“Pretty sure we have, more than once. Maybe you were just too drunk to remember. I carried you to
bed twice when you stayed here, after a party. Couldn’t trust any of the guys not to climb in with you
and make a play for something more, so you slept with me.” I stare at him in disbelief, trying to recall
any time I have ever woken up in his bed and seem to remember hazy memories of doing so once or
twice, but always alone. I just assumed he let me use his bed and slept elsewhere. It feels kind of nice,
in a warm weird way, to know that I have actually slept with him. That he took care of me that way and
shared a bed without even knowing I had. My heart expands with affection, appreciating him with a
definite smile and losing all the last ounces of shyness.
Still my Arry after all.
“Always the gentleman.” I giggle, toying with his shoe with the toe of mine still, distracted by the motion,
and happier that we are being more like us, that even after all this I can find my way back to normal
with him. He slides his hand under my chin as he pulls me up to look at him. I inhale sharply, faltering in
my reaction at this intimate movement that catches me off guard. He ponders me for a long moment,
eyes flickering all over my face slowly before he settles on my eyes and I get butterflies in response.
Does he really not know what he does to me?
“It’s my friend’s birthday tonight, we’re going to a club in town, do you want to come with me? If you
don’t then I won’t stay out late. I don’t plan on drinking much as I have training first thing again.” His
question completely disarms me, coming out of nowhere and I hesitate for a moment as it sounds like
he’s asking me on a date. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder why he isn’t taking Natasha;
they have the same friends.
“You sure you trust me to come out getting drunk with you?” I smirk at him, batting away the questions
and doubts, and trying to take this at face value.
“Well, it might make a change getting drunk with you, rather than showing up to collect you after the
damage is done.” Arrick smiles back and I screw my nose up at his face, poke his cheek, and reply with
‘HA HA’.
Ever witty and just has to poke fun at that crap.
Good one.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you really drunk in a long time.” I point out, more than aware that apart from
being moderately tipsy at family parties, and even his own in the past couple of years, he has remained
sober for as long as I can remember.
“That’s because I grew up, I don’t hit it like I used to, and I can’t be assed with hangovers anymore.
Plus, I train most days so it’s not worth my while if it affects my fighting form.” Arrick is still locked onto
my face, those eyes watching every flicker of emotion on me like a hawk, homed in on its prey. It’s a
little unnerving, but his hand is no longer cupping my chin, instead, he’s moved to playing with the
fingers on my loosely hanging hand, pulling my pointy finger between his and running a thumb over my
manicured nail.
“I have a couple of new dresses I haven’t worn out yet. Guess it’s a date.” I beam, trying my hardest to
ignore the way his warm hands around my fingers feel, how even a tiny little fidgety act of tenderness,
turns me into a puddle of mush. My smile immediately drops when I realize what I said out loud, eyes
widening warily at him and notice he’s smiling at my reaction to my own faux pas.
“I knew what you meant. Stop being so sensitive about this or it will get weird. We’re avoiding weird,
remember?” He leans down and bops his forehead against mine. Moving in a little too closely for my
liking, his mouth too enticing and I move back, prodding him in the chest playfully to myself breathing
space.
“Better not take me then.” I giggle cheekily, caught by his outstretched hand on my wrist as he yanks
me back to him, oblivious to how much I am trying to avoid this sort of closeness, for my own sanity.
Arrick shifts his gaze to my hair, letting my arm go and picks up a dark strand from beside my cheek
gently, twiddling it in his fingers with a serious expression running across that gorgeous face.
“Are you ever going to make this light again? I miss it being blonde; I miss you looking like my
Sophabelle.” He studies my face, a flicker of something in the depths, maybe a pang of reminiscence
and I’m hit by a jolt in my stomach that puts me back into my previous shyness.
“Depends.... Are you still buying me a sundae, Massive Douchebag?” I raise a brow his way,
uneasiness firing up sarcasm in a bid to lighten the heaviness of the moment.
And boy does this feel heavy right now.
“Thought it was overrated?” He interjects and gives me a cute wink back. Leaning in again with another
gaze that sends me into overload.
“So are you, but I still occasionally enjoy indulging.” I smirk smartly, impressed with my quick retort, all
the while trying to move back subtly. I squeal when he bends down and hoists me over his shoulder
effortlessly, for the second time, with lightning speed that has me squirming and fighting and yelping
when he smacks my ass hard. Zero qualms about doing it.
I rub my butt where it smarts, cursing internally and scowling at him from my angle, the heat rising from
where he struck it and shove the back of his head with my palm in retaliation.
“Asshole.” I throw at him, screwing up my face in annoyance.
“Brat! Keep it up; I can do this all day, Huffy pants. I can bench press four of you, Sophs.”
I slump down his back in complete defeat, getting an eyeful of that hot Carrero rear and smack him
back hard enough to make my palm sting. He slightly tenses in reaction, and I get a sense of
satisfaction. Smug at retaliating for once.
Guess he never saw that one coming!
“Hit me, I’ll smack you back.” I tease immaturely, sounding like a five-year-old kid as he walks us
forward towards the lounge. Before I can languish in my conquest and rejoice in my achievement, he
throws me onto the sofa in the most ungraceful and almost aggressive way, so I land flat on my back
with a yelp. I bounce slightly on the padded surface, arms splayed and legs still following as he leans
over the back, where he’s standing and flashes a grin at me.
“Careful, Sophs. Some guys are actually into that.” He winks, ruffles my hair, tweaks my nose, and
saunters off towards his room with a smirk. I don’t even have time to react. “I’m going for a nap. Try not
to burn the house down or blow up my Xbox in the meantime. We can go for ice cream later. If you
need food, use a takeout service as we both know you can’t cook for shit, Mimmo. There’s money in
my desk in the study.” He stops at his bedroom door as I’m still watching him from my angle on the
couch, unable to really tear my gaze from those strong legs or pert ass from down here.
Well, I do have an uninterrupted view, and it’s clearly at the right height.
“Yes, sir.” I mock salute him. Unable to think up anything witty when my eyeline is trained on fighter’s
ass.
I mean really, who has that sort of will power?
“Party is at seven, I have no plans to go anywhere else until then, apart from on a sundae hunt, so
easy day for me. Guess you can amuse yourself for a couple of hours and let me sleep.” He turns
towards me, smiles at me lazily and rubs his face; it’s only now I can see how utterly exhausted he
looks. There’s barely a dark circle or even any hint of fatigue really, just wide pupils and a hazy look in
those eyes and that little tilt up of his brows in the center he gets when he needs to sleep badly.
“Guess so.” I roll onto my side on the couch and reach for the remote, waving it at him, and then
narrow my focus with great satisfaction when he turns that ‘ten plus’ scoring butt my way once more
and casually walks into his bedroom.
Damn.
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