Page 9 of Dream Girl

Chapter Three

Amelia

If I could, I wish I can just bury my whole body under the massive cover on my bed. The heat from Milo’s body is gone, or else I would have kicked the comforter off before I overheat. Milo is a man with abnormal body heat, and the first time we cuddled, I thought the heater in our apartment was acting up again.

I got used to it over time, and I know how to have a perfect night of sleep. A simple t-shirt, no pants, and a thick cover to combat the low temperature of the apartment. Milo and I have to come to a compromise because he gets too hot and I get too cold, but his body next to me would provide an abundant source of warmth.

With a brain half a mile behind me, I aimlessly rub my hand on the spot where Milo sleeps to search for him. I find nothing, and I keep doing it until the sleepiness fades away with the cold nipping at the top of my forehead.

I crack open one eye and groan at the lumpy comforter on his side of the bed. The nightstand has our clock on it, and it is way too earlier to be productive, but I guess the bathroom’s call is a bit too much when I need to use it.

Flinging the cover over my shoulder and shuddering at the coldness hitting my skin.

I run to the bathroom, almost tripping on my own feet and falling on the ground. I have never liked our bathroom because it’s the same as the closet; there is a significant difference between the temperatures in the bedroom and those two places.

Shivering at the initial cold water hitting my hands, I figure that my mouth most likely can kill the air around me and it needs to be refreshed with the minutest toothpaste.

It’s not a pleasant feeling, but I don’t want to stifle myself under the covers.

The toothbrush clanks loudly on the glass as I drop it in the right place before making a sprint to the bed. I’m awake now, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to crawl out of bed five days before Christmas.

Work doesn’t start until I sign into my account where my hours are logged, and as long as I get a full eight hours in, then it’s up to me to clock them in before midnight.

Oh, the perks of working from home.

I don’t have to dress to a certain standard when I can be in my raggedy clothes and answer client questions. It’s a good gig for which I get paid well since I have been working with the company for four years before I met Milo and it’s where we met too.

I started out as a college student needing money to pay for my tuition, but then I realized that I didn’t want to finish school anymore. It was just not my calling, so I dropped out, but then I needed a way to pay for that glaring student loan.

It started out as a part-time job before I became one of the most requested employees in the company, so they had me do fulltime. There are risks, more than a typical office job in a way because not everyone can keep their hands to themselves.

I’m glad that no significant incident has happened, and the security measures are insane. I felt extremely safe there, and I’m not ashamed to say that it was safer than my apartment.

That opinion changed since Milo moved in with me. Who needs security cameras, guard dogs, or security guards when I have one fully-fledge Navy SEAL with the strength of a bull?

“Why are you smiling? You look ridiculous.”

My body jerks in surprise at Milo’s voice. I’m so deep in my thoughts that I didn’t hear him come into the room or even see his colossal-sized body taking over my vision until he spoke. It’s another evidence of how utterly inhuman he is.

Milo can be categorized as a human. I’m sure he has foreign DNA in his blood to make him a superhero at some point in his life.

“Steve Rogers,” I whisper in awe, staring up at him with the cover up to my chin.

He stares, stoic and unimpressed when I whispered the name of a fictitious character. Milo runs a hand into my hair, brushing away the unruly strands that fell on my face while kneeling on the bed to make me dig towards him.

“Still tired?” he asks.

I begrudgingly expose my hand to the cold again and tug on his shirt, but I just wanted to feel his abs. It’s a sin to not touch what’s in front of me. I slip my fingers into his shirt, grazing against the sharpened lines of his muscles that harden under my teasing touch.

“Come back to bed.” I drag my nails down his abs.

He tenses, fingers grasping my wrist and dragging my hand away from him. Milo scowls, deliberately displaying his strength in the way he reddens my skin with his grip.

“It’s eight in the morning.” That unnecessary deadpan tone is so rude to a person who had just woke up. He needs to be kinder to my slow brain; it needs tender moments to fully function.

“Finished your morning run already?” I stretch my legs under the comforter, spreading my toes and confining a yawn in my mouth.

Milo likes to workout in the morning, so his body doesn’t rust, and he likes the silence that the morning fog gives him. There aren’t people around him to witness the grouchiness that he has when he’s in a crowded place.

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