The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers) Chapter 114: 114

“You can have pizza and a milkshake.” Arrick adopts his no-nonsense fatherly tone. I have heard this a
million times in the past and know I have zero energy for it. I can always argue the point later.

“Fine, but I want a chocolate sundae for dessert.” I add, suddenly picturing ice-cream in my mind’s eye.
Preferably a very big mountain with a million toppings.

“Okay, for tonight, but you will be eating better if you’re staying here and there’s no arguing about it.”
He pushes his chair in, moves his mat from the table and tosses it on the counter behind him.

“We’ll see.” I raise an eyebrow at him wickedly and he only sighs heavily. Still watching me eat as
though he has never witnessed feeding time at the zoo, and I wonder if he wants to video it. Maybe it’s
the fact he has never seen me put something moderately healthy in my mouth on purpose and is
making sure it’s not an illusion.

“I know that look, Sophs, I’m not going to fold so easily anymore. I already know what you’re like to
handle and this is not how it’s going to stay!” He challenges me, eye to eye.

“You know what you’re letting yourself in for then, therefore don’t expect any drastic changes to my
eating habits.” I shrug stubbornly and pout a little in his direction. Waving my spoon his way and
splashing watery yoghurt all over the place.

There’s a long silence for a moment as we stare each other out with lowered brows, a non-serious
face-off before he sighs again. I can almost smell his defeat in the air and feel strangely smug.

“You’re going to make life hell for me, aren’t you?” He seems resigned to the fact and he has just
realized how bad a life with me as a girlfriend might be. I wonder if he has had his first bout of second
thoughts.



“Maybe. You chose this life, cowboy, so you better man up. You did say you would do anything for me!”
I smirk and smile wider when he only sighs and shakes his head in defeat.

###Chapter 114

I yawn as I wander from the elevator into Arrick’s apartment, covering my mouth and dropping my
oversized school bag on the floor by his coat rack in the entrance come dumping ground, for shoes. His
jacket and sneakers are already there, and I can hear the soft strumming of a guitar as I wander
around the little wall that conceals the elevator from his lounge area.

He is sat on the couch strumming his acoustic guitar, oblivious to my arrival and I stop and watch him
for a moment with a huge smile splaying across my face. It’s been eons since he played his guitar and I
reminisce warmly over how many times he has played to me. A little shiver of joy that the boy I loved is
making a slow comeback. He looks amazingly sexy with it on his lap, strumming it while concentrating
so hard on what he’s doing. He looks so at peace and not a single expression on that calm beautiful
face.

It has been over three weeks of dating him and we are getting into a routine slowly, going out together,
having fun and spending more nights together than apart. I left my friends from our Friday dinner and
caught a cab here to wait for him as planned, but he has beaten me home after drinks with his own
friends at a nearby bar. Sometimes we still do things apart, I still feel like I should be holding something
back a little, not quite ready to fully throw myself at his mercy again, and he doesn’t complain when I
ask for a night to do my own thing. Obviously, he still understands where I am at.

I slide off my flat pumps and discard my cardigan with my jacket, moving across to come upon him
from behind so he won’t see me until I run my fingers over those large shoulders that just scream to be
touched. These past weeks I’ve been braver about exploring that body when I cuddle up to him and
discovered he has no boundaries in where he lets my hands roam. As long as it’s not down into his
pants of course, which he is making sure is off-limits and things stay unheated.



Arrick pauses, looking up and seeing me smiling down at him, catches my face as I lean over and gives
me an upside-down kiss, crazily molding our mouths and managing a very erotic bit of lip sucking that
makes me giggle. I run my fingers over his face as I pull away and push my hair back behind my ears.

“Hey, beautiful.” He goes back to his guitar, pulling it back onto his lap as I come around and sit beside
him, curling my legs under me in my dress so I can get comfortable to listen. I loved nothing more than
watching him play in my teens and cannot express the happiness at seeing him back to this after two
years of putting it away because of Tasha. I get a little mental high five at the fact he is back to playing
again. A sign that he is happier, more relaxed in his own skin like he used to be.

“Sing for me.” I urge him, smiling softly when he glances my way; all awkwardness I felt at the
beginning of starting this relationship has fully dispersed in the last few weeks and too feel more like I
used too, able to be myself around him for the most part, even with the silly squabbles and
disagreements that mean nothing. We still have those, yet they are never about anything serious or
important.

“What do you want me to sing for you?” He strums a few notes as he tunes his guitar again, while I
think back to all the songs he used to play well and suited his husky voice.

“The Creep, by Radiohead.” I sigh at him, memories of that song one night, two years ago when we
were snowed in at a skiing lodge with no power and only warm beer and friends to get through the
night. Arrick played this song to me when most were almost asleep or chilling by the log fire. I was
haunted by the memory of how perfect that moment was for a long time after. Arrick smiles down at his
guitar as though reliving the same memory, looking my way for a moment.

“I almost kissed you that night. I remember looking at you after this song and thinking how much I
wanted to kiss you. Moving in close without even thinking about it and telling myself I was drunk and
being an idiot.” He frowns as he strums another couple of notes, eyes still on me and looking at me like
he very much wants to kiss me now. All his subtle little tells showing and eyes all hazy.



“You never told me that before.” I tilt my head to one side and regard him as he starts to play softly on
his guitar, moving into that familiar pose, hunched over and tapping his foot in time as he strums the
tune of Radiohead’s “Creep” gently.

“Guess I put it down to a moment of stupidity, I tried to play it off as being alcohol-driven.” He shrugs
nonchalantly and carries on regardless. Smiling as he looks down at the strings and then back at me.

“I remember you moving in close and moving hair from my face, I didn’t think you would ever kiss me
again, so I never thought that’s what you were doing.” I replay the moment, seeing it differently now I
know what he had meant to do, and it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.

“I don’t remember kissing you before that; I know you told me I did. I guess it’s true what they say about
being drunk. Your real feelings come through when you let your guard down, and it seems I have a
habit of kissing you when under the influence, or at least thinking about it.” Arrick slides his guitar off
over his head, much to my disappointment, but only moves it to one side slightly so he can lean into me
and kiss me fully on the mouth. Softly at first and then moving in against my face and deepening it to
an open-mouthed kiss. His tongue finding mine as passion spikes. Clearly reliving his memory but
finishing it with a new ending and I’m not complaining; his kisses are always divine and have my toes
curling no matter how many times he does it. I’ve lost count over the past three weeks, sometimes it’s a
haze of being kissed by him endlessly and this one is another five-star butterfly maker. His hand traces
my jawline and down my throat tenderly, erupting a million tiny sensations across my skin.

Arrick has avoided letting our make-out sessions get beyond this level of passion for the last couple of
weeks, always aware of taking things too far and it is starting to get to me. Not sure if I am ready to get
more physical, but his lack of pushing any boundaries is making certain that I will never know unless
we try. He is being tender, cautious even, and infuriatingly gentleman like.

When I’ve tried to heat things up he breaks off and separates us, cooling it all back down right away. A
part of me loves the fact that he is this considerate, and this is just his way of respecting me, taking



care of me, but on the other hand, I want to feel whole, and capable of having a normal relationship.
Part of me is afraid that he’ll get so used to this weird something, stuck between platonic and not, and
we will never move further. I want the whole package; I want to feel like I did in the first moments of that
night when he brought my body to new heights of pleasure.

Like every other time, when blood starts to warm up and kisses become breathless and frenzied, he
breaks free, letting me loose and pulls his guitar back between us, back to strumming softly and
calming himself down with a little space. I flop back on the couch and stare at the ceiling while listening
to him, knowing it’s pointless getting upset about it, even if it irks me. He’s only being the guy I love.
He’s only thinking about what taking it further can do to me and I can’t be mad at him for that. His
protectiveness is one of his most endearing traits.

He hasn’t settled on a song yet and still seems to be tuning his guitar. The alcohol I consumed at
dinner with Christian and Jenny is making me sleepy and emotional, and when his phone starts ringing,
I tense.

I’m not sure who it is, he takes calls and texts from his family and friends all the time, but my gut says
it’s Natasha. The woman has texted and called sporadically over the last couple of weeks; tearful long
drawn out sobbing conversations and hour-long texts begging him to go see her. He hasn’t, but he tries
to placate her, soothe her tears, and generally tries to get her off his phone without being cruel.

It drives me crazy and is the one thing I am not honest and open about to him. I sulk, I pout and push
him away when she calls, and we have had minor squabbles about it in which I always say I am fine
and no it’s not upsetting me, that I’m being an ass for the sake of it. He just seems to think it irritates
me a little, rather than the fact it shreds my insides to fucking pieces when I know he is still connected
to her in some way.

At first, I understood, I mean her dad is only getting worse and they don’t think he has much time left;
but now weeks in, and more than a dozen of these episodes, I am losing my temper. I catch a glimpse



of him pulling his phone towards him and sighing. I see that moment of self-doubt, where he is trying to
choose whether to answer or not and I can already tell, he will. To me it says it all. Saying nothing, I get
up from the couch fast and storm over to the kitchen to look for food. If I am out of direct sight, he might
not see me hating on him and making death motions with kitchen utensils behind his back.

Opening the refrigerator and pulling out the chocolate and Pepsi he keeps for me, despite claiming he
never would, and then rummaging for the box of snacks he dutifully keeps in the cupboard. I put some
popcorn in the microwave and try to zone out as I hear his voice on the one-sided telephone call.

“Tasha please, you can’t keep doing this. Are you drunk?” He sounds tired, strained, but the fact he is
still willing to put up with this shit only angers me. I’m tired and irrational and I don’t care if he sees me
pissed at this tonight. I am so sick of acting like it doesn’t get to me as much as it does. Tired of the
little charade of the understanding girlfriend I have had to play for this long, even when she showed up
that one time to the movies when we were there, and he ended up sitting with her for twenty minutes
across the aisle and ‘consoled’ her. I literally thought of walking out on him that night and never coming
back; he didn’t see how pissed I was at all and it’s only been growing stronger.

Gathering up all my snacks onto a tray and leaving the popcorn in the microwave, I walk past him
without a backwards glance, chin in the air and the walk of a woman who has had enough.

“I’m going to bed.” I announce loudly, knowing fine well Natasha will hear me and not giving a single
shit about it. I have kept quiet long enough, acting like I am oblivious and never make a peep when she
calls, in case it upsets her that I am here, but I am in no mood anymore. This has been eating at me
the longer it goes on.

Arrick is probably frowning at me, for being unnecessarily cruel, but I am not about to turn back and
look. Nudging the bedroom door open with my hip as he carries on with his obviously uber important
call.



“Yes, that was her, you know I’m with her, Tash.” He sighs again as I try again to angle my hip under
the handle to open the door, the tray too full and I am also balancing a can of open Pepsi so can’t let go
with one hand. Arrick suddenly appears behind me, opening the handle and pushing the door open for
me without removing his cell from his ear. I mutter some thanks under my breath and push on ahead,
without turning his way. I wonder if he is going to follow me, wouldn’t be unlike him when I announce I
am going to bed, but instead he seems to go back to the couch and continue consoling his ex fucking
girlfriend.

“I know you do, I get that you miss me, and miss that I was the one you always talked to.” He lowers
his voice, I resist the urge to kick the door shut on him and block it out, but I can hear the microwave,
reminding me of the popcorn and curse myself. I want to stay in here and rage and not have to walk
past him again and face that disapproving look he gives me when I am being difficult. I hate that even
now, he can still make me feel like a childish spoiled brat at times and isn’t shy at making it obvious.

He has no concept of what a dickhead he is sometimes.

I lift my chin and pace the room for a moment, putting my food on the nightstand and killing time by
turning on the tv, finding a movie to turn on low. It isn’t overly late, and we have no plans tonight, except
to stay here and vegetate, as we have plans to meet his friends for bowling tomorrow night. Christian
and Jenny are coming and Nathan too; we have been doing a lot of stuff like this with all of them and
even Christian’s boyfriend has been on the scene, James, and I like him.

I’m called by the ping of the microwave and try to remove any traces of severely pissed off from my
face, moving to the door and walking out, seeing him taking it out for me and bursting open the bag into
a bowl. He has his phone tucked under his chin and propped on his shoulder, so evidently still talking to
her and I want to throw something at the back of his head from over here.



Marching over towards him, I avoid eye contact when he turns and realizes I’m there, pretending to be
absorbed in finding something in the drawer instead, locating napkins and a straw and taking the bowl
from him without any contact while looking down at what I’m holding. Arrick catches me by the upper
arm as I move to head back to the bedroom and holds me steady.

“Natasha, I need to go. I’m sorry but this is a bad time, go to bed and sleep it off.” He lets his phone
slide, catching it with his free hand and hitting the red button before pushing it into his back pocket. He
leans in to try and angle his face to mine, but I gaze off at the bedroom door instead.

“You’re pissed.” He states flatly. Still not letting me loose. I just shrug and pop popcorn in my mouth
instead and act like I really don’t give a shit. Simmering like a volcano inside, but coolly calm on the
surface. Still avoiding his gaze and trying not to erupt, even though everything inside of me wants to.
This is the only difference between us since coming back together. I don’t tell him how I am feeling
when it comes to Natasha, sometimes in general and I know I should be. There is still that part of me
that isn’t ready to fully let him in yet; an insecure and scared portion of my heart that is terrified he will
hurt me again. I know Natasha is a topic that I deliberately don’t broach because I am too scared to just
come out with it and tell him to choose. My brain keeps reminding me that he picked her over me and
part of me is insecure that if I lay down an ultimatum he will again. Even though I know it’s dumb as hell
to even believe it. Insecurity is a messy, shitty thing and logic has no place where it is concerned.
“Why?” He nudges me, urging me to look at him. I roll my eyes at him and shrug his hands off me.
Making a move towards the bedroom impassively with no desire to even talk about this. I’m glad he
hung up on her and now I want him to leave me alone, so I can hate on him in peace.

“Don’t give me the silent treatment. You’re pissed because she called, right? I have no control over
that!” He sounds irritated too and I realize he’s also been drinking tonight, that drunk or even tipsy
Arrick is less patient and less understanding. He takes on a much colder and easily agitated version of
himself that I can see was probably how he got through being such an asshole in his teens and using



and abusing girls. I probably wouldn’t have liked him much back then, but thankfully when I met him, he
seemed to calm almost instantly. I guess I met him at the right stage of his life.

“Yes, you do!” I snap, all anger bursting forth. Despite telling myself to hold all this in, it has somehow
wormed its way out. “You can stop being so goddamn nice and pandering to her! You broke up months
ago!” I slam the popcorn down on the coffee table, spilling a huge chunk of it, along with my napkins
and straw, turning on him in sheer frustration. “Tell her to leave us alone.” It comes out like a spoiled
childish stamp my foot moment and I curse the cocktails I had with dinner for making me like this.
Equally shit when I drink, in totally different ways to him. I get irrational, impulsive and emotionally
unstable and start tantrumming like a two year old.

Arrick stands stiffly, and watches me silently, that flat calm demeanor coming into play instantly, which
only sparks my fury more. I hate when he takes on this stance of no emotion because I know a lecture
or argument is coming, and he is about to make me feel about twelve years old.

I hate when he does that.

“It takes more than a few weeks to get over two years, you have no clue how hard this is for her, what
she lost and is losing. It was a full-on relationship. I was her best friend, we talked about everything and
she confided in me about everything, Sophie. I walked away and left her alone at a time when she
needs someone to be there for her.” He is a little too deadpan for that statement, and I want to throat
punch him for not realizing how much of an idiot he is. He really cannot see the irony in what he is
saying, that he left me alone, despite all of that. He really is stupidly dense to not see that right now.

“It’s called life! I know about being alone and having no one, and I survived. She will get over it, but not
if you keep letting her infiltrate our lives.” Tears begin to sting my eyes and I bite them down, not
wanting this, but now we are here I am not about to fall to pieces over it in front of him. Fueled by anger
at this, her, his stupidity sometimes. I honestly feel like throwing my hands at his face and beating
some sense into that thick Carrero skull.



“You’re being insecure and jealous, nothing more. Natasha isn’t a threat, she doesn’t have anything to
get between us with; she just needs a friend. You know I can’t stand jealous women, Sophie.” He walks
off towards his study at the left of us and seems to dismiss me with a look. I erupt in good old-
fashioned fiery hell hath no fury. The part of me that has been dormant since Leila’s party. He has no
clue how much of an asshole that sentence just made him.

“Fuck you. Stop talking down to me like I’m a fucking child! I hate it when you do that.” I scream at him;
seeing him stop and tense, he turns harshly, shocked by my sudden outburst and acting like a typical
man. I can already tell the response is not going to be full of sweet nothings. That little tight muscle
tense on his jaw, brows lowering and angry green glare.

“Stop behaving like a fucking child then. She is in pain and you’ve already got me. There is no need for
any of this bullshit!” He yells back, eyes burning with rage and seething so instantly, it makes me lose
all courage. My lip wobbles as the tears break free and run down my face, because of my one of two
responses to him ever yelling at me. Cry or fight and this time it chooses to be the pitiful reaction. So
severely disappointed in myself, but I really have no control over what path my emotions choose.

Arrick grits his teeth, sighing and frowning hard but walks towards me anyway, his body bristling with
temper, but that part of him that cares about me is obviously reigning supreme. He hates seeing me
cry, even if pissed off and it’s that nice guy side to him that is caving right now.

“Don’t cry. I’m sorry I yelled at you.” He reaches for me, despite the anger still brimming between us
and pulls me in as his arms to envelope me. There is no soft affection in the embrace, only a need to
make me stop crying, but obviously, he’s still majorly pissed and consoling me out of duty. His arms
around me are not comforting and snug, they hang loosely about me as he half-heartedly pats my
back.

“I’m going to bed.” I break free of his arms, hating how false it feels and push him away. Insides twisting
up in agony and so close to bawling into hysterics. He doesn’t fight me on it, just lets me go and



watches me gather up the stuff from the table and walk away. I can still feel his penetrating gaze on my
back as I walk in the door and kick it closed behind me in a little hostile flag of ‘I still hate you’.


62fb1bb41dcb31934bd49bda