The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers) Chapter 126

“You want it heated up?” Arrick runs his hand down the back of my hair as I sit at the table, a fluffy robe
over my naked body. I shake my head. I’m completely relaxed, body sagging, from the hour-long tub
soak we took. The idle chit chat that was so easy and the twenty minutes of letting him dry and
massage every inch of me on the bed, sensually heavenly, although he did stop at me letting my hands
wander to under his towel, twice. I feel surreal, completely chilled out and one hundred percent
satisfied and content right now.

“They will probably taste as good cold.” I open the box and empty the contents onto my plate, digging
in and smiling at how amazing they taste, as I watch him wander off. He has on sweatpants, but he’s
topless and barefoot, back a little clawed up, like he’s been rolling in barbed wire, and I look away from
it guiltily, not sure if I like what I have done to him. Even though he keeps telling me he likes a girl with
claws and assured me several times that he will expect some scratching from now on in.

Arrick comes walking back from the refrigerator with two shakes and puts them between us, sitting
down to eat and giving me an uninterrupted view of his naked torso with strong shoulders and perfect
muscles that make me weak at the knees with every movement he makes. He looks down, sexy as
always, flawless in my eyes, and starts eating too. That gorgeous jaw at work, slightly stubbled today
as he skipped shaving this morning, he looks a little more like a rugged bad boy.

“That’s really distracting you know?” I point my fork at his pecs and wave it side to side to gesture his
naked body. Struggling to keep my eyes on delicious food when the view is so much more appetizing to
me. He makes my heart rate rise a little too easily when he’s flaunting what he has.

“What about if I do this?” He grins at me and tenses his arms in the Mr. Universe. pose that only makes
me roll my eyes and giggle at his weirdness. Cheekily confident and he obviously knows his body does
the trick. He even appeared seminude in some men’s and women’s magazines last month and is
evidently not shy about it.



“Yeah, completely lame.” I smile and take another forkful, watching him move effortlessly as every
movement emphasizes that hot physique, with little bulges and flinches that are strangely mesmerizing.
My inner lady parts heating up and tingling to attention so readily I press my legs together to try and
calm it down.

Who knew a male body could make me drool so much, especially now I know what it can do to mine.

“Don’t lie, you are hot for me like this.” He winks at me and then picks up his shake, sliding his feet
under the table to capture mine and pull them towards him so our feet are completely entangled. Cutely
affectionate, like always, and one of his little surprising traits that I adore the most. He’s like an eternal
human cushion that likes to be cuddled up at all times.

“Possibly.” I answer evasively, watching him under my lashes as he slides down into a more casual
seated pose and keeps staring at me. I try to focus on anything else other than the way he’s watching
me eat, and notice an unfamiliar tribal symbol on his collar bone, just above the main part of his chest
work that joins to his sleeve, that I never noticed before. Not surprising really, he’s not ever sat naked in
front of me while my eyes wander freely.

“That’s new, isn’t it?” I point at the little Celtic type line running up his collarbone perfectly, acting like a
border to the rest of his black ink. Looking for a distraction to those pecs and those gazing hazel eyes.

“Yup… I got it a couple months back.” He looks down, running a hand over it and then back at me with
a lazy smile. He has so many tattoos now that unless you really sit and dissect them, then they all sort
of mesh to one large dark sleeve of artwork.

“Does it mean anything?” I ask softly, still digging into my food and looking over all his ink
appreciatively. It’s a part of him I always loved, and love seeing new tattoos on him too. Some have
meanings to him and some don’t. He has a serious addiction to them, much like his brother and yet
they suit him like he was always meant to have them.



“Nope. Just liked this one…. Although this one is my notch of another win.” He points at the little star
among the cluster of stars inside a geometric shape on his inner arm, getting pretty crowded now with
all the wins he has had over the last years. That tug of pride at the little addition, knowing he’s good at
what he does, and he loves it. He is a born fighter, even if that’s not necessarily a good thing; his ability
to be disciplined and focused play a huge part in his success.

“Guess you will be adding another one after this week.” I smile, reminding him that he leaves for LA
tomorrow, for a week-long promo and fight. He is one step away from a championship fight and I
couldn’t be prouder of him. At the same time there is that sinking feeling of dread inside of me because
he will be gone for a full seven days and I don’t want him to go.

“Come to Miami with me?” He gazes at me seriously, reading my mind, eyes on mine with complete
unmovable intent.

“You know I can’t, I have assessments all week. I can’t miss those.” I sigh and for the millionth time,
regret the fact I can’t go with him. Arrick is a born traveler, he loves jumping up and going places
impulsively, and I love it too. He always makes trips exciting and fun, and despite his constant
overthinking, logical personality, he is impulsive when it comes to spontaneous get aways. I catch him
frowning at me and distract him with diverting back to tattoos.

“What does that one say?” I point at one on his forearm, a long line of words crammed small and neatly
within another hectic piece that makes it hard to read from here. Arrick turns his arm and looks at the
neat row of scrawl.

“It’s a Muhammed Ali quote. It says, “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee”.” He puts his arm back down
and carries on eating, throwing me an eyebrow lift to get me to eat too.

“You’re strange.” I giggle and dig into my pancakes once more. Savoring the bite, loving that he did this
for me and filling up inside with so much joyous feeling.



“Well I did get your name on the bottom of my foot too, so guess I am.” He glances up at me with dead
pan seriousness that I cannot judge if it’s a joke or not.

“Wait. What?” I blanche at him in complete open-mouthed disbelief. Little wheels in my head turning,
trying to think back if I have ever looked on the sole of his foot. I cannot recall if I have ever seen a
tattoo there and frown at him suspiciously.

“You know, cos you loved toy story so much, you made me see it like fifty times and you kept calling
me your Woody. So I figured I would let you be my Andy.” He seems completely serious, eating his
food again and glancing my way occasionally with a half-smile that I can’t read.

“Please tell me your kidding.” I drop my fork on my plate and gawp at him steadily, not sure how to feel
about that. I don’t even!

There are no words.

“Why? ... Don’t you think it’s cute that your name is on me. I even made sure it was in your juvenile
handwriting, like a personal Sophie mark. Authentic.” He smiles at me, infuriating cute boy expression
and no tells whatsoever if he is serious, while I’m starting to think he is.

“Noo …. I think it’s weird, and why your foot?” I retort, no longer gooey, emotional, and starting to think
he is an actual moron for something so lame. It’s not cute, it’s weird.

“Because that’s how you claim ownership of your toys. I thought you had that movie committed to
memory?” He sticks more food in his mouth, taps his fork on my plate to remind me to eat and I keep
staring at him.

“You’re not my toy though!” I retort.

“I am now.” He winks dirtily.



“Please tell me your kidding?” I can’t even begin to contemplate the millions of reasons that a guy
having your name on the sole of his foot is neither sexy nor romantic. It’s plain odd. It’s not something I
imagine he would ever do, with any girl. Especially not one who wasn’t even his girlfriend at the time,
and yes, I do see the cuteness in there somewhere, but it’s still a bit, Ughhh…. Lame.

“Why?” He looks innocently surprised.

“It’s weird! On your foot Arrick? That means you’re standing on me every day.” I blurt out, thinking of
how many times he stands on it, every second of every day, sweats in his gym shoes or pushes it up
against furniture where he perches his feet, as though it’s physically me on his foot, and so
disrespectful. I know I’m weird, I never claimed not to be, and my thought process only points it out to
me. Arrick is laughing softly, clearly amused with how I am taking this and not seeing it the way I am at
all.

“Wanna see it?” He grins at me cheekily.

“No. I may hate it so much you might have to cut your foot off… Why would you be so dumb?” I implore
him, raising my palms like I don’t even know who he is sometimes. I don’t want my name to be jammed
into gym shoes and sweated on every day. I can’t imagine anything more yuck and unromantic than
that; like it would actually have an effect on my physical being.

How would I explain his tattoo to friends or future children who thought it was equally weird?

Arrick lifts his leg from under the table and lifts his foot awkwardly, while I try and prepare myself for the
moment of grimace at seeing it and try not to look too distraught. He is crazily flexible, thanks to his
martial arts training, lifting a sexy muscular leg and showing me a completely tattoo free sole of his
foot. Grinning at me like a smug douche bag and winking as though he is pretty much the funniest guy
on the planet. I blanche and then glare at him, so not impressed with him anymore.



“You’re an asshole.” I answer flatly, annoyed, nope, enraged that I fell for it and could not for love nor
money tell he was joking.

When the hell did that happen?

“But yet, not dumb enough to tattoo your name on my foot. You love me though.” He shrugs, smirks
and eats more food as he continues to gaze at me, happy with himself and ability to dupe his innocent,
tired little woman.

“I totally believed you; you are a sucky boyfriend and I don’t think I do anymore.” I pout, throwing him
my best sulky face with attitude. Glaring at him, because he actually suckered me in for once, and I
completely fell for it, like a dumb blonde.

“I’ll get the tattoo to make up for it.” He nudges my feet with his, now both are back on the floor and
continues to smile at me.

Cocky asshole.

“No, you won’t! I don’t want my name kissing any guy that you kick in the face.” I throw back, refusing
to look at him and stuffing my face in complete nonchalance. Digging into my food in a bid to ignore
him and still quietly seething at my own gullible brain.

“Is that why you hated the idea of it? I’ll get it on my butt then.” He laughs, throwing me another childish
wink and I frown harder. His butt may be sexy in so many ways, but I do not want my name
immortalized on his ass for all time.

“So you can sit on me?” Completely outraged this time as I stare at him in disbelief, He has gone from
romantic gorgeous boyfriend, to smug, weird ass in about thirty seconds of conversation.



“I like you kissing my ass.” He laughs naughtily, despite myself, I curb the urge to smile and look at my
food instead, frowning so hard to fight the tugging corners of my mouth.

“I swear it’s conversations like these that make me rethink this whole thing. Sometimes you are like a
five-year-old boy.” I throw my napkin at him, hitting him in the chest and he just continues to look like a
smug ass who think he’s the best comedian on the planet.

“I think you should get my name on your ass, and we can kiss each other’s. Or maybe rub them
together.” He snorts with laughter’s this time, chuckling at his own jokes which makes him supreme
lame head of the century and he just lost all credibility.

“I swear I am done with this.” I sigh heavily and try not to have some sort of eyeroll epidemic, face
aching with the inability to stop a smile creeping out and trying to avoid the game of footsy he has
started under the table.

“Let’s get matching tattoos.” He leans in conspiratorially, trying to hit me with the Hollywood smile and
meeting dead pan nothingness.

“Let’s not…I don’t want a tattoo.” I respond flatly.

“You already have one.” He frowns, eyes scanning me as though he somehow thinks it’s going to jump
up and say, “here I am”. Sometimes I feel like we have an age reversal and it’s moments like this that I
forget we are supposed to have a five year age gap in maturity.

“And whose fault is that? My mom still doesn’t believe you took me, paid for, and picked it! You were
obviously not the good influence everyone thought you were.” I raise my brows and widen my eyes at
him sarcastically, that smile itching to be let loose. He is still sat picking at his food in the semi glow of
the candles and he looks so much younger like this.



“Just branding my girl, staking my claim, and they obviously still see me as the golden boy. Years of
pulling the wool over their eyes.” He gives me a smug smile, the ‘I am not smiling yet I clearly am’, one.
Far too pleased with himself today and I wonder if it has anything to do with what we did in the
bedroom that has him so relaxed and happy.

“Hmmmm. Wait till they find out what you have been doing with me now then! Bet they no longer think
you’re such a good boy after all…. How did we get onto the topic of us getting tattoos?”

He chuckles harder, pleased with his bedroom antics, although I am most definitely glad he isn’t truly a
good boy when it comes to that.

“Because I now have an itching for a new one, thanks to you, and I need to find a good spot for ‘I love
Sophie’ on my body.” He stretches out, dropping his fork and eyes me seriously, I roll my eyes, again.

“Don’t you dare! Do you know how lame it is when girls get their boyfriends name tattooed on them?
You would be worse than lame if you did it, worse than a lame girl.” I point out.

“So somewhere people can’t see it then?” He asks innocently, and I literally want to smack him on the
head.

“Stop it, you’re not even funny. Considering you fight half naked, and all over the TV when you do, then
the only unseen bits are not getting tattooed.” I stomp my foot, missing his toes by millimeters and start
to get agitated with his so called playful joke.

“A little bit funny. I can see you smiling. Are you thinking about the bits the other girls don’t get to see?”
He winks at me again, that mischievous dirty look coming on and I lose the will to live, smile breaking
on my face despite trying so hard not to let it.

God, he makes me so gahhhhhh.



“Pretty sure there are not a whole lot of girls in New York who haven’t, at one time, seen what’s in your
shorts, Arry.” I raise an accusing eyebrow, biting on my lip to kill the grin that is trying to surface. Not
really that bothered that he has a past as a man whore anymore, I now see the benefits.

“Ouch baby. So no to a new tattoo then? Or just no to Sophie in naughty places…. I kinda like the idea
of Sophie in naughty places.” He reaches out for my hand and I bat him away. Looking for a distraction
of any sort to shut him up and leave me be about scarring my skin with another mistake. It’s not that I
don’t like the little black rose on my back and the memories of him holding my hand when I got it, it’s
just I am not really a lover of permanent marks on me. Even if he did tell me I was like a little rose,
beautiful, but came with thorns if you didn’t know how to handle me.

Now I see the symbolism in that.

“What about that one? What does it mean, and please don’t say it’s weird and vague and has
something to do with cartoons?” I point at a symbol on his left pec, giggling at him; off center, near the
middle of his chest, trying to get him back to the previous topic.

I don’t think I have ever asked about that one before, nestled there as though the other art came after.
It stands out because its encircled with borders and tribal patterns yet seems out of place, a different
style entirely. It looks like Japanese symbols, maybe. Arrick looks down and points to the one I am
gesturing, seeing me nod, he frowns and suddenly seems to lose all his joking chill.

“Little Warrior.” He glances at me warily, frowning still and I wonder why that would even be one he
wanted. Or why his mood has suddenly turned cagey and I get that slight wary feeling to my nerves
that he doesn’t really want me to ask. I wonder why. It’s not like it’s another girls name, or maybe it has
something to do with a girl and I feel instantly sick at the thought.

“But you’re not little.” I push, despite my own niggles and look over the mass of muscle of show. He
isn’t exactly short either. My gut is telling me to leave it alone, but I am an idiot and cannot. I want to



know, yet I don’t and now that we’re talking about it, I can’t just say it doesn’t matter.

Damn me, and my dumb head.

Arrick sighs heavily, stares at it for a moment, face unreadable and brows dipped down as though he’s
thinking about what to say. I’m hit with that tremor of dread and wonder if it belongs to a past girlfriend
that I don’t know about, so sure he had it long before Natasha was around.

“It’s not my tattoo……… It’s yours.” Arrick’s face straightens finally, looking serious and a little evasive,
he sits up a little straighter and starts toying with his food, avoiding looking at me. My breath catches in
my throat with that unexpected response and I blink at him, so very still.

“What do you mean it’s mine?” I don’t know if I should be smiling or confused, unsure how to feel or
why he would choose that for me, on his body. He seems to take a long moment of pause, inhaling
slowly before even attempting to answer me. Adding to the nervous tension building inside of me as I
sit staring at him.

“I got it after he was convicted for what he did to you.” Arrick looks uncomfortable, eyes glancing my
way and I put my fork down and really stare at the tattoo again, then at him with absolute disbelief. He
has had it for years and I never thought to ask before, but I don’t get why he’s never told me this. Why
he would never tell me this.

“Why?” I blink at him unsurely, tears prickling my eyes as something chokes me in the base of my
throat. Happiness sliding away to something deeper, painful, yet not.

“As a reminder…. To always keep my little warrior with my heart, close to me always, so I can protect
her.” His eyes come to mine, the hazel color flecked with green and heavily emotional too. I know he’s
being completely honest, and it makes my heart ache so much more. A tear gathers in my eye and rolls
down my cheek as the realization hits me that he didn’t do this for me, he did this for him, because I



meant so much. It’s huge, to know that even back then I had this much of an impact on him. I was still a
kid and going through the worst ordeal of my life.

“I’m your little warrior?” I repeat numbly, not sure why he even sees me that way. Overcome with the
fact that he’s had this there all along and I can’t stop the tears rolling down my face at the fact he loves
me this much. He always loved me this much.

“I watched you stand up every day in the trial and face him head on Sophie, not once did you ever let
him see you break. Even if after, you cried in my arms for hours on end. It was hell on earth to watch
you look him in the face and tell them what he did, it was beyond brutal, so I couldn’t imagine what it
was like for you. You were so strong, it was you who made it all stop, you who made sure he got what
he deserved…. You taught me the real meaning of being a warrior… You taught me that nothing can’t
be overcome, even if it hurts like hell, and you sometimes need to breakdown to keep going. No matter
how many scars it leaves on you, you kept fighting. I have never been prouder in my life.” He focuses
on me, eyes soft, tone softer and I break, gasping as a sob hits me in the chest. The full weight of what
all of this means. How intense his feelings must have been all these years and he still hadn’t even
known it.


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