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

by Mickey Miller

  “Awwww. Look at that. So cute.”

  I punched Le Ral in the shoulder. “Fuck you.” I smiled.

  “Well, let me know if you are up for anything after you hang out with her tonight.” Le Ral squinted and nodded, like he’d had some kind of realization. “And hey, didn’t you say she wanted to stay ‘just friends’?”

  I nodded back. “That’s what she said. But she wants me. I know it.”

  La Ral just shook his head as I made my way to the exit. Just then, my phone buzzed and I got a text from Amy.

  Amy: Hey sorry, can’t hang out tonight. I forgot to text you earlier but something came up, ttyl

  TTYL?

  What the fuck was this?

  I was confused as a monkey doing alegebra.

  I fired back a text: What are you doing?

  Amy: Friend’s birthday party…

  Chandler: Where is it?

  Amy: idk, gotta go get ready, ttyl

  Again with the fucking TTYL? I thought about her turning in early last night—had that been about her avoiding me and planning a way out of our date? Why else treat me like I was some kind of plague all of the sudden? I wasn’t angry, but this hot-cold thing was new to me. I knew she really believed that if we hooked up that things would go down hill, and I saw her logic but it could end up being fun instead of bad. What was wrong with fun? Especially with each other?

  Had I hallucinated opening my eyes and seeing her writhing in my doorway, hand on her pussy as she pleasured herself while she watched me doing the same? Was I Mugatu over here taking crazy pills?

  I stopped short of the door, turned and yelled to Le Ral, “Hey, date’s canceled. Let’s hang tonight.”

  He was just standing up. His face spread into a grin. “Now that’s what I like to hear. Guys’ night.”

  “Guys’ night it is.”

  Amy was driving me crazy. Nuts. I’d never tried this hard over a girl. I’d never had to chase a girl before, and here she was…just blowing me off for no reason. Screw that. I could blow her off, too but…it bothered me. It really bothered me she didn’t want to hang out when I’d been looking forward to it all day. Even if my end goal was to get her in my bed, it wasn’t like I was going to maul her at the bar. It was like I’d done something to turn her off. I shook my head at myself. I knew I was just projecting and Amy was the type to tell me what was on her mind. So her friend’s b-day party was more important, no big deal. Telling myself that a few times didn’t make me feel better.

  Whatever, I told myself. Another night. No big deal. Nothing a little drinking therapy wouldn’t cure.

  Ten

  Chandler

  “Love is tough, man,” Le Ral said, philosophically. “You never know when it’s going to bite you in the ass and then just take off running like a stray dog.”

  We’d been sitting at the bar for a while now, on our third round of beers, and I wasn’t sure if that was the beer talking. And who the hell said anything about me loving Amy? I didn’t say that out loud but why did the French always move shit along on the fast track? I just wanted to sleep with her—maybe more than once, until we burned each other out, or even until we both had to go back home.

  “That’s the third love metaphor I’ve heard from your crazy ass in the last hour,” I said, letting the sarcasm shine through. But to be honest, the more I thought about being blown off by Amy, the more annoyed I got. What was her real deal?

  “I know man, but we’ve been sitting here for an hour and you keep brooding—over that girl.” Le Ral gave me a hearty pat on the back. “What’s with you? I’ve never seen you sweating a girl like this. Like you never even mentioned that Spanish girl you were dating, what’s her name again?”

  “What’s her name! Exactly!” I barked. I took a big swig of my Stella Artois and slammed the glass down on the bar.

  “Exactly?” Le Ral echoed, a puzzled expression on his face. “What do you mean by ‘exactly’?”

  “I mean that I’m done dating these girls on a superficial level,” I said, deciding this on the spot. “I’m over it. I want a girl who has quality here.” I pointed to my chest.

  “You mean you want a girl with quality tits? Or a good sweater? I can’t tell.” Le Ral had said that with an absolutely straight face.

  I punched him in the chest. “No you asshole, I’m talking about a quality heart.”

  “That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth,” he drawled, and a little disbelieving. After all my tall tales and the tail I’d been hooking up with since he’s known me, the doubt was justified. Still, if he didn’t believe me, what girl would? Like, say, Amy. Or whoever. “I mean it, what’s gotten into you, Chandler?”

  Le Ral was actually being serious and I was drawing a blank. I ran a hand through my hair and leveled with him. “Fuck man, I have no clue.” I paused. Actually, I did have a clue. I let it out. “This fucking Amy girl, I told you! She’s driving me insane.”

  “Well, that was sort of obvious. But, I know the cure for that, Casanova,” Le Ral said with a wry smile as he signaled to the bartender.

  I winced at the nickname I’d earned at UNC. I didn’t even know how it’d started but it’d stuck. Why I’d told the guys after a game a couple months back beat the hell out of me but it was better they knew the stupid shit about me rather than the real stuff.

  When I’d entered the bar, getting hammered had sounded like a great idea. Now, I just wanted to know where Amy was and what she was doing but Le Ral was over my brooding and frankly, he had a point. It was Friday, nightlife in Barcelona was one of the best and I was done thinking about anything too serious. I wanted to loosen up and maybe not think about Amy for a few minutes.

  An hour and a half later we were humming with the perfect amount of alcohol coursing through us. I had the kind of buzz going that made me think I told the best stories of all time. No, fuck that, I did tell the best stories of all time. As I was wrapping up one of my best travel stories to Le Ral, I couldn’t believe who was fucking strolling right into Fire Shots at 10 p.m.

  I elbowed Le Ral. “Looks like our friends made it.”

  He gave a small grunt and muttered something under his breath but all I focused on was Amy. She was normally gorgeous, but tonight she looked absolutely stunning. She wore black boots and a tight red dress with a neckline that plunged low enough that I was able to snipe some solid cleavage from twenty feet away.

  Just another one of my secret talents.

  The girls made eye contact with us, which was hard not to do considering we were easily the tallest guys in the bar. They bopped their way toward us through the bar like they were the belles of the ball. Which, being honest, they were. Every step Amy took toward us was fuel for my instaboner.

  “Hello hello, look who it is!” Becca said before she gave me a light hug. She then moved on to Le Ral, who she obviously lingered on for a few more seconds then she had with me.

  “Hey!” Amy quipped chirpily, her cute brown eyes lingering on mine for a moment.

  She did the opposite of Becca, spending more time hugging me than she had Le Ral. I wrapped my arms around her and gripped her tight. Fuck, her warm body felt good against mine. I tipped my nose toward her and inhaled her scent, which was tropical and smelled like what I could only describe as hot girl. I rested my chin on her head for a moment. Funny, but this was the first time I’d actually gotten to touch her since our little debacle during her first week in Barcelona. Remembering that shower moment just made things worse. And I’d be damned if our bodies didn’t fit together like puzzle pieces, just fucking right.

  I felt her ready to step away from me and I reluctantly released her from my hold. My hand remained on her back for a few extra beats. She glanced at me and smiled. Any thoughts about her avoiding and blowing me off evaporated. She seemed genuinely happy to see me and she wasn’t remotely drunk.

  I blocked out everyone but Amy for a moment. When I came back to consciousness, I noticed that Becca was stari
ng at me.

  “Funny running into you guys here on my birthday,” she belted, in that semi-giddy drunk kind of way.

  “Happy birthday,” I said, and Le Ral echoed.

  “I do believe this calls for four birthday suits,” Becca said to the bartender.

  “Wait, what? You want us to get naked?” Amy asked, alarmed. She was still definitely sober.

  “No silly.” Becca rolled her eyes and flipped her blonde hair back. “The shot.”

  “Oooh.”

  “Four Birthday Suits!” the bartender announced.

  I smiled as I distributed the four shots.

  “Cheers! To Becca,” we all said. We three took our shots back but I noticed Amy just sort of sipped hers delicately and had a forced smile on her face as she looked around.

  Eased by liquor, I felt like I was ready to get to the bottom of Amy.

  Well, the bottom of her personality at least. She sat next to me while Becca and Le Ral got cozy. Finally, one-on-one time. I pulled the barstool out a bit for her, moving it slightly closer to me before helping her up on it.

  “Amy, I don’t get you,” I said, confronting her. I needed to get this off my chest. “You can’t deny that you’re attracted to me. And I don’t judge. But seriously, it’s not like I’m asking you to marry me. What’s really holding you back?”

  Amy batted her eyes and ordered a gin and tonic. “Fine, you really want to know?” “I do.” And I made sure to keep my eyes on her face, look her in the eye to prove it. “Lay it on me, Squirt.”

  She sighed at my nickname for her but she answered me. “Well, there are two things. One is you and one is me.”

  I frowned. This was new to me. A part of me wondered if she’d made a new list, one that was even longer than the last one. “Meaning…?” I prompted, very politely and still keeping my eyes on her face even if my brain wanted to wander elsewhere.

  “Well, you, Chandler, are a player,” she stated. “I’m attracted to you, sure, but how do I know you’re not doing this with other girls?”

  “I see,” I responded, not really sure what to say. “I could say I haven’t been hooking up with others girls but would you believe me?”

  “I want to believe you,” she said and I could tell she meant it. “But you’re a psych major, you of all people know people’s behaviors are ingrained.”

  Shit. I was just now realizing that a lot of the girls I’d dated weren’t as smart or observant as Amy. She saw right through me. That was going to take some time to get used to. So I deflected. “I won’t deny that I’ve been with other girls, yes. But as I said, I’m not with anyone right now, and you just got out of a relationship.”

  “Right, which leads me to point number two.”

  “Okay. Hit me.”

  She took a long sip of her drink then exhaled. “Chandler, I’ve had horrible luck with relationships—especially with guys—for as long as I remember.”

  I thought about that for a beat before I said, “And?”

  “Attraction isn’t enough for me.” She hesitated, looking down at her drink instead of me. “To be honest, you seem like a bad decision. The worst decision I could ever make.”

  Ouch. I mean, I wasn’t a walking STD for crying out loud and I was very careful. No way did I ever want to get a girl pregnant. “You’re wrong. Hooking up with me wouldn’t be a bad decision,” I said, trying to understand what was making her so scared. “I don’t get how you think that.”

  “I don’t do casual. You clearly do,” she continued, finally glancing up at me. “Which is why I made the pact with you in the first place. You have a lot of options. I don’t want to be just another option. We’d hook up, and you’d move on, easily, while I wouldn’t, as easily.”

  Damn. She was right of course, on my casual take on relationships with women. And I did have options. I also didn’t hesitate to explore those options. While I understood her reason, it was also incredibly frustrating. At the same time, it was refreshing to have a girl I liked tell it like it is.

  I sighed, conflicted. “You know what, you’re right in some ways.”

  “I am?” She sounded shocked.

  “Yes,” I said, smiling a little. “Let’s just start out with the basics. I don’t know a lot about you. And you know even less about me. Let’s get to know each other better.”

  “Okay,” she said, hesitantly. “Where should we start?”

  I thought about it. I already knew she had hippie parents and that she had a brother. “Tell me more about your family,” I said.

  “Um, okay,” she said. “I have one older brother, Samuel. He’s an architect in New York. You could say that we survived our hippie upbringing.” At this she paused and smiled before resuming. “My parents still live in the house we grew up in, just outside of Chicago, in Joliet. Dad runs an organic greenhouse and Mom has a yoga studio. We’re all pretty close, stay in touch though sometimes too in touch, y’know? How about you?”

  A tiny bit of uncomfortableness came over me at the way she described what, to me, sounded like a perfect upbringing. But this was my idea so I told her.

  “My mom, Stefana, married my step dad, when I was fifteen. I have a little half-brother, Billy. They all live in rural Indiana.” I stopped, just dead in my tracks and I couldn’t figure out what else to say. Quite honestly, I didn’t have the cheeriest childhood, and talking about it made me even more uncomfortable.

  “You’d said you didn’t know anything about your dad?” she asked, gently.

  “Nope,” I answered, shifting in my seat and ordering another Stella.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  I took a deep breath as the bartender set my beer down and I took an immediate fortifying sip. I’d rarely mentioned this one little detail about my life that always threw me off my game. Most people didn’t really think twice about it and the more I tried to be cavalier about it, the more it had agitated me over the years. Amy picking at this scab was getting to me though.

  “Don’t be sorry,” I said, trying for nonchalance. That was how I rolled, easygoing and a low-pressure lifestyle. “We’re better off without him, as my mom always said.”

  “Oh.” Amy looked up at me with her cute little doe eyes.

  I saw no judgment, or pity, just acceptance and understanding. That relaxed me a little. “And your parents are still together you said?” I asked, continuing our conversation but glad it was off me.

  She nodded. “Married twenty-six years.”

  “That’s impressive.”

  Amy had been moving slightly closer to me during this conversation. Now I noticed that she was just inches from me.

  “Honestly,” she continued, “I know I sound like a spoiled brat, but it sometimes freaks me out. They were the perfect couple, and I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to live up to what they have.”

  “You shouldn’t compare yourself to other people.”

  “They’re my parents,” she said, slowly. “How can I not compare myself to them?”

  “So what.” I shrugged. “I don’t want to be anything like my parents.”

  She tilted her head to one side, brows furrowed. “In what way?”

  “I’m never having kids, for starters.”

  Amy’s eyes opened up a little bit wider. “Why?”

  “A lot of reasons. I think I’d make a crappy father. And also, I think what you’ve said to me about my ‘reputation’ for being a womanizer…it’s actually true if I’m being honest. I like to keep things superficial. The inevitable breakup is easier for me if feelings don’t get involved.” I stopped for a moment because I was actually having a real conversation about myself that I normally hated doing. Amy was also listening to every word I was saying, like what I said really mattered to her. Again, also a new feeling. “And, I’ve had a hard time settling down, at least in college. But I have my reasons. I don’t think love is real.”

  She gave me a surprised look. “What do you mean by that?”

  Amy was lik
e a little kid who kept asking me questions until she reached the center of my heart. But I felt comfortable enough to tell her. In fact, I wanted to tell her. It didn’t mean it’d be easy in the telling, however. I lurched slightly at what I was about to say, but it had to be said. Looking at Amy, sweet little innocent girl, I had to tell her the truth, try and open up. Truly, for both our sakes.

  This wasn’t a topic I often touched. Hell, I almost never talked about him. I took another sip of my drink, and let the alcohol linger on my throat.

  “You ready to go down the rabbit hole, Squirt?” I asked.

  She looked me right in the eye. “Try me.”

  Eleven

  Chandler

  I almost never brought up my father, and with good reason. I didn’t know him but I hated him. The way Amy looked at me though, with her kind brown eyes. I could feel her genuine concern. After all the cardboard blondes I’d been dating lately, it was a fucking relief.

  “If you don’t want to tell me, it’s okay.” She put a hand on my forearm. “But I can tell something’s bothering you.”

  “No, it’s fine.” I took a deep breath. “Growing up, my mom always talked nonstop about what an asshole my biological father was. I’ve never met him, I don’t care to,” I said, watching her face and wondering what she was thinking. As I said the words, I realized I hadn’t admitted what I was about to say, to anyone. Ever. “But instead of my real father, she ended up with my stepfather Bob, and even though he was nice and all, it was so obvious to me that she didn’t love him.”

  It was hard to admit that I thought my mom and Bob were just a relationship of convenience, not love. It’d also made me accepting Bob as a ‘dad’ in any way impossible because I never felt like we were a ‘family’, just two separate entities slapped together.

  Amy’s expression didn’t waver. “No?” she asked, softly. “You sure about that?”

  I shook my head. “He’s been good to me and my mom, but for my mom, I think he’s more of a, ‘well, I don’t want to be alone so I might as well be with you’ kind of arrangement. He clearly loves her more than she does him but my mom has traditional views on family and marriage. She’s never been that affectionate or warm so it makes sense why she married Bob, out of tradition and security than being in love with him. Ultimately, it made me realize that I…don’t really believe in love. It’s for some, but not everyone gets it. And that’s okay. So I became a master at leaving but it works for me. It’s not to say I don’t enjoy being with someone and being with that person for however long we’re together—but having the stereotypical life, just to have it because it’s expected of me…my mom, after two tries, taught me to not hope for or expect that much. Why bring kids into that, and make them feel what I felt my whole life? I don’t see the point.”