Chapter 16

Arrick’s sat on the couch looking equally sparkly and clean this morning, I guess he used the shower in the spare room seeing as I was hogging his, and is dressed in a white tee that fits a little too well over black jeans. He has on black socks, but no shoes, and is sitting focused on his phone texting while he props his heels on the coffee table, looking like a kid himself like this. He smiles up at me when he sees me.

“You look better, less crime scene massacre and more innocent little Sophabelle.” He pats the seat next to him and I notice the smoothie on the table beside his coffee. He always used to make me a morning smoothie when I stayed here, as he knows I am not a morning coffee drinker in the least. I can tell by the color that it’s banana and strawberry, my favorite. I beam his way, giddy on all that makes me happy today, now that the shower got me out of my grumpy ass morning mood.

“Thanks for the ego boost.” I walk over and slump beside him, pulling at my skirt to cover the expanse of legs on show. I may not be overly tall but for some reason, I have always had long legs that seem much longer when I wear something short. It makes even moderate length skirts look a little risky on me, and I am more aware of the disapproving glance he casts on them.

“Natasha is coming over to make us breakfast,” he states flatly and continues texting. Her, I guess. Who else would have him homed in on his phone like a reject and ignoring my sparkling company?

“Why?” I pout, that inner annoyance creeping up like it always does when she’s involved. I like this new ‘No Natasha’ atmosphere and having him all to myself for once.

“Because she won’t see me for a few days while I take you home, she never saw me last night at all, and she wants to check on you. Make sure you’re okay, and because she’s sweet and this is something she wants to do.” Arrick answers me with that edgy tone. The one which screams ‘Yes I know you dislike my girlfriend, live with it’. He carries on with whatever he’s typing, speed tapping like a pro.

I roll my eyes and pull the smoothie towards me. Biting down the urge to say something sarcastic in relation to her and think better of it. He has zero sense of humor when it comes to Miss. Starched Pants. and I have only hostility when it comes to talking about her.

“Well, hope she can cook pancakes because that’s what I want.” I gulp the best smoothie I have had in a long time and exhale dreamily when I get that creamy aftertaste. He put an ice cream scoop or two in, just for me. Despite always moaning at me about how much crap I eat and my lack of healthy diet. He really is the ‘bestest’ best friend ever and right now I can forgive him for his diabolical taste in life partners.

“Yeah, figured you would, so I told her already.” He is still looking at his phone, typing again and I guess Natasha is a speed responder too. I wonder what they could have to talk about if all they are discussing is pancakes and her inevitable little run over here like a good little puppy. I have a complete urge to snoop over his shoulder and see what lame things the queen of boring has to say, but instead, I focus on my smoothie and push at the table with a sock-clad toe.

“What’s the plan for today then?” I nudge his shoulder, annoyed that he’s only half with me and half engrossed in typing. I nudge him again and when he frowns and ignores me, I lift my toe and shove at his foot instead until he sighs and pauses the phone tapping.

“Food … Your place for your stuff … Then a long drive home to see our families.” He squints at me this time, nudges me back with an air of irritation and drops his phone into his lap. Annoyed or not, I still managed to get him to ditch the bitch and give me his full undivided attention mid-text. I know it’s juvenile, but I give myself a mental high five that I still have more sway over him than she does. His phone vibrates but he just shifts it to the couch and lays it face down. I lay my drink down too.

“Why don’t you have a plane, like Jake, at your beck and call to get home a heck of a lot faster than driving?” I sigh and flop down on my back childishly, not relishing the four-hour journey at all. Even with him for company, it’s crazily long and boring to be sitting in a car all that time with nothing to do or look at, and I know he hates constant chatter when he’s concentrating, so usually just sticks the radio on.

“I do, it’s the family plane, but I happen to prefer driving. Besides, I thought I was your ‘mostest’, ‘bestest’, ‘favoritest’ person ever. Why would you want to shorten the time you spend with me?” He raises joking brows, smiling wickedly, and before I can even defend myself, he shoves his finger in my ear. I react in the way I always do, lashing back and cringing like crazy. Aiming my slaps at his face as he expertly swipes them aside and ends up on top of me in the blink of an eye with that crazy speed of his reflexes. He pins me down under his thighs and tucks my wrists under his knees as he straddles me, flat on my back, and laughs down at the extremely pissed off expression on my face at his quick maneuver. He’s super heavy and doesn’t seem to care if he’s crushing me, right into the soft plushness of his couch.

“Arrriiiickkkk.” I whine petulantly, unable to move or fight him off, and pretty much unable to struggle at all. He just laughs at me and starts poking me in the upper chest mercilessly with harsh jabs just under my collar bone.

“This is called a typewriter.” He continues to poke me in the chest then gently shoves my face to the side as though pushing along a typewriter roller and goes “Bing!” while laughing at my curses of outrage. I try to buck and wriggle to no avail, that deep anger rising in me the more he enjoys this.

“Get off me you freak. You’re a total bully.” I wiggle some more, trying hard to bounce him up while he continues this torture and I’m met with a wider smile and that mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“That won’t work … Freak? I kinda like that one … I’ll stop on one condition.” He smirks, holding his hands over me, perched to keep jabbing, and gazes down at me from his straight towering height. He looks like he likes his seat of power and dominance a little too much, payback for all my bratty behavior.

“Whaaat?” I gasp in frustration, hating being confined this way and getting madder by the second. Hating that I know he will only keep doing this until I break anyway, and I am too hungover for this kind of crap. My normally happy giggly response is dead. I am tired, suffering, and the asshole made me wake up way before I was ready.

“When Tash comes you play nice, nicer than you have ever played. Because I don’t need any drama before we head out, and I am in no mood for a Tasha-Sophie squabble scene, under any circumstances. She puts up with a lot of shit for you, Sophs.” He wiggles his fingers near me and smiles when I struggle some more.

“Okaaaay, Okay!” I squirm, trying to avoid those cruel hands and shake my head from side to side in futility, desperate to be free as the overwhelming rage of my claustrophobic mind starts to rise up. He knows I hate being pinned down, uses it to his advantage in every way whenever he wants something. He’s a mean dickhead sometimes and I stick my tongue out at him.

“I’ll cut that off.” He frowns at me and I eye roll back at him.

“I agree, I promise … whatever. God, I’ll even write it in blood if you just get off me for God’s sake.” I can barely breathe with the weight of a guy twice my size sitting on me like I’m some sort of occasional throw pillow.

“In blood … might need to see that.” He grins again and softly pats my cheek a couple times to emphasize that he has won and worn me down.

“Good girl. See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He slides up to release my arms and I take the opportunity to shove him back hard as I yank out my legs from under his. He falls back on the couch, grabbing the back to stop himself from toppling right over and bursts into boyish laughter amused that he has made me this fucking mad at him.

“Dickhead,” Throwing a pillow at his face, which he bats away, as I pout angrily and curl myself upright to glare at him like a wounded snarling puppy.

“You’re cuter when you’re pissed, Cara.” He leans up and reaches out to lasso my wrist, but I slap him away hard, putting some venom into it, so I hope it stings him. Frowning harder, sneering, and showing my dislike for what he did to me. It only makes him chuckle more, amusement all over that annoyingly handsome face.

“I hate you.” I sulk petulantly; watching him get on his knees to shuffle closer to me and sit on his haunches as he gets there.

“Sure you do.” He leans in and kisses me on top of the head, ruffles my hair and slides off to go walk to his room, obviously to preen himself up for ‘Miss Domestic’ coming. “We both know that will never happen, Mio Mimmo.” He swaggers a little too confidently into his room as I watch him go with a mix of indulgent simmering annoyance and genuine affection. Even when he is being a total asshole, I can’t help but love the ground he walks on. Angrily adore him.

Asshole.

I get up and wander towards the spare room, throwing back my hair and lift a stubborn moody chin to show I am not talking to him anymore.

I need to dry my hair and take some time to avoid the droll bitch he calls his girlfriend when she arrives, psyche myself into being a good little get along for his sake, so he doesn’t resort to more torture that has me seething.