The Casanova Experience: A Friends to Lovers Romance (Ballers Book 2)

by Mickey Miller

  “Holy shit,” Chandler whispered, his eyes inches from mine and as wide as they could go. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m okay.” I gripped his shoulder for better balance.

  “Careful. Here, let’s get you back on solid ground.” He lifted me up from the slick shower floor and set me on the plush mat. The shower curtain had completely torn off, and was wrapped around me.

  “Thanks,” I breathed, my chest heaving.

  He glanced inside the shower. “You don’t put the tub mats down?”

  “Well, usually I do, but I was a little out of it this morning…”

  I swallowed hard and I’m pretty sure I licked my lips, thinking about what to say. Part of me was intimidated by him and that was rare. But as the adrenaline wore off, and I remembered that I was annoyed with him, I knew I had to set the rules of how things were going to go down in this house if we were going to live peacefully for the next couple of months. I had always been someone who spoke her mind, and there was no reason I should back down from Chandler, as much as he put me on edge.

  I let go of him and looked him straight in his pretty blue-green eyes. My tone was firm and businesslike. “You know, I usually do put the mats down. But my mind’s been a little funky this morning. I couldn’t fall asleep last night because you and whatever her name is were having extremely loud sex in the room right next to mine.” He opened his mouth, probably to say something to annoy me even more but I cut him off and raised my voice. “And because of you and your late night sexcapades, I couldn’t sleep, and now I missed a class this morning and will probably be late for my next one. Have some thought for the other people that live here. It’s not ‘Chandler World’ and Doña Maria and I just happen to exist in it. Got it?”

  I’m sure I looked ridiculous with the shower curtain wrapped around me as I stared up at Chandler. And I do mean stared up, because I’m five foot two, and he was at least a full foot taller than me. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened at my tone. This was the type of man who was used to charming the pants off of any women he met and getting his way. Yes, he was that guy. He needed to know here and now that I wasn’t about to stand for his bullshit.

  “Damn,” he finally said, blinking slowly at me. “Tell me how you really feel, why don’t you?”

  “Just did,” I said, keeping the shower curtain securely around me. I eyed the door then him. “Now, if you don’t mind, I would appreciate it if you would stop gawking and leave so I can finish my shower.”

  His expression changed again from slightly caught off guard back to a cocky smirk. “Gawking, eh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Fine—go ahead and tell me to keep it down so you can sleep. But if there’s one thing I don’t like, it’s a hypocrite.”

  I gasped a little in indignation. “A hypocrite?! How am I a hypocrite?”

  “Look, Squirt. Listen good. I won’t be told that I can’t gawk at your sexy little body.” He leaned in and lowered his voice to a low throaty tone. “Especially when you just stared at my cock for at least a full five seconds.”

  A shiver ran through my body. I was both infuriated at how right he was and by how much I needed for him to get the hell out of the bathroom, lest I get more turned on.

  He turned to go, took a step, and looked over his shoulder. “Leave the shower curtain, Squirt. I’ll fix it when I take a shower later today.”

  “Why are you calling me Squirt?” I squinted at him.

  “Yeah. Squirt. That’s your new nickname. You know, a small, short person.” He pointed to the mat. “Better put the mat down next time, Squirt.”

  He winked, turned back, and continued out the door.

  “Asshole,” I muttered out loud when he had gone.

  The man certainly knew how to get my shower curtains in a bunch.

  Four

  Amy

  I was distracted all day in class, thinking about what I was going to say to Chandler and how I was going to finally get him to wipe that cocky smirk off his face. Instead of paying attention like I usually did, I just made a list of all the ways I could tell him off.

  I thought about going the ‘pout to my host parent’ route, but Chandler had already been there for several months before me, and he had earned Doña Maria’s favor. Hell, she called him mi hijo—my son—and treated him like one. He was also the star basketball player for the University of Barcelona’s club team. He had already made lots of local friends, which I hadn’t been able to do yet.

  I managed to zone back in as the professor kept talking about how Don Quixote was the mother of all satires in the Western Literature cannon. That’s when I got a sharp poke from Becca, who was also in a study abroad program, but we hadn’t really hung out beyond the classroom.

  “Amy,” she hissed. She poked my arm again, shocking me out of my day dreaming status.

  “What?” I stared back at her blankly.

  “What are you doing tonight?” Her smile was positively devilish. Becca was a Cali girl and looked the part—model tall and thin, blue eyes, and blonde hair. Everything she said seemed to take on this drawn out importance. Even going out on a Tuesday.

  “Need to go to bed early,” I whispered. “I woke up late.” And I needed to make sure I was asleep before my host-brother kept me up all night.

  “Why?” Becca asked, scrunching her brows. “This is college.”

  I paused, keeping track of our professor at the front of the room. “I got into a passive aggressive fight on Skype with my boyfriend and then my host brother was up all night making his girlfriend moan against his headboard,” I explained quickly under my breath. I opted to leave out my solo session.

  She nodded, processing this information but I could tell she wasn’t sure how to take it.

  “Who is your host brother?” she asked.

  “I’ve only seen him twice because we have opposite schedules, but he’s a basketball player on the program here, from University of North Carolina. Chandler. Chandler something…”

  I trailed off and frowned as Becca’s jaw dropped nearly to the floor. Meanwhile, I was realizing I knew virtually nothing about my host brother beyond the very basics and only through observation. He and I rarely spoke to each other in the week or so we’d been living together. Most of my intel came from Doña Maria and it was very fragmented since my Spanish still sucked and her English was barely passable.

  “Get out!” she whispered loudly, on delayed reaction. “Chandler Spiros is your host brother?”

  “Yeah. Why, you know him?”

  “Yes I know him!” Becca licked her lips. “I go to UNC with him. He is like the hottest guy on campus. Really good basketball player but it’s what he does off the court that he’s known for.” She leaned towards me, ready to spill more dirt. “He’s got a reputation for being the best ever at—”

  “Ahem! Chicas?” The professor cocked his head at us with an accusatory eye from the front of the room and cleared his throat.

  “Lo siento, professor!” Becca belted loudly from the back of the classroom. The man continued droning on in Spanish that I only half understood. I felt slightly bad for ignoring him, but this was the most boring of all the classes I was taking, which was really saying something. Still, I turned my head back toward the front of the room and feigned attention until Becca poked me again.

  “The professor answered that pretty well,” she giggled. “Chandler’s got a reputation for chicas. He walks into a room, panties melt. I’ve never seen anyone quite like him. I knew girls in my dorm floor freshmen year who would have killed for just a night with him, to see if the rumors were really true.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. As open as I was, I didn’t want to admit that I’d gotten aroused listening to him last night. Wishing that I could be the one he was giving the experience to. “Rumors? What rumors?”

  “He’s got a golden tongue. And a golden…something else, too.”

  I swallowed hard. So my fantasy last night had been right on the money.

  “Let
’s go get fire shots tonight,” she whispered, quietly, changing the subject again.

  “What are fire shots?”

  “There is this one bar in Barcelona’s downtown area that serves flaming shots. They literally light them on fire right in front of your face. It’s awesome. A couple of those and you’ll pass out like a baby tonight. Loud Chandler or no.”

  I hesitated. “I really do need some sleep tonight.”

  Becca smiled casually and nodded. “C’mon. We can get a little buzzed and practice our Spanish.” She arched her eyebrows and put the pen in her mouth, waiting for my answer. “It’ll be epic.”

  I sighed. I hadn’t come to Barcelona to become a Tuesday night party girl. Still, Becca had some good points.

  I just had one problem. Alcohol was strictly a no-no with my meds. Still, two shots weren’t going to kill me since I’d been lowering the dosages. Right? Shit. I could hear Dr. Han screaming at me from all the way from Chicago. Not to mention my parents.

  Jesus—having so many people in my head when I’d come here to kick them out, and become more independent, had been a huge motivation for me. I got tired of not thinking for myself and constantly being told what to do, or what not to do. Frankly, it was exhausting.

  So the idea of no-sleep medication to pass out tonight, not hearing Chandler bang his girlfriend all night, and going out with a possible new friend and seeing the Barcelona nightlife…it was too irresistible. I sure as hell wasn’t going to get any enjoyment with my Skype calls with Scott if he kept being a jerk.

  “You know what? I think flaming shots would be a perfect way for us to hang out tonight,” I said, meeting her eyes. “You are so on.”

  “Yes!” Becca said, pumping her first.

  “Chicas!” the professor shouted again, rolling his eyes at us.

  “Sorry professor!” I shot back. The professor sighed, and went back to deconstructing Don Quixote and his horse. Becca and I made eye contact and giggled. I was happy to have found a partner in crime, at least for the night.

  Since this would be my first night out in Barcelona, I decided to go all out. Late April in Europe was fairly mild but could be a bit chilly. I donned a mini skirt that was maybe a little too short, but one that I could pull off, a fitted top and my long jacket over that. I went a little heavy on the makeup and I even painted my nails sky blue. A check in the mirror verified what I already knew.

  I was on my sexy game tonight. My brown hair looked extra flowy hanging down to my shoulders. It gave me a nice boost of confidence heading into the night. My fitted top squeezed my almost-C cups together, giving me maximum cleavage. I was definitely going for some free drinks tonight.

  Before I left, I jumped onto Skype with Scott to say a quick hello. Actually, I was quite feeling optimistic about our call. I reminded myself that he’d been through some tough times with me and that he wasn’t wholly bad. And, I’d never been the overly sensitive type either and I wasn’t about to start.

  “Hey babe!” I quipped when he answered, not hiding the fact that I was in one of the first good moods since in the past couple of weeks. “I’m going out tonight. How do I look?!”

  I mustered up my best imitation of Will Farrell’s Ron Burgundy voice. “I don’t know if you know this, but I’m kind of a big deal. I look good.” I backed up from my webcam and did a full three sixty so he could see how hot I looked.

  “Amy,” he said, unsmiling, his voice grim.

  “What?” I asked, a little defensively.

  He paused like he was winding up to say something important. “You are not going out looking like that. You need to change, or just not go out. You look like a fucking porn star.”

  I laughed. “Hah, thanks. Good one. I know that’s your favorite look.”

  Scott didn’t match my laugh. In fact, his face grew more serious and even a little angry.

  I slid back into my seat, incredulous at the possibility that he wasn’t joking. “What is up with you, Scott?” I asked, past annoyed or hurt. “I don’t understand what your problem has been lately.”

  “I mean,” he said, and raised his voice. “I don’t want you going out on the town looking like a big fucking slut. So change. Or I’m not allowing you to go out.”

  My anger shot up at those words. “Did you just say not allowing me to go out?”

  “Exactly.” He crossed his arms on the screen.

  I was so infuriated my eyes welled up. I held back the tears. “Why are you acting like this?” My voice was quiet and direct. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Nothing, I’m perfectly fine,” he shot back, defensive as hell. “But I am wondering if maybe you’re off your meds. Even when you’re on them, you can be all over the place but maybe moving to Barcelona wasn’t your best idea, Amy.”

  I stared at him, speechless. For him to continually use my depression as some sort of attack to degrade me was the final straw. Not to mention his constant remarks about my body and him wanting me to look a certain way. It was just too much and it wasn’t fair. I was finally done with making up excuses for why our relationship was fucked up, and shouldering the majority of the blame. I tried to think of what to say to him, but my mind drew a blank.

  Scott, however, wasn’t done. Oh, no, he was on a roll tonight. “Amy, I’m not going to sit here like an idiot back home while you’re running around the city of Barcelona like some whore, dressed like that.”

  How he equated me feeling good, looking good and going out as being a slut and a whore stunned me. Scott had said some pretty shocking things to me in the past but this took the cake. I swallowed, trying to control my emotions but my heart began to beat faster. I lowered my eyes, not looking at Scott for a moment. “This is it, isn’t it?” I raised my head gradually until my eyes met his on the screen. “This is the end.”

  That completely threw him. “Wh-what? I didn’t mean it like that,” he backtracked.

  “Well, then tell me, what the hell did you mean?” I demanded, almost shouting. “You just called me a slut. A whore. You’re trying to control me from two thousand miles away. Yes, I am going out, having a good time and learning some Spanish tonight. What’s wrong with that?”

  “That’s not what I meant. You’re taking my words out of context.”

  I glared at him. I knew exactly what he meant. He thought I was out to hook up with guys just because I dressed up. Unbelievable! I had never cheated on a guy. Cheaters were the worst. “You know what they say about trust, Scott?” I asked, calmly.

  He scoffed. “No, I don’t. Enlighten me oh wise woman.” His tone was mocking.

  “If you can’t trust, you can’t be trusted.”

  He gave a scornful laugh. “Never heard that.”

  “Well, I guess you need to listen to more Ben Folds.”

  “Ben who?” he asked, brows furrowing.

  I took a deep breath and sat up straight. I looked directly into the webcam, and spoke clearly so Scott could hear every word I was about to say. “Forget Ben Folds. Whatever it is, this relationship isn’t going to work out, and it hasn’t for a while, has it?” I let the words hang in the air.

  When Scott didn’t respond, I knew it was the best decision I’d ever made in regards to this relationship. There was no sense dragging this one out. For the both of us.

  “Goodbye Scott.”

  “Wait wait wait!” he yelled before I could shut my laptop.

  “What?” I said impersonally, raising an eyebrow.

  “Are we really… You know, broken up?”

  I laughed. “I think we both knew this relationship was going to be tough to keep up long distance. You just sealed the deal, though. If you didn’t get it from what I just said, yes, we are officially over.”

  “Amy wait…you actually do look kinda hot tonight.”

  That was the first complement I’d received from Scott in months—and he only told me after I’d dumped him. I gladly shut my laptop with a hard thud, almost laughing at how pathetic he was. It nearly canceled
out the disgust I had for him, at myself for sticking with him and, again, making up excuses for letting him treat me like shit.

  Even though I knew it was for the best, and should have done it months ago, I still felt crappy about it. At the same time, a sense of hope began to spread over me that I hadn’t expected. I felt relieved and free.

  Those days of not having someone pick away at my confidence and making me feel bad about myself were over. It felt like a proverbial weight had been lifted off me.

  I’d been afraid of that uncomfortable conversation, but you know what? Freedom felt freaking good.

  I grabbed my purse and headed out the apartment with a smile on my face.

  Flaming shots, here we come.

  Five

  Amy

  I met up with Becca near Las Ramblas in downtown Barcelona. She was dressed in a tight bright dress and flats. She led us through the narrow, gothic streets of the city, which were packed with tourists and locals alike. The night air was cool, but I stood by my decision to wear a short skirt.

  The streets were lined with shops, restaurants and bars; performers in outrageous costumes tried to gain favor of passersby, and maybe a Euro or two. It seemed Becca wasn’t the only one that felt Tuesday nights were meant for revelry. While I was still getting my bearings, it seemed my new friend had a comfortable lay of the land. After a half hour or so of walking, we arrived at the legendary Fire Shots bar. The line to get in was long, at least 20 or so people waiting.

  “They have like a hundred different shots with really cool names,” Becca said as we stood in line. “Like, The Destructor or, The Last Shot You’ll Ever Take.”

  “In English?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She gave a small laugh. “It’s a little touristy and they cater to English speakers—why?”

  I shook my head. “Just curious. Since I’m here, I kind of want to learn Spanish when I go out. Really immerse myself in the cultural experience…” Becca just gave me a look. Right. I was being too serious. “Well, do they at least have a dance floor?”