The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

Natasha’s POV

~ Life after Sophie ~

I watch Arrick push his food around his plate distractedly, eyes on what he’s doing, yet he seems completely detached from the here and now. We’re in a busy restaurant, the food is good, the company not so much; he has barely said two words the whole time we have been here, and he has had about four beers with dinner so far.

Arrick never drinks excessively, normally, but I guess this sums up our life of the past three weeks. I’m irritated, upset but I am trying to keep the pleasantries going. I am trying so hard to not let it get to me, to keep a smile on my face, a positive outlook that we can get through this bump in the road of our relationship, but he makes it so hard.

I try not to watch him too much as I eat my own food and give up on small talk. His nods and ‘hmm’ responses make me want to throw my wine glass at him, and I am trying to avoid all forms of nagging or bickering while things between us are a little fragile. He’s been a vacant, distant nightmare, since I caught him with his face glued to that trampy little bitch, he calls his best friend. I’m glad she’s gone; she has been nothing but an eternal thorn in my side for two years of our life together, always there, like a third wheel, monopolizing his attentions and getting between us, but Arrick being Arrick, you can’t say anything about it, criticize their friendship in any way. You can never criticize Sophie, for all that is holy, it is the one topic that makes the dick side of Arrick come out to play.

I hate her with a passion, I always did. He doesn’t like clingy or jealous girls, abhors them.... that is unless it’s her and she is disgustingly both. A jealous and immature, clingy, needy little girl, that I really never thought would ever have a chance of being the whore who entrapped him with sex.

It completely hit me from the left side, the last thing I ever expected. She always seemed so much like an annoying bratty sister to him; and the way he was with her, the affections which drove me crazy, the little in jokes and touchy feely between them. I hated it, but I never thought it was something I should worry about. I never thought that he would be capable of cheating on me at all, never with her. That child!

He isn’t the type, and I guess I can’t really blame him for looking for sexual gratification in some slut that was only too willing to give. Looking back with open eyes it’s obvious her puppy eyes for him were never innocent. I don’t really like sex, and he does. It’s not that he isn’t good at it, it’s I don’t happen to like it at all, and even though he has given me more than my fair share of orgasms, I just do not hunger for it the way he does. Hate the messiness, the awkwardness, having him face to face and wanting to make out and lay hands on me, in really inappropriate places. Wants to do things with his mouth, that I find wholly shocking. The sweatiness, squirminess and full on suffocating aspect of sex, embarrassing postures, and noises and how long it takes him to actually finish.

I always thought that I would get married before I ever had sex with anyone, after all that is how I was raised, but then I had a teen boyfriend who pushed me into it, and it’s ruined for me, for an eternity. Sex still feels a little bit sinful, very dirty, and shameful when we have it, and I’m holding out hope that after we get married, I’ll lose the guilt and maybe enjoy it a little bit more.

Arrick used to get a little bit dominant, in the beginning of our relationship and sex was all he seemed to think about, drunk usually, as he seemed to party a lot more back then. I just felt pressured to play along, act like I liked it rougher, harder, constant. I didn’t. I would rather read a book, bake a cake, or clean my apartment. He never seemed satisfied after we were done, ready to go again only short hours later and I used to wonder if all men wanted to constantly do that kind of thing.

Over the years he just seemed to accept that I wasn’t really into it, and as long as I gave him sex every so often, in bed, with him on top, then we never brought it up again. I preferred it that way and I learned how to push it along to make him finish quicker. Lack of it certainly cut down his start to finish time, especially if I used my hand first and got him along a bit before allowing him to penetrate. Messy, awkward, but quick, and then he would let me alone to sleep.

start to get physical again. Right now, we seem to be plodding along and he hasn’t tried to initiate

me, let alone have sex, for almost two months, even before our breakup. Maybe longer, I lost count when we first hit a rough patch, and I cannot remember the last time he kissed me, with some meaning. It’s been a month of no Sophie, and now I know

already putting his jacket on. He hasn’t even given me time to finish, or even seems to acknowledge that I have not done eating. I stare at

so much. He is the one who should be groveling to me for what he has done to us yet

most of the time. Closed up, internalized and emotionally blank. It’s worse than it ever used to be, but he’s always had this way about him. It’s one of the things I always liked. That he wasn’t overly emotional or needy as a man, didn’t paw at me excessively, he didn’t burden me with his problems or overshared all his personal stuff. He just takes care of them, on his own, like a man should.

I catch him scanning the screen with that infuriating frown on his face. He does this about a hundred times a day, since he made her leave; he doesn’t know I am aware of it, but I am. It drives me insane. Always checking his god damn cell, obsessively, always looking disappointed when he picks it up. He’s so transparent in that moment and it riles a rage in

my temper expertly and remain unchanged outwardly. Why can’t he just forget about her? Let it go? Why can’t he focus on the fact that he should be making me

with him. This isn’t the way to mend things; by being short with him, by being snappy. He hates that, he is more than likely to walk

throws money on the table and turns to leave. My temper flares at this complete lack of manners. He normally has impeccable manners and I look around at other diners, to see if anyone notices how blatantly rude he is being. I sigh with relief at the lack of eyes aimed our way and follow him with my bag and coat at speed, to catch up, trying to push down my annoyance

as I come level with him and crunch my hands into fists when I see him scrolling his cell again, looking at his call list. The knot of anger and upset deep down, moving up my chest like burning hot coals, and for the first time I want

I see him for the last month. Short time together, where he barely speaks about anything much,

at all; what he saw in her. She was a high maintenance, spoiled child, who tantrummed and stropped, who always demanded her own way and made life a strain. It’s like

likes so much and focus on being more like his brother. Jake has it sorted out, marriage,

his hand up to hail a cab. He doesn’t look my way, so I continue, holding my breath adding some flirty tones to my voice, lowering

I offered it. Not that I did very often. This is the first time I have

great, I want to go to training and go home to sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He glances at me fleetingly, not really even trying to sound apologetic, and goes

who is

snap at him; it comes out of nowhere and my voice waivers. I regret it instantly, losing my cool and baring my

did? What he’s doing

of it, to move on, but he’s just not trying to meet me halfway.