Page 22 of Dream Girl

“Why not, I’m feeling generous today.”

Tensing my arms, my muscles strain against her back and press her on me to get rid of the space between us. She wheezes, whining with a wavering yowl in her voice as she groans at the tightness.

“Ow!” her whine is skillfully ignored as I put my nose into her hair. “Stop trying to dislocate my tender ribs, you brute!”

I let her go, and she scrambles up, placing her small hands on my chest to support herself. She heaves and sulks with her lips turning into a wobbly pout; her eyes are wide with utter discontent.

“That’s not fair. I can’t use your orc strength against me.”

I cock an eyebrow, lifting my torso up by sheer muscle power as she slides down to my lap. She knocks her knuckles on my inked skin, wrinkling her nose and squinting her eyes at the designs.

“Pick one—am I a gorilla or an orc?”

She mutters without a second thought, “Milo, my unreasonable boyfriend.”

I don’t see myself as being unreasonable. On the contrary, I believe I am one of the most reasonable people that walk on this planet. Granted, I haven’t met a lot of people since I have been in the Navy since I was young and now that I’m with Amelia, I need fewer human interactions than before.

“Aren’t you going to open presents?”

She plops her face into my chest, inhaling so much that her shoulders rise and sighs. The obsession with my scent would be outright disturbing if I don’t love this woman to the depths of hell and beyond the gates of heaven.

“Not yet,” she moans. “I have to wait until night time to do it with you.”

Petting her blonde hair, I struggle to see her logic in that plan. “I’m here, and I can open it with you now.”

“Do you want to?” she asks, nudging her forehead on my chest.

Her fingers dance across my abs, tracing the scars on my body as her fascination about them grows the more she touches. I don’t mind her curiosity, but the moment her fingers graze the knife scar on my right side, I become paralyzed with haunting flashbacks.

I slam my eyes shut, pushing those thoughts away from a happy day such as Christmas. I will not allow anything to ruin this day for Amelia, not even the things that have been following me for years.

Amelia takes away her touch, and I want it back; the irrational whisper in my head wants her touch to replace the anguish around the wound. It’s healed, but it’s going to an open wound in my heart for the rest of my life.

“Okay?” she whispers, slowly running her soft fingers on the closed scar with tentative strokes.

“Okay,” I whisper back.

She smiles against my skin. “I want to open presents with you during the night because it’s the best way to end Christmas. I get to see you smile before I go to sleep.”

I want to scoff, but I settle for a huff from my lungs. “All you have to do is ask.”

“It’s not genuine when I have to ask.”

“It is when it’s you who is asking,” I remark, the dull pain fades away with small ebbs of sharp, aching trickling out of the scar.

“You obviously had never seen a mirror when I ask you to smile when we first started dating.” Amelia looks up, a smile already on her lips.

That’s the only face that I’m familiar with and comfortable to the point of being a domestic husband to this woman.

I pause. Marriage has never crossed my mind before, not when I have so many things going on in my life. Though, it’s quite apparent that I would want her to be my wife. This revelation isn’t too shocking to me. I associate her with home and everything I want to have.

I want to spend the rest of my life with her.

“What do I look like?” I ask, interest lacing my voice as I kiss her soft cheek.

She hums, giggling and laughing under her breath. “A fuming, middle-aged man asking for the manager look.”

I take no offense to it as her descriptions are usually exaggerated. “That’s oddly specific.”

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