Mechanic with Benefits

by Mickey Miller

  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 n
ot 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?”

  Becca’s eyes lit up. “Yeah girl! They have a really big one in the back. Do you like to dance?”

  “Uh, yeah!” I exclaimed, feeling even better about tonight. “I was listening to Enrique Iglesias and practicing my dance moves in my room before I met up with you.” I didn’t add the fact that right afterwards, I dumped my douchy ex. “It’s always helped me with my mood. It’s my version of meditation.”

  “Get out!” Becca turned to me. “You’re a home dancer, too?”

  “Oh yeah,” I said, laughing. “I dance wherever I can. At home when my host family is out, in my room, in the shower…” I stopped short. “Well, I haven’t danced in the shower yet in Spain.”

  Becca broke out into singing ‘Hips Don’t Lie’ by Shakira, and I joined her in rocking some killer dance moves in line. A few people ahead of us opened up some space for us, enjoying the impromptu show we were putting on.

  People were actually starting to clap a little bit, when I noticed a very tall, very sexy man walked by us. I lost my dance rhythm as I realized who it was.

  Chandler breezed past the line and went straight to the bouncer. He was with a couple of freakishly tall people. One of the guys had to be at least seven feet. His basketball buddies, I imagined.

  The bouncer waved through Chandler and his entourage ahead of everyone else in the line.

  “Hey, what’s up with that?!” I yelled from ten feet back where I had been waiting. “No cuts!”

  And if anyone was getting to cut this line, it should have been me and my short skirt in this chilly weather, not my asshole roommate. Chandler turned his head in my direction, his eyes searching until they landed on me. His face lit up with a smile. “Oh hey, Squirt, what’s up?!”

  Becca shot me a confused look. “Did he just call you Squirt?”

  “Long story,” I said to her before turning back to Chandler. “Hey what’s up, yourself! You can’t just jump the line like that. Help us out!”

  “I didn’t know you went out to bars, Squirt!” he yelled back, ignoring my question. “I thought you were just gonna Skype with your boyfriend in your room like a good little girl the whole time you were in Barcelona!”

  My jaw dropped at his declaration, and those in line who understood English, openly snickered at me. The man was an asshole, plain and simple. I chided myself for having ever fantasized about him.

  But it also wasn’t lost on me that he had been observing my relationship status. I thought he barely knew I existed, let alone knew anything or cared about my romantic life.

  “Well now, I don’t think that’s any of your business, is it?”

  He shrugged, gave the bouncer a first pound, and continued inside.

  Becca stared at me. “Still waiting for the Squirt explanation. That’s a hell of a nickname.”

  I sighed. “Let’s wait until after the first shot for me to explain.”

  We didn’t see Chandler inside, but I didn’t much care. I had just dumped one asshole, and the point of tonight was for Becca and I to hang out and have fun—not for me to be made fun of some more.

  So I was okay with not seeing another asshole.

  Even though I wouldn’t mind catching another glimpse of those eyes of his.

  Loud Spanish music played as we pushed through the packed crowds and found a spot at the bar. After we sat down and reviewed the drink menu, Becca ordered for us in English. I’d settled on the Rut Jumper shot, which was some combination of tequila and another liquor. Becca got something called The Man Finder.

  “Barcelona got you down?” Becca joked, watching the bartender make her drink. “Need to get out of a rut?”

  “I’ll settle in soon. It’s barely been a couple of weeks.” I frowned. “I don’t know, I’ve just been in a weird place since I got here. Although to be fair, I’ve felt off this whole school year for some reason, even back in Chicago. How about you? Still trying to find that special guy?”

  Becca tossed her long blonde hair and spoke with that California confidence she carried all too well. “I am single and ready to mingle.”

  Before the bartender handed us our shots, he blew out the flames in them. I looked at him, confused. “That’s it? I thought we’d take the flaming shots.”

  He laughed. “No, no. Of course not. Just flames before. Too hot for your mouth with fire. You get burned.”

  I shrugged. We clinked our glasses together, then flung the liquid back. It went down surprisingly smooth.

  “Okay, shot taken.” Becca slammed her shot glass on the bar, her grin devilish. “Now tell me why Chandler Spiros calls you Squirt.”

  I gave Becca the full rundown of our chance shower encounter this morning. She nodded in her casual way, seeming a little surprised, but mostly unfazed.

  “That’s pretty hot. So…” She trailed off and pursed lips briefly. “Oh, never mind.”

  “What were you going to say?”

  “I was going to ask if you and him might hook up. But it doesn’t matter anyways because you have a boyfriend.”

  “Actually, I don’t,” I admitted. “Not anymore.”

  She gasped. “You don’t? But Chandler just said you did. Was he lying?”

  “No, he wasn’t. I’ve Skyped with my boyfriend—well, now ex-boyfriend, Scott—every night since I got here. But I broke up with him right before I came here tonight.”

  “Oh my gosh. Now the Rut Jumper shot makes sense! Was it you or him?”

  Internally, I sighed. That was always the question when it came to my relationships. I went for a diplomatic answer. Not that I cared if she knew why exactly, but I didn’t feel like getting into the long answer in the middle of a loud bar. As much as I liked Becca, I wasn’t about to delve into my depression issues. Tonight was supposed to be for positive thinking, not dwelling on my own shortcomings. “Let’s just say…a combination of both of us. It’s for the best.” Thankfully, Becca didn’t push for details.

  “So you’re back on the market as of tonight?! Look out, boys!” she belted toward the crowd, and a few men turned around, including Chandler before he turned back to his friends. “This one’s single and ready—”

  “No no no,” I told her, trying to get her to stop. “I am not about to jump right back out there. I’m going to wait it out. See how it goes. I’ll definitely be hitt
ing the dance floor to blow off some steam, though.”

  For the rest of the night, Becca and I had a fantastic time getting to know each other sitting at the bar while we fended off a fair amount of men who tried to talk to us. We just weren't in the mood yet for that. It was a girls’ night.

  "I'll be right back," I said. "I'm going to head to the bathroom. Watch my purse?"

  She nodded and I headed to the back of the bar to find the bathroom. Even though I’d refrained from having as many shots as Becca and downing water just as fast, I was decently tipsy. I may or may not have swayed a little bit on the way to the bathroom. I'm not sure if that was what tipped off the creepiest guy in the universe, but I didn’t even make it the bathroom door when a shorter man, with dark balding hair and black eyes, cornered me almost instantly.

  "Mi amor. Hello pretty girl," he said with a strong Spanish accent. The way he stood, there was nowhere for me to go but through him to get to the ladies’ room.

  "Hola!” I answered and tried to breeze past him. He grabbed my arm, and instinctually I slapped him in the face.

  "Owww!" he yelled. "What is your problema, chica?" He spoke in a sinister tone. My heart began to thump intensely because his grip hadn’t loosened and it was starting to hurt. We were also in the back of the hallway, all alone. Not good. “I just want to be your friend,” he added, in the same strange accent.

  "Let go!" I screamed. He laughed and said something in Spanish to me I didn't understand. It was still empty out here, loud music reverberating through the bar.

  The creep’s eyes shifted off me when someone came out of the other bathroom from behind me.

  "Hey. Amigo." There was no mistaking the deep tambour of the voice speaking over my head. His voice had the same pitch as when we’d argued this morning in the bathroom. I looked over at him, still scared but mostly glad to see a familiar face.

  The Spaniard spoke in rapid-fire Spanish to Chandler, who looked as if he could explode at any moment. I couldn't understand what the Spanish man said, but even with my rudimentary linguistic skills I knew what Chandler had told him.