The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

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.

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,

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

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

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

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

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

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

my life; she is exactly my type in every way, in looks and personality. If

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

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

wait until she slides the can across the table and gets back, before I reach for it. This time she doesn’t move

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

want to

stronger than her scars. Leila is one of my closest friends, like a sister to me, and

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

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

to be. Earning trust happens to be something I’m good at though.” And I

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

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

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

was

give up! I have to see those