Page 99 of Beautiful Trauma
I shrugged. “I can carry a tune.”
With a roll of her eyes, she grabbed me by the throat with both hands and playfully choked me. “Stop being so perfect, Kavanaugh.”
Knowing that she was joking filled me with relief. “Not that bullshit again,” I countered with a laugh.
“Just admit that you’re ridiculously perfect, and I’ll let it go.”
“But I’m not,” I protested.
“Yes, you are.” She slid her hands back into place at my neck like she’d had them before. At what must’ve been my doubtful look, she asked, “Should I list all your perfect qualities?”
With a groan, I replied, “I can assure you that isn’t necessary.”
“Oh, I think I need to make a believer out of you.”
“Mila,” I grunted in frustration.
“First of all, you make women of all ages cream their panties just at the sight of you.”
Her description of my looks sent an embarrassed flush to my cheeks. “Did you just have the audacity to blush?”
“I can’t help it.”
“There’s yet another reason.”
“I blush when I’m embarrassed?”
She shook her head. “Despite looking the way you do, there’s not a conceited bone in your body.”
“Are you finished now?”
“You are sweet, kind, and compassionate. You’re brave and fearless. You adore your family, and you respect women.”
“Mila–”
“You’re a fucking amazing lay. I mean, even without the piercing, you fuck like an animal.”
When I shot her an exasperated look, she grinned. “What? Most men would die to have someone say that to them.”
“I’m not most men, remember?”
“Trust me, babe. I do.”
“Okay, are you done now?”
“Almost.” When I tried to protest, she slapped her hand over my mouth. “You’re ridiculously romantic for planning this amazing evening for an undeserving bitch like me.”
“Hey now, you’re talking about my girl,” I replied, with a cheeky grin.
She snapped her fingers. “And you have a sense of humor.”
“If I promise to never sing again, will you stop?”
“No. Because you have an amazing voice, and I want to hear more of it.”
“Then I’ll sing for you.”
“Whenever I ask you to?”
