Arrick’s POV

~ Meeting Sophie for the first time ~

I get out of the cab and drag my rucksack with me, tired today, after the long flight on a commercial airline from LA and glad to be back on home turf. It was a hell of a week at a bachelor party that turned into a crazy, endless, sleepless, drunk fueled mess. I don’t remember half of it, and I’m sure I still have that Veronica girls cell number written on my chest in red lipstick. I went straight from bed with that blonde girl, Tanya or Tracey, whatever her name was, to the airport, and now I’m desperate for a shower.

It’s not like me to hit on women for a one-night hook up only, but it was my last night in LA, and I knew I would never see either of them again. Sometimes being a horny male slut is as good as going twelve hard rounds in the boxing ring to relieve tension. I’m getting as bad as Jake and I know I should really curb some of the reckless behavior lately. I just feel so listless and restless all the time, out of whack and school is boring me. I’m smarter than most of my class and I don’t even have to try to make the grade. While everyone is stressing out and studying, I’m flying through effortlessly. My mind isn’t being challenged and I’m considering dropping out for a year to let them catch up because I’m bored, ready to find something new to do with my life.

I’m spending more time with Nathan, my roommate, at the gym than ever. He’s been pushing me to take my hobby further because he sees talent there in my boxing and martial arts, but I don’t know. It seems a weird thing to chase for a career and I know my father will probably hit the roof. He expects me to join the family business, form the Carrero trio and dominate our field of expertise with him and my brother.

I guess after years of not condoning how Jake went, I can see me following the same path, despite my reservations and hatred of how he parties and hooks up with randoms. I mean, I’m not that bad yet, I at least date a few weeks at a time, until I get the same suffocation from their neediness, or another jealous outburst pisses me off, and then I let them down gently. I even stayed friends with some of them, but no one ever made the long-term cut. I’m not really ready to settle down with a girl. I’m now nineteen, just turned, in college, and too young for that shit yet. I have a lifetime ahead of me to meet a girl that gets to me on another level.

I push open the front door and get the hugest smile from Mariah, our housekeeper, as she tries to relieve me of my bag. I shake my head and stop her hand, dropping it by the stair instead.

“I’ll leave it here, it’s heavy. I’ll carry it up when I go.” I lean and give her an affectionate peck on the cheek, getting a blush in return and another huge happy smile. She’s been part of this family since I was born and she’s like an aunt, or even a second mom to me nowadays. My mother raised us to treat our staff like equals, despite my father’s aversion to it, and we have had mostly the same faces around us my entire life. Mariah pats me on the cheek and moves off, gesturing towards the kitchen as she goes, and I nod in thanks. She knows me so well and who I instantly look for on my arrival home.

“Mamma. Where are you? I’m home.” I call out for my mom, hearing voices in the kitchen and the noise of crockery banging. She’s in her favorite place, making great things to eat and I’m ecstatic. I’m starving, and nothing beats my mamma’s home cooking. I can almost feel my stomach turning over in anticipation of some good home cooked Italian grub. Her forte.

I wander to the kitchen door, greeted with her immediately, looking beautiful in a floral dress and wiping white flour dust from the print. She looks good, happy, upbeat, blushed from the hot kitchen and I embrace her tightly. My Mamma is a beautiful woman, still looks young for her age with a body to match, and I can see why after all these years, my father is besotted with her still.

“Ahhh, il mio bambino.” She hugs me tightly, planting a kiss on the corner of my mouth and pats me on the cheek too. A tender affection I always miss when I’m not here and I smile warmly for it. We are close, and I love her to death. I miss my family when I’m not here, but I have been a restless soul for years, and being home never seems to satisfy me. I’m here for a week, then back to school to take some finals and decide what to do with the rest of my year. God knows after that.

“Hey, mamma, mi sei mancato” I kiss her on the cheek and let her go, catching sight of a blonde head behind her in the kitchen, and it immediately piques my interest. Not really bright blonde, more of a honey color, pulled back in a ponytail over a makeup free cute face, that’s downward facing. She is looking into a bowl as she mixes something and it’s hard to really tell what she looks like, but the slim body hints at young teens, enough curves to be around sixteen, maybe older, definitely interesting. I can’t help the little rise of male interest. I mean I am still slightly under the influence, so maybe I have beer goggles on or, whatever, but she’s a nice view from here. Too young for me though, even I can tell that from here. Cute still. Something kinda sweet and wholesome about her.

“Arry, this is Sophabelle, our newest Huntsberger addition.” My mom introduces her, and she glances up, completely flooring me for a second, when tropical blue eyes, large for her features and set in a completely devastating way on such a flawlessly ethereal face, look back at me. It’s like being sucker punched from left wing while simultaneously being slapped in the face with icy water. I get a complete shock at my internal response and can barely take my eyes off them, like she draws me in with a color that is incomparable to any blue eyes I have ever seen. So clear, strong, and vibrant. Like they just cut through all your crap and see your soul and beyond and I feel suddenly powerless, and completely naked.

Shit.

She blushes as soon as she sees me, and it makes everything inside of me feel weird. I’m not sure what the fuck kind of reaction it is, not one girl has ever given me this kind of immediate internal flip over, and I really do not like it. Swallowing hard, I push out this stupid feeling, these crazy thoughts and scan her face instead. Pretty hard to do while those eyes are focused on me intensely and I am rooted to the spot, caught in her spell.

“Hey, how you doing?” I say the first thing that comes to mind and try not to cringe at my lameness. God, I sound completely predictable and it’s the worst line ever. She’s gone back to looking down at what she is doing and for a moment, I forget my mom is even standing beside me. So focused on that face and a little shell shocked by the reaction I just had to her. She looks young, unsure, guarded, and with those dazzling blues off me I can appreciate the pouted mouth, slender face and high cheekbones of a girl who probably models for a living. She has the face and the body, and definitely the flawless skin.

I know a lot of models and wonder how we have never crossed paths; then I remember my mom said she’s a Huntsberger kid. They only take in children who are usually running from a life that hurts them, and I give her a second look, evaluating that piece of information with scrutiny. She doesn’t look abused, neglected, or even scarred. She just looks.... closed off. So crazily pretty though in a uniquely beautiful kind of way.

“Hi.” She says flatly, glancing up quickly, nervously, and looks back down at what she’s doing. Not interested in me in any way, shape, or form. I don’t miss that pretty clear signal. It’s like a massive sign she just planted between us. Her body language and manner are almost ice queen, yet somehow without applying effort.

Ouch.

Definitely guarded, silently hostile; maybe she IS one of their typical children that they like to take in. They always give a home to the ones who need it most, and I wonder what her story is. Interest piqued, for entirely different reasons now.

I have always been a sucker for a sad story and someone in need of protecting. I know I take after my mother in that respect and it’s why she works with abused kids. She hides it well, and for once I can’t read someone and it’s unnerving. My lifelong gift eludes me, annoyingly so and suddenly I just want to know. I don’t know why, but there’s something about her and watching her trying to ignore my presence, I really want to get inside her head. That outward closed off shell, it hides so much, and she’s like a little puzzle, waiting to be solved.

“You’re a chatty one, aren’t you?” I chuckle, attempting to break the ice as my mother leaves me to it, watching me with a smile. She always encourages me to interact with the kids she shelters with her love. She has very few who come here from her charity, so I’m used to meeting them, but this one... she’s something else.

Her whole vibe, her appearance and manner. She isn’t like most of the kids I have met. She has a strength, a confidence that is usually absent in the care home kids, and a deathly distrust of me, which is odd in itself. People always like me right away, especially my mom’s kids. Known for putting them at ease and making friends from the get-go, and I have met tougher than her.

I can normally spot it a mile away, figure out what the story is. Whether violence, neglect, sexual abuse... sometimes it’s just a runaway, or parents who died from drug overdose. This one however, she looks like a girl from the streets of the Hampton’s. Healthy, tanned, well dressed in jeans and a unicorn T-shirt with sparkly shit all over it. Cute and perky. Clean and manicured. Posture of a girl from wealth, and the calm outward manner of a very street wise and strong female. No hint of anything, except in those eyes that are like a doorway to another place. So much behind that closed door that just begs for you to take the time to open it.

“Shhh, leave her be. Sophie is just fine once she warms to you, stop teasing her.” My mom throws me a warning glare and tends to brewing coffee for us. She’s like Jake in that respect, coffee addicted and has about forty different types to gush over every day. I can take it or leave it. I get the message though; this one is a personal case. My mom rarely takes a kid to heart unless it’s something really bad. I double glance at her and get that horrible gut ache that brings up instant anger, twisting heaviness and a tightness in my chest. The last kid my mom was this close with, his dad had been sodomizing him daily, locking him in the basement and starving him half to death. My mom likes to pay special attention to the worst, believing nurturing these ones gives them a better chance at moving on in life. I hate the fact that means there is a good chance her story is dark and grim. I glance at her again and try so hard to figure why anyone would hurt someone as angelic looking as her.

She has a strength about her for sure, but there’s an overwhelming aura of vulnerability too, a sweetness that claws at you to take care of her that knocks me off kilter. She is multi-faceted and knowing that as one of my mom’s special kids, she must have endured the worst. I’m crazily invested in a millisecond of meeting her. An erupting hatred for whoever put her on the path that made her end up here.

She’s still mixing batter and it bugs me that she really has no interest in me, that those eyes are hidden from this angle. I walk forward and dip my finger in what she’s mixing, in an attempt to catch her attention, force her to look at me at least. It backfires, and I give her a fright, seeing her jump and hop back defensively as though I scolded her, and it feels like in turn she scolds me.

Fuck.

It’s like a little flash behind her wall, a moment of fear and panic at me getting too close and in an instant, I see it, and it wounds me deeply to see it. She’s definitely an abuse case, all the signs are there, and it makes me instantly sick to my stomach for her. She’s poised and stiff, eyes wide and afraid as she holds her breath because I got in her safe zone. On red alert and like a scared rabbit in a trap as she tries not to look at me. My own body bristling with an inner rage on her behalf.

I move back slowly, trying not to react, because I don’t want to embarrass her or make her feel even more uneasy at my presence; it’s the last thing I want. I shouldn’t have gotten in her space. I should have read the signs and stayed back, showed her she can trust me. I feel like such an asshole for such a punk move without reading her first. She takes a long slow breath, attempts to get herself back to cool and guarded and I see the slight tremble in that delicate mouth, sucker punching me and making me feel even shittier about scaring her.

She’s a runner, I can tell. Flight or fight so ingrained in that pretty little face, it’s second nature to her... Whoever did whatever they did, it must run deep. She’s here because she found the strength to run and she is still poised, ready to keep going should she find herself in danger.

Fucking bastards.

“Tastes good...you must have the magic touch.” I say it softly, sucking the revolting mixture from my finger and wonder what the hell my mom is making, while moving back to get out of her space without gagging. Six feet minimum, my mom always said, give the kids six feet or more to breathe. If they want you closer, they will let you know. In her case, I’m getting the vibe she wants the world twelve feet away at all times and that only strengthens the fact someone messed her up for a long time.

The ones who have lived with it long term, they are the ones who show the least of it on the surface yet hold everyone far away. Like her. I bet all her scars and pains are under thirty layers of concrete and she tells no one without a fight.

She’s back to mixing, trying to appear unbothered and act like my presence has no effect on her, yet I can tell she’s not relaxed at all. She’s stiffer than a board and her visions keeps straying up to catch me in her peripheral instead of straight on, checking I’m staying back. It makes my heart bleed for her. To be constantly aware of people and men, never able to trust while in a safe environment. So young to be so afraid.

Who hurt you, baby?

“She has, if she only had a softer touch and more patience.” My mom laughs and comes to remove the bowl from her swiftly, saving the batter from being mixed into denseness. She hands her another instead, that’s filled with a new mixture and a fresh spoon. I watch with interest, the hand off, and notice even my mom avoids touching her. No contact at all, not even her normal little affections she has for some of the kids. Its textbook for my mom.

Sexual and violent. That’s what it tells me.

Mother fucker.

That welt of anger rises in me from somewhere deep and I almost lose my cool outer façade for a moment. Gritting my teeth and breathing in slowly to keep all hints of a reaction at bay. I feel sick to my stomach, looking at her, and knowing someone used her that way. People who abuse little innocents like her deserve to be tortured to death, slowly and castrated with a dull rusty spoon.

“You can massacre this one if you like.” my mom giggles and Sophie’s face warms a little, a slight relaxation in her taut muscles and a hint of softening in those eyes. I can’t tear my eyes off her, wanting to lift away the layers and figure her out. She’s like this beautiful mystery that’s shrouded in sadness and it really gets to me. I want to peel apart her mind and show her that not all men hurt girls, in any kind of way. She catches me looking at her and glares defensively. Warning me off, telling me to stay away and I smile back in a bid to ease her suspicion.

I’m making her uncomfortable, being an ass and I should know better. She’s female... clearly has a thing about males for the obvious reasons. I need to back off.

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.

I realize her posture is stiff and kinda heart wrenching, in the way she’s defensively holding her palms up. It’s like she’s waiting on me to punch her in the face or grab her in some way and it cuts me to the core. That 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, that she thinks I may do something to her. She’s completely terrified in this second, skin drained white, eyes huge and wounded, and I don’t think one girl has ever made me feel so god damn fucked up in one look, or so guilty with it.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to get so close. I’m not going 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 stopping her will only make this worse. My mom will beat the shit out of me for this.

“I need to go home.” she sounds so small, it 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 a girl. Especially his own kid. To someone like her.

“I’ll go...You stay. You obviously were in the middle of 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 overly affectionate touching of random people I am not related too. I rarely hold the hands of the girls I date, let alone hug them.

She looks 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 even more.

“Put your hands down... that’s lame.” She nods at my 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 in their somewhere.

“I guess it is. You just 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 to be defensive for a second. A little hint of another girl in there, maybe one with a sense of humor and little bit of sass that I like. You can’t take that out of a survivor.

She is admittedly, one of the most stunning girls I have ever met in my life; she is exactly my type in every way, in looks and personality. If only she was maybe a few years older.

“I really will go. Just need to grab a can of coke from the refrigerator behind you... 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 can’t put my finger on, beyond how pretty she is, how alluring and I can’t seem to leave.

“You don’t need to go; it’s your mom’s house. I can just come back another time.” She glances at the refrigerator and moves to get me a soda. Watching her movements; she’s not 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 who would love the same things I do.

“I’m home for a week, it’s cool. I can get out of your way and leave you to bore yourself to tears with my mom. Just leave me some cake as thanks before you go.” I wait until she slides the can across the table and gets back, before I reach for it. This time she doesn’t move as far away, and I have a little internal hooray and mental high five at that tiny inch of progress. Eight feet, back to six. It’s huge. She’s relaxing a tiny little bit around me, allowing her armor to slide a bit more.

“You don’t want to eat the cakes I make...... I kill everything I touch. I am not a good cook.” She blinks at me seriously, a slight smirk lingering under that pouted 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 herself, she probably has a killer sense of humor and wicked sarcasm. On the dry side, matching her prickly fire.

God, I want to know this girl.

I was always a sucker for a girl with feistiness... dry humor, and sarcasm... like Leila. I see Leila in her! Another sad story behind a girl who is stronger than her scars. Leila is one of my closest friends, like a sister to me, and all the things I love Leelou for, seem to be present in this one.

“I have a stomach made of steel, if I can handle my roommate’s attempts, then pretty sure yours won’t kill 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 hateful furrows of her brow. It’s like a kitten trying to attack you. As much as I want to respect her boundaries and leave the poor girl alone, she has me hopelessly addicted to wanting her to talk to me.

“I don’t know you... I don’t trust 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 of my layers out as I evaluate her too.

“Clever girl... It’s not a bad way to be. Earning trust happens to be something I’m good at though.” And I aim to win hers.

“Doubt I’ll be around long enough for that to ever happen.” She responds flatly. Warning me off, cutting me down in any way she knows how, to make it clear that I don’t get close. I’m not even phased one little bit. The best things in life are those that take a lot of work to achieve... 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 kind of addition in life that you take in any way you can get her. A girl who keeps you on your toes, an eternal challenge, a layered puzzle you can never fully solve. Crazily independent and stubborn, determined to rely on only herself. I’m so suckered right now.

“I should make the most of a new face in the street then... You could always come hang out with my friends and me, go for pizza, or whatever.” I 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 the urge to grin. She has a way of making angry, hateful looks, irresistibly cute. I’m not fazed by them at all, in fact, I could see it being something I deliberately try to ignite, just so she looks at me that way every time. She’s freakin adorable in her angry kitty way.

“Yeah. I 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 ‘back off, buddy’.

Fear? Maybe, especially if it was sexual. She needs careful handling.

I’m not going to give up! I have to see those blue eyes again. I need to break through that wall.

“I’m not that old. You have to be what? Sixteen. I mean you look around that age, maybe seventeen. I’m not asking for a date, I just mean to hang with people you might make friends with; you know, with being new here.” I watch her stir the shit out of what is left of the cake mix and hope to god she doesn’t intend baking it. Pretty sure all the flour has probably glooped by now, from overworking it. That will bake up to be one hell of a flat and heavy cake. I thought my mom was teaching her to cook, not how to kill all edible ingredients.

Well, she did say she can’t cook.

“I’m fourteen, and I don’t need more friends. I met some kids at school that are okay. I prefer to just do things by myself.” She almost snaps back at me this time, offended, I guess. I blanch at her age admission and do a double take. There is no way in hell she is that young, I don’t believe it. She’s got too much of a wise look in her eyes and she’s clearly further on in puberty than most her age. I have never seen a fourteen-year-old who looks like she does or has the curves she does. It does explain the vulnerable side though and the angelic look she can pull off if she is still pretty much a kid.

Jesus Christ. That could have been messy if I kept pursuing a less than pure mind set early on. Definitely no dates... ever............. For like maybe five years.

“Wow, really? Shit. You definitely look older. Look I’m not angling for anything... I’m not like that. Even if you were sixteen, or whatever. I really did mean just pizza, just hanging out.” I forget myself for a second, blown away with really trying to see her as that young and move forward without thinking, while my mind is busy whirring in disbelief.

Catching sight of her whole body freezing is like a slap in the face and I back off again. I really need to remember this girl likes her space and not to cross it. I hate seeing her backing into defensive and I have to remind myself that she is different from the girls I know. She’s special and requires kid gloves.

“I don’t like strangers, or crowds, or pizza.” She answers quickly, avoiding my eye again and I sigh. She’s going to be a tough nut to break through if I do want to forge some sort of friendship. Charm and smiles aren’t going to mean a thing to her! I’m flying blind with a girl that isn’t swayed by good DNA, money, chat up lines, or even the normal witty Carrero charm. This one is going to test all my limits and skills if I want her to be a regular in my circle of friends. I’ll have to find a completely new approach and do the gently, gently, pushing all thoughts of anything else out of this head for good.

“I get the feeling that whatever I suggest will get a rebuff, and now I’m starting to sound like a desperate weirdo trying to make a date. Look, offers always there if you get bored. When I’m home.... which is every month.... then whatever. We’re neighbors, and you’re now one of my closest friend’s sisters. Leila and I go way back. I’m just being friendly.” I lean back against the counter behind me and smile, brain clicking on the fact Leila might be a good tool to get her into trusting me, meeting her gaze finally with those eyes that are becoming a little bit addictive. She narrows them on me, still glaring, still the cutest thing I have ever seen and the warm feeling in my lower stomach tugs at me. She gets under my skin; she has a power that most girls don’t. Heck! No girls ever get under my skin.

“I don’t need friendly.” She points out. Extremely serious.

“Everyone could use friends, even just one.” I lift a brow in a bid to appeal to her softer side and it falls flat.

“I don’t need any, not even one.” She drops the spoon in the bowl and finally puts that poor mix to rest. Body language stiff, attitude still a little frosty.

RIP cake batter.

“I’m not just any ‘one’.” I grin at her, coaxing softly and almost high five myself when I see the tiny hint of a plausible smile at the very corner of that sweet little mouth. The first crack in her armor finally showing through properly. It’s a worthwhile reward, one that gives me internal flutters, and a little hint that she has a nice smile.

God, I want to see her smile. I bet it’s beautiful and the best kind of reward.

I think I just found my new purpose in life. To make this girl smile, even once. Just for me.

“You’re lame. I think you maybe just need to go find a girl who may actually be interested. This one isn’t.” She picks up the spoon and licks the batter in a really juvenile way, not sexy at all, not even trying to be, and I grimace with her. I know how bad it tastes; I should have forewarned her not to put it in her mouth.

“I’m not someone who gives up. I will ask you every time I see you...You will cave one of those times.” I shift to get comfy, glad she hasn’t insisted I still leave. I kind of like it here and I feel like I might actually be getting somewhere with her.

“Find me the elusive last unicorn and I’ll think about it.” She sighs heavily, and that same ghost of a smile peaks out at me, like she figures she is being clever, and I will never work it out. I find myself willing her to let it loose, watching that mouth a little too closely and I have to remind myself that she is only fourteen.... so I need to back the fuck off.

This isn’t right. She is a kid, Arry.

“Is that a challenge?” I focus on what she said, wondering what the hell she is on about, but the t-shirt is maybe a clue. Some sparkly white horned, magical looking horse. She obviously has a serious addiction to Unicorns, which is good to know. Maybe a subtle way in and she seems to think her challenge will rescue her from my invitations.

If I can figure it out, then she might rethink a pizza date...

Not a date, date ... a platonic hanging out playdate sort of thing. Kid, remember.

Too young, too scarred. Just friends. That’s all I want from her.

“Sorry about that, mia Bambinos... family like to talk. I hope you were getting acquainted with Arry, my golden child. Such a good boy for his mamma.” My mother pinches my cheek as she swans past and blows a kiss at me. She loves to embarrass her kids at every opportunity, and I roll my eyes while allowing her affections. It’s futile to ever stop my mother from showing love, she can be scarily hostile and hold you down for a kiss if you fight it.

I catch Sophie giggling at it though, that elusive smile brightening her whole face and it’s better than I expected. It’s a perfect smile. Lightens her entire soul, brings out her eyes, her tiny dimples, and makes her nose scrunch up daintily with her childlike laugh. She really is crazily pretty, even for a kid who looks way older than she should. I smile straight back impulsively with the infectiousness of it.

Okay, so maybe I am a little bit enamored with her...who wouldn’t be? She’s alluring, and when she smiles......Pure sunshine.

“Sophie was turning me down flat. Seems this one isn’t interested in pizza dates.” I point out to my mom, trying to stop staring at her with a goofy grin. I want Sophie to know that it’s innocent, my offer to hangout. That I am not some weird hormonal guy angling for more.

“I should think not.” My mom slaps my arm hard and I literally gawp at her in shock. So hard it almost echoes around the kitchen.

What the f.... Mamma. Protective much? Jesus Christ, that stung.

Even for my slap happy mother, that was a semi abusive slap. Maybe I should ring her own hotline and report her for child abuse.

“What the hell was that for?” I rub my arm and glare at her with zero amusement. She never spanked me much as a child, sure as hell won’t be tolerating a spanking at nineteen.

“Because I know you! She is not on your radar...ever. Leave her alone and … Sophie dear...” She turns to Sophie with a warm smile and the girl nods at her while I shake my head behind my mom’s back in utter bewilderment.

Completely misread all my intentions. I thought my mom knew me better than that. Well, maybe not the first thoughts when I walked in here... but the ones I have now. I want to be her friend, to protect her from assholes in this neighborhood, nothing more.

“You have my permission to slap him in the man parts, if he ever tries to proposition you again.” She is utterly serious, and that death tone makes me want to glare right at her.

Classy, mom. Real classy.

“That’s not what I was doing...Jeeze, give a guy a break. I was trying to be nice. It was in no way a loaded invite.” I shrug but move fast when I see aggressive mother hen moving my way with speed. I know better than to fire up crazy Mamma Carrero on a maternal stand.

Time to go!

My mom is slapping me with dish cloth, and I get the hint she thinks I am trying to angle her sweet kid into something vulgar. That is never going to happen. I have way more sense and I can tell this girl is a hand’s off, forever, type of a deal. It’s not even like that. I genuinely like her, a lot, and sex is not even where my head is going with this one. She is a fucking child, for god’s sake.

“Out, out... it’s girl time and you are not invited.” She’s pushing me, and I go, reluctantly. Hating that I am about to lose those blue eyes and pretty face but determined that this is not a one-off meeting. I will see her again and I have a full smile to get out of her too.

“I’m going, besides...I have a challenge to work out.” I throw Sophie a wink, maybe it’s a dumb move but it’s organic and I do it before I catch the sense not to. She eyes me up warily, mask back in place, really not sure how to take me but I don’t deflate this time. I feel strangely hopeful that her and I will meet again. If I have anything to do with it, we will anyway.

My mind is made up in that second... Fuck a shower, and food. I am on a hunt to find that elusive unicorn and maybe a chance at seeing her again on a more regular basis. Something tells me that this girl is going to matter in my future, especially if she is going to be living across the street for the next god knows how many years.

***

I sit through the movie bored to tears, but intent on the answer with my pen poised on the post-it note, so I can turn this shit off. I have no clue if this is what she meant, but it wasn’t hard to find with a little help from google.

The last Unicorn - some lame cartoon from the eighties. I was lucky to find a shop in town that had one, and I couldn’t resist the hanging display of fluffy toys nearby at the checkout when I went to pay for it. A pink haired fluffy white Unicorn now lays on top of the sleeve, to go with her movie. A stuffed toy for a kid, which seemed appropriate. A little welcome to the neighborhood mascot if she really is into them.

The cashier offered to gift wrap and I thought ‘sure’, seeing how much she likes sparkly shit if her t-shirt was anything to go by. I opted for the silver bag and paper to match and figured it would be nicer to give her them this way. Watching the woman make swift work of both and trying not to over analyze if I was being weird and overly pushy in this.

I have a tendency to dissect all my decisions, and I don’t want her to feel like I am some relentless creep. I never intended to unwrap the DVD, but I really wanted to surprise her with the answer, beyond just finding the movie...and now like an idiot I am suffering over an hour of unicorns turning to humans, to find they have all been hiding in the fucking sea... wait! ... sea?...

Yesssssss. I found your Unicorn, Sophabelle.

I write it down, grinning wildly and stick it to the DVD case. Hauling the disc from my player and put it all back together, re-wrapping and pushing it back in the bag with the other package. I grin at my genius, completely glowing with the victory that was too easy. She will need to do better than this if she wants to issue a challenge. I thrive on them.

I only wasted a couple of hours on this, well maybe an entire day, but I had no other plans anyway that were all that important. I can’t help the sense of elation, the definite raised mood from this little endeavor, or my own smugness. I am trying not to overthink my reaction to her, but something tells me that Sophie and I have a story that is only beginning, and I want to see where this goes. She’s like a bright spark in my dark tunnel of life lately.

I pick up the bag to go and spy my stack of cards on the desk in my room, stopping to write her a note quickly. I want to reassure her, just in case she does find this weird. I am still not quite convinced I should be giving her gifts and writing her notes.

If not pizza, then maybe a milkshake, anytime you might be bored. No strings attached, no crowds, and no promises to be friends. We can sit at complete opposite tables.

Enjoy your unicorns.

Sophabelle. x A

I read it twice, checking it’s not pushy or ‘Lame’, as she put it. That it’s clear that I expect nothing in return for this, don’t want anything at all. I just want to see her smile next time I see her, nothing else. A little bit of that pretty expression will make my day. I get that she has reason to keep me at arm’s length, that this is not going to be easy to get her to relax with me, but my gut is telling me that she is definitely worth the effort.

I turn it over and scrawl a quick unicorn doodle on the reverse side, I have no idea why. I guess I want her to laugh when she opens it, even though I won’t see it.... it’s not exactly my best work, but it does the job. I slide it in, so it faces out and will be the first thing she sees and push it into the bag. The thought of that cute giggle is in my head and I smile when I pick the bag up to cradle in my arm as I grab my jacket and cell.

My head on tropical blue eyes, honey blonde hair and sassy smirks. I need to go head to her parent’s house and leave it there for her, for when she goes home. Then I guess, I should actually go meet the friends who have been texting me for the last few hours and get that pizza. I’m starving, and my stomach is about to start digesting itself if I don’t put some real food in it. I have a hangover to cure. I also have a Leila to reunite with as she is back in town and I want the lowdown on her new baby sister.