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

by Mickey Miller

  I stared at Amy. She’d always been a little too analytical and regimented in her reasoning skills—take the pact for example—and her list of reasons. I’d always thought of Amy as having elements of a Type A personality but something else was off with that assessment that I’d never been able to figure out. I also recalled that getting her to relax around me had been difficult at times, but once she did, we just clicked.

  “You’ve really put some thought into this,” I said. “And I’m sorry for that. I get that you’ve had shitty boyfriends. But TPE?”

  “If I’m dating guys who suck, and by the law of attraction, I also suck.” She reached for her wine glass again, swirling the liquid absentmindedly.

  “That’s bullshit. You are the definition of amazing.”

  She didn’t flinch, indicating she wasn’t even remotely convinced. Christ, had all these guys really been that bad, or maybe Amy was just that hard on herself? “Am I, really Chandler?” she asked, almost rhetorically. “Then why do I attract these shit guys?”

  “None of those guys even danced?” I repeated that detail to her. I needed an in.

  “No, they didn’t.” She put her hand on my forearm, and my jaw tightened. “I danced more with you that one night we went to the salsa club than I ever have with any of my boyfriends.”

  I took another slow sip of my wine and let her words linger in the air for a moment. “Fuck that.” I said, finishing my wine off. “Squirt, I have an important question.”

  She looked at me, all serious. “What?”

  “Do you have your dancing shoes?”

  Her eyes lit up like a puppy about to go for their first walk after being cooped up in a cage for a year.

  “Yes.”

  “Get them.”

  “Get them?”

  “I said, get your dancing shoes, and get your ass ready for a night on the town. We’re going fucking dancing.”

  “You want to take me dancing?!” At last, happiness radiated from her. I felt a rush of happiness at seeing her smile. Maybe it was TPE in action again.

  “Do you have all your stuff?”

  “Yes! You’re the best!” She scooched across the couch and hugged me, pressing her cheek against mine. “I’ll go get ready,” she whispered, and that was the last straw. An instaboner sprung forth in my pants like a sunflower breaking ground on a fine spring morning. I was going to have to stay seated while this thing went down.

  She jumped up. “I’ll wear my nice dress.” She smiled, then took a few steps toward my room where she probably had her things. “You changing out of your jeans and t-shirt, or just going to go in that?”

  I laughed. “Of course not. You really do have to up your boyfriend standards, don’t you?”

  “Well, if you’re going to change, then why are you just sitting there?” she asked. “You can get your clothes from your room before I change, if you want.”

  “That’s okay, I kind of wanted to finish watching this game,” I said, glad for an excuse. “I get ready quick, anyways.”

  She shrugged and left me alone.

  I tried to imagine a whole ten days with her. Here. With me. Especially at night. Sure, I’d keep the pact. We would stay friends.

  I closed my eyes and thought of my great uncle Albert. Finally, my boner went down.

  If I could manage to keep my hands off her for even a week, then I was cured, right? No more lustful fantasies or boners to worry about.

  I opened my eyes, staring off. Yeah, I was so screwed, and I did this to myself, this self-torture. I turned the TV off and stood up. Whatever I felt or was thinking, I was determined that tonight I was going to give Amy a night that she’d never forget.

  Seventeen

  Chandler

  I took Jess for a quick walk while Amy was prepping for the night. When I came back and fed Jess, low and behold Amy was still getting ready in my room. I showered, shaved, picked out my clothes for the night, and then sat out on the couch with Jess while Amy finished up.

  She walked out of the room—my room—and I was happy I was sitting down so I wouldn’t fall over. She looked hot as fuck.

  “You look good,” I said in my best Anchorman imitation voice. She wore an all black leather dress with a scoop neck to display her ample cleavage, which was like a magnet for my eyes. I swear, they’d gotten bigger in the last five years and I didn’t mind that fact. The dress fit snugly around her hips and the hemline reached maybe her mid thigh, if that. Her heeled black boots came up to just above her knee.

  As for myself, I wore fitted dark blue jeans, lightweight black boots, and a black button-down shirt. I got up and walked over to her.

  “Well,” she said, smiling wryly as she matched my Will Ferrell impersonation, “I don’t know if I should be telling you this, but I’m kind of a big deal.” She sighed and ran a hand on my chest. “Ah, I love that you get my movie jokes.”

  I nodded, trying to focus on what she was saying and not her body, and what I wanted to do with that body. I darted my eyes off her chest when she glanced over at me, and they landed on her legs. “I like the boots,” I commented, sounding winded. This was going to be the longest night ever.

  “Oh these?” she said, demurely. “You mean my fuck-me boots?”

  My cock swelled in my jeans at hearing Amy say the words fuck me. I tried to play it cool, but I realized I was licking my lips as she turned around to grab a jacket.

  “Yeah.” I coughed. “Your ‘fuck-me’ boots. They’re nice.” Nice?! ‘Nice’ was my least favorite word. It doesn’t describe a thing at all. I arched my eyebrow. “I mean, they’re hot. Are you trying to get lucky tonight or something?”

  “Maybe.” She flashed a smile my way.

  “Maybe?” My eyes went wide, as I imagined all of the possibilities for her maybe getting lucky.

  And none of them had to do with a guy picking her up in the club tonight.

  “I have to tell you Chandler, it’s been a while,” she added. “By the way, you don’t look so bad yourself.”

  “Thanks. Wait—did you just say it’s been a while?” I asked, knowing this conversation was about to get unwieldy. “I thought you just got out of a relationship. Did you not have sex with him?”

  She turned her head and sighed. “Oh, we did. And even when we did have sex,” she said, so conversationally, “it was always off, you know? I thought it might get better, but it never did.”

  I swallowed and nodded because I knew what Amy was talking about without her having to add anything else. But I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “No sweaty all nighters with him, huh?”

  “Never…” She trailed off and shook her head back and forth like she was trying to forget a bad dream. “But that’s a conversation for another day. I just want to go out and have fun tonight.”

  Fuck, Amy. No other woman had the ability to drop an innocuous comment about sex into the conversation so perfectly that I wasn’t sure if I wanted her to continue, or stop. Or to offer myself up to end her streak of unsatisfying sex. Jesus, the very idea of an all nighter with Amy was already playing out in my head in full color. In any case, I was beginning to realize that I would have to get comfortable again when talking about sex with Amy since I may never get to actually have sex with her.

  “Well, that’s a shame,” I said, not sure what else to say.

  “It is.” It was simply and quietly stated. “Anyway… Shall we?”

  She smiled and took my arm I held out for her. We each grabbed our jackets and headed out.

  * * *

  “The smoking pig?” Amy arched an eyebrow at the big sign of the bar we were about to enter that said: La Vaca que Fuma.

  “It doesn’t look like much. But it’s a gem, trust me.”

  She looked at me, then opened the door and peered inside. We could hear the regatón beat, still slightly distant. She leaned back on her heels and crossed her arms, which pressed her boobs up in her dress. “This is where you’re taking me for dancing?” Her tone was accusat
ory. “This hole in the wall?”

  Before I could react, she smiled and did that thing where she grabbed my upper arm again. Using my arm for leverage, she got on her tippy toes and whispered in my ear. “Because it looks fucking awesome. You know exactly what I like.”

  Even on the sidewalk we could hear the music through the outside walls of the venue. She began to wiggle her body to the beat of the regatón, like she couldn’t control herself, like the music made her move her ass and hips like that.

  “Fuck me,” I said out loud before realizing I meant to keep that thought in my head.

  She had been just about to go through the door I was holding open, but she turned toward me. “What did you just say?”

  Caught red handed. I shook my head. “Oh, I just remembered that I forgot to pick up some dog food for Jessica. Which means I’m going to have to get some on my way back from the game tomorrow. I just hate worrying about extra stuff on game day.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes caught mine.

  We looked at each other for a millisecond too long. I felt her moving towards me. Shit, damn near grabbed her right there, threw her up against the wall, and felt that soft body of hers against me. But then she smiled and stepped into the bar, erasing that possibility, though her body brushed up against mine as she passed. I pushed my own ego aside, and reminded myself that tonight wasn’t about me; it was about giving Amy—the best female friend that I’d managed not to scare away—a night that she’d never forget.

  Inside, the place was only about half full, just like I’d planned.

  “Still pretty empty,” I said. “No waitstaff, we just order at the bar here. Why don’t you grab a booth, and I’ll order us a bottle of wine. Sound good?”

  She smiled, and did that fucking arm thing again, this time giving my bicep a healthy squeeze. It seemed I’d have to live on those small touches forever. “Yeah, of course. You’re the boss tonight. I’m all yours.”

  What was it with this woman and mixed signals?

  “Cool,” I said, and this time I returned her touch, caressing her lower back ever so slightly.

  She turned and walked away to find a booth.

  You’re the boss. I’m all yours. I played her words over again in my head as the bartender opened me up a bottle and handed me two glasses. I can be your fucking boss, Amy. I’m a great fucking boss. I have some very bossy things I’d like to do to you. And then I just might let you boss me around, too.

  “Thanks man.” I handed the bartender a twenty Euro bill and told him to keep the change. He smiled back.

  “Your novia is very pretty,” he said in Spanglish, nodding in Amy’s direction. She was smiling and bobbing her head to the beat, basically dancing in her seat.

  “Not my novia,” I corrected him. “We’re not dating. Just my good amiga.”

  “Ohhh. I see.” He smiled and then leaned and gestured for me to do the same. “She’s your amigovia.”

  “Amigovia?” I repeated, trying to translate that into proper English. “Amiga means friend, and novia means girlfriend, so, do you mean friends with benefits?”

  “No!” The bartender wagged his finger at me. “No. Amigovia is…your best friend who you fuck.”

  My eyes widened a bit that this Spanish bartender had just dropped an F-bomb. Then again, most everyone who spoke even a little bit of English knew fuck was one of the most common words in the spoken English language.

  “Amigovia is different than that friends with benefits?” I asked, for clarification.

  He nodded enthusiastically. “Now you understand, Americano!” I actually didn’t understand what he meant. Apparently, the subtlety of the phrase was lost on me. But with that nod, he headed to the other end of the bar to tend to another customer. I shook off the interaction and headed to the booth where Amy was sitting.

  Why was everything that was happening tonight seemed so weird?

  Then again, maybe I was the weird one who kept on reading into every little thing that happened.

  “Your wine, Señorita Squirt,” I said as I set a glass down on the table and poured a glass for Amy. “Care to taste?”

  She swirled her glass and stuck her nose far inside then took a sip. “These are by far the sexiest tannins I’ve ever had,” she said, grinning.

  Chuckling, I slid in the booth across from her and filled my glass with the deep red liquid then set the bottle between us. “Thanks. People have always told me my tannins are adorable. It’s nice to hear them be called sexy for once. Cheers.”

  We clinked glasses and each took down a healthy first gulp.

  “What took you so long?” Amy asked upon putting her glass down.

  “Eh, bartender was explaining something to me.”

  “What was he explaining?”

  Amy ran her finger on the rim of her wine glass.

  Well, if Amy could easily talk about sex, so could I. “He was telling me what the word amigovia means.”

  Her brows furrowed, like mine probably had when trying to decipher the English meaning. “What does it mean?”

  “It’s like…amiga plus novia. But not like friends with benefits. It’s like a friend and girlfriend in one.”

  She raised both her brows. “Sounds like a pretty sweet deal. I mean, I hope to be best friends with my future…” She trailed off, as if searching for the right word. “You know. My future man.”

  I stared at her smile, which was all at once angelic and devilish. Then she leaned back in the booth and sighed. “Chandler, this was exactly what I needed. Just a relaxed night talking about stupid shit with you. Damn, I forgot how much I loved hanging out with you.”

  “So you think talking about amigovia is just stupid shit?” I asked as I refilled our wine glasses. We were drinking rapidly. College style.

  She gave me a surprised look. “No. Not really. Actually I think it sounds pretty great. I just meant…that I feel comfortable with you. With David—pretty much every guy I dated back home come to think of it—I always felt like we were trying to one up each other when we were on dates. Or like they were trying to impress me. And therefore, I felt like I had to impress them. And the result was I felt so fake. I don’t feel like I have to impress you, for some reason, though. We’re just ‘us’, you know?”

  “I do. I know exactly what you mean. I feel the same way around you. It’s great,” I said, meaning it.

  “It just makes me wonder, you know?”

  “Wonder what, Amelita?” I asked, waiting.

  Her eyes got soft at my endearment. “Wonder how you and me would be if we ever gave it a go.”

  I froze, glass to my lips. I took a fortifying sip then set it down.

  She’d finally crossed the line.

  “Fuck, Amy. Of course I’ve thought about it. You’re sexy as fuck, smart as hell, and you’ve got a great ass.”

  She smiled. “You think I’ve got a great ass?”

  I leaned in and stared right in her eyes with a big cocky smirk across my face. “You think I really said fuck me because I forgot to pick up the dog’s food today? I was watching you watch through the fucking door. You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, Amy. I’ve imagined many times what a sweaty all nighter with you would be like.”

  I closed my mouth, but kept smiling. This time, she was the one who was at a loss for words, not me. Her chest rose and fell deeply, like she was taking deep breaths.

  “Fuck me,” she muttered, lowering her gaze and staring at her wine.

  “Amy, you’ve got to be clearer with me. Was that a general fuck me, this is crazy, or was that a please fuck me tonight?”

  She leaned across the table. “That was a ‘I want to break the pact tonight kind of fuck me’.”

  Finally. But she looked terrified at breaking her own rules. Even though I was getting exactly what I’d wanted since we met, I wasn’t going to rush her. No pressure, just take it one step at a time.

  “If we’re going to do this, Squirt, we’re going to do this right.” I cou
ld see she was still nervous, but a smile returned to her face. “C’mon.” I stood up from the booth. “Let’s dance.”

  “Yes, please.” I extended my hand toward her. She took it, and I led her to the dance floor.

  Eighteen

  Chandler

  For the first hour or so on the dance floor, we danced a more traditional salsa. That is, I led her in the four-step patterns, making sure I threw in a trick now and then to keep Amy on her toes. If this was going to be our night, I was going to make it fucking last.

  The woman could dance. I was sure every couple out on the dance floor was staring at us with how aggressive we were being. We’d danced before, years ago, and it wasn’t like I’d held back then. But this was a whole new ballgame. We’d crossed the line from friends to amigovias or whatever the hell we decided to call what we were. Every chance I got, I pulled her body in tight to mine, gripped the small of her back, my palm found it’s way to that incredible ass of hers quite a few times.

  “I forgot how good you move,” she said, out of breath.

  I chuckled and leaned my head down a bit so I could whisper in her ear. “If you think this is moving, wait until you see what I’m going to do with you when we get home.”

  I swear I felt her goosebumps flow through her body. She just looked up at me, speechless.

  I led her off the floor. We needed a break for a moment to cool off and rest a bit. We headed to the bar and ordered two Gin and Tonics.

  We clinked our classes together. “To being amigovios,” Amy said before we both took sips of our drink. “To be honest Chandler, I don’t even feel drunk right now.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. I’m drunk on you. I love fact that I finally don’t have to be discrete about feeling your bicep.”

  She reached out and did the arm thing again, more deliberately this time.

  “I’m happy I don’t have to be discrete about staring right at your gorgeous tits.”