The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

I’m walking home from Emma’s when my phone starts ringing in my pocket. Pulling it out and seeing Arrick’s name, I let it ring and just slide it back in place. His calls have been getting more frequent, with repeated texts to get me to answer him all day. Trying my hardest to ignore him; I can’t face talking to him right now. I know he will only repeat the same things he said in my bedroom, and I really cannot face it.

My heart is in no way ready for another rejection from him, and I’ve been trying everything I can to keep him out of my head. I breathe a sigh of relief when it stops ringing, knowing he won’t leave a voicemail because he has a weird aversion to those, and I’m hoping he doesn’t send another text. It’s obvious he’s finding cutting ties hard, since he’s been my best friend for years, and this is completely new for us. Even in the past two years when he went to the city, we still had contact if we wanted it. I’ve never cut him off and ignored him, and my frequent drunken calls meant he never really had space to miss me at all.

I can’t deny that I miss him too, but it’s just never going to let me move on if I fold now.

I know that’s all this is. He’s missing me because he can’t get hold of me. In time, he’ll get used to it and then he won’t notice anymore. I have to protect my heart! Read enough ‘how to get over him’ websites this week to know the only way for me to move on is complete radio silence in all ways. Severing ties and giving myself the space to accept and breathe.

My cell beeps with a new text, despite hoping he wouldn’t, and I can’t stop myself from looking.

Sophs, talk to me, we need to talk about this. x

I shove the phone back down into my pocket and gulp down the sudden pang of emotion that hits me hard again. I hate that he’s a decent guy, that despite all of this, he is trying to do the right thing and smooth this over. Find some sort of middle ground for us.

it’s deep. My behavior was like a neon sign for months that I was falling apart without him and I can’t ignore that Natasha is in his life and will probably be forever. He never dated women long term before her, choosing a life like Jake, and playing the field a lot before he settled down. Arrick

scooping it out impulsively I look down, seeing his name once more and frown that he’s being more persistent this time. He rarely repeat calls in a row. Checking the time, I realize he should be in his changing room for his fight tonight and shouldn’t be trying to think about anything but that. He should be focused on getting ready, his hands wrapped in bandages and gloves, and psyching himself

superstitious about it and knowing him, stressed out that I haven’t. I bite my lip anxiously. It’s such a stupid ritual, but I have no clue if he really needs it that much. I know he and Jake are super weird about good luck stuff when it comes to sports, and I find myself standing and staring at my phone, really contemplating this. Wondering if by not wishing him luck I somehow jinx him into losing, ruining his undefeated record he’s worked so hard on. It would explain his constant calling if he really is that anal about

minds, I quickly type out a text, hoping it will stop him calling and

your

just won’t stop trying to reach

shithead while doing it and hating the way my hand and insides tremble and ache as I do. I honestly feel like I’m stabbing him in

feel sick to my stomach at taking such cruel and drastic action, but I’m determined to put this pain behind me. It’s like severing my own limb, and tears sting my eyes, doubt filling my head. I stand for a moment staring at his name on the screen, my thumb crossing the text, the picture of him and me making duck face

***

front of the mirror in the salon, while the stylist lifts my hair up at various heights behind me, a look of calculation on her face as she tries to decide what I should

bob, or a pixie cut, would add some maturity to your face. This long hair does nothing but baby you.” The woman gestures behind me and I shrug with indecision. Watching as she pulls it up to simulate a bob and I can see what she means. With the

bob would look sexy as hell on that bone structure.” A smooth English accent comes out from behind us, as a slim redhead slinks into view, picking up a strand of my hair and admires it in the mirror beside me. “Definitely a bob, collarbone length and super high at the back. You know, sassy, classy, and sure to make the boys wink and all that. Edgy, yet super smoking hot.” She paws over my hair, narrowed dazzling eyes, scanning my blonde