The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

I skirt his car and move to get in quickly, inhaling heavily to calm my rattled nerves, I slide in and put on my belt while he stows my bags in the rear then comes to join me inside. He looks me over for a second, a hint of sheer bewilderment, before starting the car. The frown and the sudden silence I know only too well. He is mulling it over and I can’t tell what conclusion he has come to. I also know him that if he doesn’t like a subject, he drops it fast and moves on quickly. I already know that’s what he is about to do.

“To the Hamptons,” he finally states as he maneuvers us back into traffic, not really looking at me. He shifts in his seat to get comfy, adjusts his mirror and fiddles with a couple of dials on the stereo without looking my way. Fidgeting is something he does rarely. Okay, never, and it only super sensitizes my already frayed nerves. That bite of anxiety and I take a long, slow, deep inhale to calm myself. I hate that these last few minutes of conversation has weirded him out this way.

We‘ve barely gotten up to speed when his ringtone shrills through the car, cutting through the tense atmosphere like a welcome alarm. He flicks something on the panel beside the wheel, hitting the dash button to answer it on speaker without checking caller ID, and carries on watching the road.

“Hello, Arrick Carrero speaking.” He answers brightly in his normal business tone. I relax back in my chair, trying to push all the tension forming inside of me away, and try to forget the last five minutes by brushing it off as nothing. This is a four-hour road trip, and we have enough to get through before I get home without starting out with awkwardness and strange ‘joojoo’ between us.

and far too prim. Like a nineteen fifties reject who dresses like a Stepford wife. We’re not that far apart in age, but she acts like she’s my mom’s age at times and she seems to make him forget that he is

to behave, knowing that sarcasm is a swift reaction. Not that he can ever stop the crap

you on your way home already?” Over the phone she has the sort of sweet girly voice that is used in cartoons for romantic heroines and Disney princesses. I have to curb the urge to eye roll, picturing that bright curly brown hair and elfin-like pale face. I can almost see her in her baking apron decorating cupcakes as birds clean the kitchen and I slump down in my seat to rest my chin on my hand

as he effortlessly controls his sporty car. I, on the other hand, am squirming to get comfy and trying to ignore the urge to cancel his call via the middle button, just so I can kill that shrill voice. My stomach aches with the sheer

you get back. I just left something at your place, but it can wait. I will miss you, Darling.” That nauseating

Bitch!