shock.
We’re standing in a small entryway, with a closet to my right and a modern minimal staircase to my left. Straight ahead, through the luxurious open-concept kitchen and living space, are two massive glass doors looking out over Downtown LA. The sun is still setting early, and the city is already coming to life, bright lights cutting through the purple-pink haze of dusk to illuminate the sky.
“Can I...?” I ask, gesturing to the balcony. I’m not sure how particular he is about having people wander through his home, but he sweeps his arm out in a welcoming gesture.
“Please.”
I slip out of my Vans and leave them in the entryway with my purse, then venture deeper into the house. The furnishings are tasteful but... sparse. There are only a few pictures on the walls, but they feel like something a designer would pick out rather than something Dex would choose for himself. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe minimalistic modern ink splotches are his vibe.
The living room rug is plush and soft under my bare feet, and then I’m walking across the temperate concrete floor and reaching to push the button on the panel for the fourteen-foot-tall sliding glass doors. They open slowly, whisper quiet, and a moment later, the evening air pushes my hair back from my cheeks.
Slowly, I step out of the house and onto the sprawling back patio. The concrete is cold under my bare feet, and the air makes goose bumps rise on my bare legs. Two couches and a low table provide ample outdoor dining space, and there are two lounge chairs beside the crystal clear pool. The water looks like it disappears over the edge and vanishes into space. As I put my toes up to the very edge, curling them until they touch the warm water, the view of DTLA takes my breath away.
The city is sprawling, a burst of vibrant light against the darkening evening, and from here, everything looks like it’s twinkling. This high above the city, surrounded by mansions and palm trees that whisper in the soft breeze, I swear the air smells sweeter.
There’s a movement of fabric behind me, and then Dex’s arms wrap around my waist. If I hadn’t already lost my breath at the view, his touch certainly would’ve stolen it away.
“What do you think?” he asks, his chin resting softly atop my head. His body is warm behind me, and I lean back just slightly, relishing the security of his touch.
“I’ve never seen LA like this. I think...” I narrow my eyes a bit, consider my next words. “I think it makes me love the city a little more.”
Dex’s arms tighten around me, and as I watch the water falling over the edge of the pool and disappearing into space, I get the distinct feeling I’m doing the exact same thing. Dex is the edge, and I’m slipping over it, oblivious as to what awaits me.
“You wanna see the rest of the house?” His voice is quiet, gentle in a way that reminds me of the night we spent curled up next to each other in my small bedroom.
I nod, and Dex slips his hand into mine. As he leads me back into the house, my thumb finds one of the rings he wears on his fingers, and I trace my fingertip across it, feeling it’s personal somehow. Kind of like being in his house.
He lets go of my hand once we’re back inside. “Go ahead,” he says, gesturing vaguely to the house.
“You don’t mind?”
He just shakes his head, and it makes the chain he wears around his neck flash in the overhead light.
Feeling slightly giddy, I start to explore, drifting from room to room, taking in the minimal opulence. The TV in the living room looks familiar, and I realize it was in the background of the photo he sent me of the PS5 controller. It’sweird seeing something in real life that felt so far away on my phone screen, but it’s weird in a good way.
After perusing the first floor, I climb the staircase to the second floor, Dex drifting along quietly behind me. He’s not trying to tour me around, isn’t pointing out all the thousand-dollar fixtures. Instead, he’s silent, and every time I look back at him, he’s wearing a vague sort of smile, looking perfectly at ease.
I step through a doorway on the second floor, and a bedroom suite opens up in front of me, complete with its own contemporary fireplace and large sitting area. A private balcony is visible through another set of sliding doors, and a large darkened bathroom lurks at the other side of the room.
Unlike downstairs, this spacefeelslike Dex. There are a few guitars on stands in the sitting area, and a thin bookshelf is stuffed to the brim with vinyl records. A record player stands on a tall black table next to the bookshelf, piquing my curiosity. I drift over to see what Dex was last listening to.
“Miles Davis,” I say, brow furrowing, and he nods from his spot leaning against the bedroom doorframe. I turn to look at him. “You like jazz?”
He drifts over, and I make room for him beside the record player. The rings on his fingers wink as he flips the disc onto the opposite side and moves the needle. A moment later, the sound of a mournful trumpet bleeds out of the speakers. The album has that pure, raw sound that’s impossible to reproduce digitally, like the music itself is alive and breathing. I close my eyes, taking it in.
“I wouldn’t have guessed,” I say softly, opening my eyes and directing my gaze to Dex.He’s standing close to me, fingertips perched on the table, gaze faraway. At my words, his blue eyes shift to look at me.
“What? You think I just listen to ’80s rock or something?”
Shrugging, I give him a shy smile.
One of his sandy brows arches playfully. “I’ve got abitmore depth than that, Little Monster.”
Hearing his nickname for me, my insides squeeze. There’s something about the way he says it that makes me want to curl up on his tongue and feel the way it glides around each syllable.
Reaching out, he lifts the needle off the record, and the music cuts off abruptly, leaving the room feeling emptier somehow.
“You ready to eat?” he asks.
