The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

Chapter 201

I pick up a piece of fruit from the bowl and look anywhere but at her, even with my eyes elsewhere, glancing around the kitchen, I can feel the icy glares aimed my way and try to ignore it. All my own fault; I made her feel threatened, and now she’s trying to make sure it goes no further. It won’t.... I’m not that kind of an asshole. She has a prickly fight in her, it’s probably the reason she has survived this long. A little savage fierce under the surface of my quiet little warrior.

“You redecorated?” I ask my mom, looking for anything else to talk about while blondie is trying to kill me with laser eyes and seriously beating the shit out of whatever she’s mixing. I think I maybe helped kill a cake. I resist the urge to trail my eyes back to her, even though it’s almost instinctual to do so.

“Nope... Just changed a few accessories.” My mom smiles back at me then spies some spillage beside Sophie’s bowl, hands me a wet cloth without hesitation; a big hint I should clean it up. I don’t exactly think my mom realizes that Sophie is sending out a huge ‘STAY THE FUCK AWAY’ sign my way. She’s too used to kids naturally gravitating to me and instantly trusting my calm vibes.

I put down the apple and make a play to clean up the mess, without getting too much closer, trying to keep my distance by stretching rather than stepping nearer. I don’t exactly have a choice while my mom is oblivious to Sophie’s avoidance of me. I barely get near when she lifts the bowl and moves further away, holding her breath subtly and avoiding looking at me.

I feel deflated instantly, sucky. I managed to make her widen her ‘no go zone’ from six feet to eight.... just by being an ass.

Well done, Arry.

She waits until I hand it back to my mom and get further away before she returns to her safe spot and my eyes are instantly drawn back to her. Like an itch I have to keep scratching and it’s making me feel like a weird stalker. Even lacking conversation, lacking eye contact, I just want to know her. I want to

know her story, how she got here, if she’s staying. I wonder if this is the kid Jake mentioned in passing when he called me a couple months back and swallow hard.

I hope not. He said she was a runaway, on the streets, from a lifetime of physical, mental, and sexual abuse at her own father’s hands and had found her way to some sort of hostel alone. If she is the same kid.... Fuck.

I glance her over again and can’t see the connection. I imagined that girl would be skinny, malnourished, closed tight, jumpy and obvious about her pain. Like most of the kids my mom helped. This one is nothing like that. You have to look a hell of a lot deeper to see it. I only do because I’ve spent a lifetime around kids like her, helping my mom with her work.

The phone starts ringing, and my mom takes it from the wall, utters a hello to my aunt, then gestures two minutes to the girl and leaves the room. Taking the phone with her as she chats in her native tongue and leaves us to it. I see the panic flare across that face for a fleeting moment, and realize she isn’t too happy to be alone with me. Not that I blame her; my mom is so used to me helping out at the center, leaving me with kids, she forgets I’m a stranger to this one. Although kid isn’t the right word for her, she’s sort of in-between.... not a kid, yet not a woman either. I guess she got old enough to run and did so. Run from whoever was hurting her. I can’t even imagine what that must have been like. She looks too fragile to go it alone.

“Huntsbergers, huh? So, you’re Leeloo’s new sister?” I try to relax her; show I am no threat in any way. All thoughts of anything else are gone. I don’t want to scare her, or date her.... I want to help her feel a little bit safer around me. There’s a weird need in me to make her understand than I am friend, not foe and I mean her no harm in any way.

She shrugs, eyes still down and I frown and chew my lip. Frustrated at myself. I pushed her further into herself and now I want her to come out and talk to me. Not an easy task with someone as defensively closed shut as her. I’m clearly the wrong gender to do any sort of emotional probing or bonding and

more than aware she probably read my first hints of ‘hey, sexy’ when I first laid eyes on her. I lean forward to grab my apple, letting my eyes skim the table to relieve her from my weird and obvious staring, and don’t see her move around until it bumps and rolls out of reach and realize she’s banged into it in a bid to get by me.

I dip to catch the fruit impulsively, but so does she, and then she panics when I get too close. Standing up and seeing I’m almost face to face with her and she backs up against the table, hands up, breathing heavily and curling into herself defensively. It’s a weirdly close and intimate moment in which I am practically within kissing distance and our body heat is radiating towards one another that I can even smell her scent; a coconut sweet and fruity perfume. For a second, that same weird moment of sucker punched pause takes over and I still, staring at that set of blue eyes, utterly mesmerized by them. She has a crazy ability to immobilize me and it’s unnerving as hell.

I realize her posture is stiff and kinda heart wrenching, in the way she’s defensively holding her palms up. It’s like she’s waiting on me to punch her in the face or grab her in some way and it cuts me to the core. That wide eyed panic that she’s trying not to show, the shallow breaths and slight tremble. It hits me in the gut, that she is this afraid of me getting close to her, that she thinks I may do something to her. She’s completely terrified in this second, skin drained white, eyes huge and wounded, and I don’t think one girl has ever made me feel so god damn fucked up in one look, or so guilty with it.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to get so close. I’m not going to touch you.” I don’t know how to react. I lift my hands to show her I won’t, holding them up so my open palms face hers, but I keep them well back, and move slowly, steadily away; unsure what else to do. I hate how she’s looking at me right now. She’s poised to run fast and far, and I know stopping her will only make this worse. My mom will beat the shit out of me for this.

“I need to go home.” she sounds so small, it hurts. Voice shaking, soft, almost inaudible. I can’t get my eyes off that pretty face or wonder at her ability to make me feel like the shittiest human on the planet. I

think there’s a good chance she will haunt me for an eternity with how she looks right now. I can never understand what makes a guy do this to a girl. Especially his own kid. To someone like her.

“I’ll go...You stay. You obviously were in the middle of something with my mom.” I hesitate, aching to give her a hug and tell her it’s all going to be okay. She’s with people who’ll take care of her and never let anyone hurt her again. I have to admit, that thought sort of weirds me out, as I am not one for touchy feely bullshit or overly affectionate touching of random people I am not related too. I rarely hold the hands of the girls I date, let alone hug them.

She looks at me like I have two heads, that angelic face turning from fear to a frown; if it wasn’t following that look, I would smile at how quickly it changed and how crazily cute it is. She’s adorable as a frowner, and it seems to expel all fear in a second. Like her little inner attitude trumps any sort of vulnerable and her feisty side is coming out to protect her. I like her even more.

“Put your hands down... that’s lame.” She nods at my raised palms, sounding stroppier than scared and I admire her ability to recover quickly. I guess it’s all part of how she got through life. She’s a survivor. Our little angel is a fighter and I can almost bet there’s a fire in their somewhere.

“I guess it is. You just looked like for a second you might want to take a low blow at my family jewels.” I lower them, still moving back and grin, at just how beautiful she actually is when she forgets to be defensive for a second. A little hint of another girl in there, maybe one with a sense of humor and little bit of sass that I like. You can’t take that out of a survivor.

She is admittedly, one of the most stunning girls I have ever met in my life; she is exactly my type in every way, in looks and personality. If only she was maybe a few years older.

“I really will go. Just need to grab a can of coke from the refrigerator behind you... you know, or you could, so I stay over here.” It’s a lame delay tactic, but I am not ready to go. I like her, beyond the initial

first attraction. There’s something about her that I can’t put my finger on, beyond how pretty she is, how alluring and I can’t seem to leave.

“You don’t need to go; it’s your mom’s house. I can just come back another time.” She glances at the refrigerator and moves to get me a soda. Watching her movements; she’s not graceful and swan like as most girls her age are, but it somehow suits her. I can imagine her being a girl who trips on nothing and can play a mean game of baseball. She has an air of tomboy, even though she’s dressed like any other teen girl from around here. I wonder how she would hold up if I took her snowboarding next time we all go, or even abseiling. I wonder if she would be a girl who would love the same things I do.

“I’m home for a week, it’s cool. I can get out of your way and leave you to bore yourself to tears with my mom. Just leave me some cake as thanks before you go.” I wait until she slides the can across the table and gets back, before I reach for it. This time she doesn’t move as far away, and I have a little internal hooray and mental high five at that tiny inch of progress. Eight feet, back to six. It’s huge. She’s relaxing a tiny little bit around me, allowing her armor to slide a bit more.

“You don’t want to eat the cakes I make...... I kill everything I touch. I am not a good cook.” She blinks at me seriously, a slight smirk lingering under that pouted mouth of deadpan and I see it again, hints of funny, hints of sassy. The eyes narrow slightly, a devilish glint of cheeky in the depths and I know that given time to heal and come out of herself, she probably has a killer sense of humor and wicked sarcasm. On the dry side, matching her prickly fire.

God, I want to know this girl.

I was always a sucker for a girl with feistiness... dry humor, and sarcasm... like Leila. I see Leila in her! Another sad story behind a girl who is stronger than her scars. Leila is one of my closest friends, like a sister to me, and all the things I love Leelou for, seem to be present in this one.

“I have a stomach made of steel, if I can handle my roommate’s attempts, then pretty sure yours won’t kill me. Besides, I kinda want to see how bad it can be. I’m intrigued now that you said you kill everything you touch.” I smile at her impulsively and get an instant glare in response that somehow makes me more amused than deflated. “You really don’t trust me, do you?” I can’t stop smiling at her; she brings it out in me with those ferocious looks and hateful furrows of her brow. It’s like a kitten trying to attack you. As much as I want to respect her boundaries and leave the poor girl alone, she has me hopelessly addicted to wanting her to talk to me.

“I don’t know you... I don’t trust anyone I don’t know.” She’s appraising me, boring into me with tropical blue eyes and I let her. They are trained on me, eating me up and picking me apart, trying to suss me out. I don’t want her to see a threat. I want her to know she can trust me... that my intentions are pure. I want to earn her friendship, get below the surface that she lets the world see and get to know the real her. She’s complex as hell and maybe only sixteen or seventeen in age, but that mind and soul are way older. I can just tell that she’s smart, savvy, more aware than she lets on and trying to suss every one of my layers out as I evaluate her too.

“Clever girl... It’s not a bad way to be. Earning trust happens to be something I’m good at though.” And I aim to win hers.

“Doubt I’ll be around long enough for that to ever happen.” She responds flatly. Warning me off, cutting me down in any way she knows how, to make it clear that I don’t get close. I’m not even phased one little bit. The best things in life are those that take a lot of work to achieve... I have a feeling she won’t be any different, and I am so ready for something worthwhile in my life. It doesn’t have to end in sex and love. Friends mean everything to me. I get the feeling she would be the kind of addition in life that you take in any way you can get her. A girl who keeps you on your toes, an eternal challenge, a layered puzzle you can never fully solve. Crazily independent and stubborn, determined to rely on only herself. I’m so suckered right now.

“I should make the most of a new face in the street then... You could always come hang out with my friends and me, go for pizza, or whatever.” I say it casually, hoping it’s not too soon, but I want it out there. An olive branch, a hand that says we can maybe be friends. Making it clear that I want more of this, more of her presence in the future. She gawps at me like I’m insane, and I curb the urge to grin. She has a way of making angry, hateful looks, irresistibly cute. I’m not fazed by them at all, in fact, I could see it being something I deliberately try to ignite, just so she looks at me that way every time. She’s freakin adorable in her angry kitty way.

“Yeah. I don’t think so, you’re too old. I don’t like boys.” She answers snottily, furrowing her brows and making a clear show of indifferent disinterest. Looking back down at the table with a big ‘back off, buddy’.

Fear? Maybe, especially if it was sexual. She needs careful handling.

I’m not going to give up! I have to see those blue eyes again. I need to break through that wall.

“I’m not that old. You have to be what? Sixteen. I mean you look around that age, maybe seventeen. I’m not asking for a date, I just mean to hang with people you might make friends with; you know, with being new here.” I watch her stir the shit out of what is left of the cake mix and hope to god she doesn’t intend baking it. Pretty sure all the flour has probably glooped by now, from overworking it. That will bake up to be one hell of a flat and heavy cake. I thought my mom was teaching her to cook, not how to kill all edible ingredients.

Well, she did say she can’t cook.

“I’m fourteen, and I don’t need more friends. I met some kids at school that are okay. I prefer to just do things by myself.” She almost snaps back at me this time, offended, I guess. I blanch at her age admission and do a double take. There is no way in hell she is that young, I don’t believe it. She’s got too much of a wise look in her eyes and she’s clearly further on in puberty than most her age. I have

never seen a fourteen-year-old who looks like she does or has the curves she does. It does explain the vulnerable side though and the angelic look she can pull off if she is still pretty much a kid.

Jesus Christ. That could have been messy if I kept pursuing a less than pure mind set early on. Definitely no dates... ever............. For like maybe five years.

“Wow, really? Shit. You definitely look older. Look I’m not angling for anything... I’m not like that. Even if you were sixteen, or whatever. I really did mean just pizza, just hanging out.” I forget myself for a second, blown away with really trying to see her as that young and move forward without thinking, while my mind is busy whirring in disbelief.

Catching sight of her whole body freezing is like a slap in the face and I back off again. I really need to remember this girl likes her space and not to cross it. I hate seeing her backing into defensive and I have to remind myself that she is different from the girls I know. She’s special and requires kid gloves.

“I don’t like strangers, or crowds, or pizza.” She answers quickly, avoiding my eye again and I sigh. She’s going to be a tough nut to break through if I do want to forge some sort of friendship. Charm and smiles aren’t going to mean a thing to her! I’m flying blind with a girl that isn’t swayed by good DNA, money, chat up lines, or even the normal witty Carrero charm. This one is going to test all my limits and skills if I want her to be a regular in my circle of friends. I’ll have to find a completely new approach and do the gently, gently, pushing all thoughts of anything else out of this head for good. Nôvel(D)rama.Org's content.

“I get the feeling that whatever I suggest will get a rebuff, and now I’m starting to sound like a desperate weirdo trying to make a date. Look, offers always there if you get bored. When I’m home.... which is every month.... then whatever. We’re neighbors, and you’re now one of my closest friend’s sisters. Leila and I go way back. I’m just being friendly.” I lean back against the counter behind me and smile, brain clicking on the fact Leila might be a good tool to get her into trusting me, meeting her gaze finally with those eyes that are becoming a little bit addictive. She narrows them on me, still glaring, still

the cutest thing I have ever seen and the warm feeling in my lower stomach tugs at me. She gets under my skin; she has a power that most girls don’t. Heck! No girls ever get under my skin.

“I don’t need friendly.” She points out. Extremely serious.

“Everyone could use friends, even just one.” I lift a brow in a bid to appeal to her softer side and it falls flat.

“I don’t need any, not even one.” She drops the spoon in the bowl and finally puts that poor mix to rest. Body language stiff, attitude still a little frosty.

RIP cake batter.

“I’m not just any ‘one’.” I grin at her, coaxing softly and almost high five myself when I see the tiny hint of a plausible smile at the very corner of that sweet little mouth. The first crack in her armor finally showing through properly. It’s a worthwhile reward, one that gives me internal flutters, and a little hint that she has a nice smile.

God, I want to see her smile. I bet it’s beautiful and the best kind of reward.