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

by Mickey Miller

  “Good service is so hard to come by these days.” I grinned and shook my head.

  She smiled at me but seemed surprised. Probably because most guys these days are such pussies that they won't even talk to girls in the flesh, let alone openly flirt back. They’re so used to their electronic dating profiles, Tinder, and Snapchat, they feel more comfortable swiping left and right on their smartphones. Meanwhile, they are scared to interact with women in real life.

  Me? I’m an old school type. A regular Clint fucking Eastwood. I don’t even have a Facebook page. Fuck Facebook.

  “All I need is a drink.” She smiled wryly, batting her eyelashes and giving me an expression that had 'fuck me' written all over her face.

  “I could use a refill myself.” I jingled the ice in my now empty Jack-and-Coke and raised both of my brows at her.

  “There’s no one in the seat next to you,” she remarked, half question and half statement, grinning as she craned her neck to look over my shoulder into the seat next to me.

  “Nope.” I quirked the sides of my lips up slightly. “Want to give me some company? Long flight.”

  “I suppose you might make a better travel companion then McDrooly over here.” She nodded to the man next to her. Only an hour into the flight, the guy was snoring so loud it made me want to personally apply a nasal strip to his face.

  I turned my legs so she could squeeze through and sit in the window seat next to me. She put her hand on my shoulder for ‘balance’ as she walked by. But I knew she didn’t really care about balance. She was checking out the goods, like a man running his hands over a car he’s considering taking for a ride. Call me cocky, but I wasn’t surprised. I'm a professional basketball player, I work out a lot, and women have always enjoyed feeling me up. Abs and arms are usually their top priorities, but once they catch wind of what’s below, that usually seals the deal.

  She eased into seat and slid her hand off my shoulder.

  “I’m Chandler.” I smiled, reaching a hand out.

  “Renee,” she replied, returning my grip.

  “Pleasure to meet you Renee.”

  Like she had done with my shoulder, she let her hand linger a little longer than was normal.

  “You have strong forearms.” She ran her hand up to my bicep and gave it a light squeeze. “And giant hands. Do you play a sport?”

  “Basketball.” I smiled.

  She opened her mouth slightly, ran her tongue along her lips, and flashed her eyes at me once more as she slid her hand off my forearm. “Basketball. That’s hot.”

  Renee was attractive, objectively, at least. She had on a sexy black skirt and a blue tank top that hugged her upper body.

  I smiled again, and leaned back, seeing exactly where this was going. We’d chat for the next hour with some heavy flirting. The drinks would help lubricate the fact that—despite our mild physical attraction—we were virtually strangers.

  A stewardess walked by, seeming a little flustered, her cheeks red and her hair out of place.

  “Excuse me miss, we’d like to order a couple of drinks, please,” I said with a polite smile.

  She ignored me and continued past. A second later she stopped, turned, and looked over her shoulder with a delayed reaction. “I’m sorry sir, but we’re dealing with a bit of a…situation right now.” She chose her word carefully. “And I need to go speak with the Captain.”

  “Well, when you’re done dealing with that situation, we would love to get some first class service,” Renee chimed in. “We need some drinks.”

  “Right away, ma’am.” The stewardess made a sort of exaggerated curtsy motion, as if conveying that she had bigger fish to fry than our drinks. She disappeared into the flight deck.

  “Well, that was rude,” Renee said, clearly annoyed. “I am certainly not a ma’am.” I noticed a slight bulge inside her cheek as she ran her tongue inside her mouth and stared at me with her big blue eyes. “Quite a Miss.”

  I stood up and stepped into the aisle. “Well, Miss, I’m going to get us some drinks from the bar in the back since it looks like we are in a serve ourselves situation. What’ll you have?”

  “Vodka tonic with lemon. No lime. Lemon.”

  There was a certain bite to the way she said the words that made me slightly irritated. But still, I’d get her the drink. “You got it. Be right back.”

  The Boeing 747 was a jumbo jet and had several rows of curtains every twenty seats or so. The lights were mostly dimmed except for a few night owls up reading. The passengers were a mix of Spaniards, tourists, businesspeople, and a few scattered students. Most of them surely planned to sleep most of the way to Europe. I saw one wide-eyed guy with glasses looking out the window. He didn’t look tired at all. I wondered if this was his first flight or trip to Europe.

  When I reached the very last curtain I could hear a woman speaking. No, yelling. And there was laughter from the crew. I opened the curtains, and twenty feet away I saw the center of the disturbance.

  She had long brown hair, a short stature, and was gesturing toward the liquor cart. I slowed my walk so that I could gauge the situation.

  "Miss, I'm sorry but the liquor cart has been closed for the night,” the stewardess said in an even tone.

  "That’s a lie," the brunette countered, swaying ever so slightly.

  I tilted my head and squinted my eyes, trying to see her face in the sparse lighting. Something about her mannerisms seemed instantly familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. And then there was her voice, which had this unique perky quality to it. I scanned my memory, but something did not compute.

  “If I have money, the bar is open,” she emphasized, holding out a twenty dollar bill to make her point.

  "It's not a lie. The bar is closed,” the stewardess countered. This was a bold-faced lie, since blondie and I were about to order booze. Not to mention flights didn’t exactly have cut off hours since we were over international waters.

  "It isn’t, though. Come on, sister. I’ve had a tough year. A tougher month. And another drink is going to fix all my problems. Trust me.” She said the words with such conviction that the stewardess seemed like she wanted to believe her.

  Wait. That voice. I swallowed and my heart began to palpitate when she turned, briefly, I saw her face.

  Squirt.

  Fourteen

  Chandler

  After all these years, Amy had the same fire in the eyes that had attracted me to her. Tiny, gregarious, and fucking gorgeous.

  My heart began to pound like crazy. The one fucking girl who got away from me was back in my sights. And tipsy Amy was possibly the most charming of all of the versions of her I knew.

  “I can’t even have a drink if I bust out my best eighties dance moves?” She closed her eyes and danced as if the entire flight crew wasn’t standing right goddamn there.

  The two stewardesses were both cracking up and I could tell that even though they wouldn’t give out any more liquor to her, they found her pleading as adorable as I did. By now, several passengers were stirring and avidly watching the show. Meanwhile, my heart was practically beating out of my chest as I felt old feelings float up to the surface. Ones that I hadn’t felt in years, ones I had pushed back and never visited.

  “Amy.” My voice broke as I spoke from behind, heard the syllables like I was speaking the words of a foreign language, so long since I’d said them. Sure, I knew a couple of people named Amy here and there, but the way I said her name was different.

  When I spoke her name, she immediately stiffened, then turned slowly toward me until she was fully facing me, her eyes wide.

  “Chandler?” She stared at me for a moment, mouth wide open, before she took several quick steps and ran up, and wrapped her arms around me. “Oh my God! Chandler!”

  She pressed her petite but curvy frame into me and laid her head on my chest, warming up my body. I hugged her back, looking down at the top of her head in utter disbelief.

  “I can’t believe it’s
you,” I growled.

  “This is crazy,” she whispered, not letting me go. “Why the hell would you be on this flight?”

  “I live in Barcelona now,” I began. “I take this flight a few times a year. I was just back in Chicago for the holidays. What about you? Why are you on this flight?”

  She released me and I did the same, slowly. She stared up at me, flashing her gorgeous brown eyes. She looked different. Still young—what was she, twenty-five now?—but more womanly. Her short body was curvier than it used to be. Her hair fell down around her shoulders. It took everything in my power to dissuade my cock from getting an insta boner right then and there. I smiled a little, patiently awaiting her answer. She looked as though she was thinking extremely hard, searching for some elusive answer.

  Finally, she spoke. “Chandler, I swear, I’m not as say as they drunk I am,” she slurred. She paused, looking away for a moment. “Wait. I don’t think that right came out.”

  I let out a hearty laugh and glanced at the stewardess that had been in first class. The other two quickly got the hint to go back to their duties and split. The serious stewardess had an eyebrow arched toward me, patiently watching our interaction. “Should I leave you two alone?” she asked.

  “We’ll take two waters,” I said, holding up two fingers.

  The attendant reached into the cart and handed me two bottles, but refused to take the money I held out.

  “Thank you sir. On the house,” she said, still looking grateful that I had calmed Amy down and had taken this problem off her plate.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” I said before I had turned fully around. “I need a vodka and lemon.”

  She sighed. “Is this for that…woman in first class?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who are you getting a drink for?” Amy asked, suddenly very curious.

  “Just this girl…”

  “Dammit, Chandler, are you seducing women again?”

  I laughed. “Maybe,” I hedged.

  Amy punched me playfully in the arm.

  “Ow!” I feigned like she had hurt me.

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Although it had been years since we’d last seen each other, she still recalled my playboy ways. In fact, she knew them better than anyone.

  “Aww, did I hurt you? Do you want me to kiss your arm?” she asked, sarcastically but rubbed my upper arm soothingly where she had punched it.

  I laughed and rolled my eyes. Taking the drink from the stewardess, I guided Amy to the front of the plane to join me in first class. When we arrived, Renee smiled at seeing the drink in my hand. Her smile, however, turned instantly upside down when she saw I had brought another girl back.

  “Hi! I’m Amy,” Amy said, and stuck out her hand for a shake. Renee reluctantly took it.

  “I’m Renee,” she said, coldly.

  “Nice to meet you Renee.” Amy’s tone was bubbly.

  Amy looked at me. Then at Renee. And then me again. “Ohhhhh,” she said. “Your friend, I assume?” She leaned into my ear and whispered. “Is this one of your muchas chicas?”

  “We just met, actually,” I said, lamely. Amy gave me a look, half smirking and half disbelieving. I was about to ask Renee to politely leave, but Amy jumped right in.

  “Hey,” she said, turned towards Renee. “So I know you probably thought you were going to hook up with my friend Chandler here. Or at least get his number for when we touch down in Barcelona. And I wouldn’t say I blame you. But we are old friends who are coincidentally on this flight, and we have some catching up to do. So I’m gonna have to ask you for that seat. Thanks for understanding.”

  I thought about jumping in, but Drunk Amy had summed up everything pretty succinctly. I nodded, nothing more to add.

  She looked so offended that all she could do was glare at me in a huff but she got up from her seat and stomped back to hers.

  “Sorry,” Amy called out. “You still want his number?”

  Renee looked over at us and gave Amy an icy look of death.

  Amy shrugged and took the window seat. I slid in next to her.

  “You pissed I cockblocked you?” she asked, tilting her head at me but still smirking.

  “If it were anyone else, I might be,” I admitted, chuckling a little. I’d forgotten how blunt and brazen she could be in her speech. I kind of missed that. “But I can’t stay mad at you. Drunk Amy is the cutest cockblock ever.”

  She sighed and gazed out the window into the nothingness. “This is so crazy. I can’t believe I ran into you here, of all places.”

  “Well, I live in Barcelona now,” I returned. “So it’s not that crazy.”

  Her eyes rounded. “Really?”

  I nodded and sighed. Amy was quite drunk if I was having to repeat myself. “I play for Spain’s basketball team in the Euroleague. Going on four years now…”

  “Wow,” she breathed, blinking up at me. “I’m impressed. I never got to watch you when we were in Spain.” She gave me a sidelong glance. “You any good these days?”

  I laughed out loud at her teasing tone. “I do all right,” I said, then turned the topic back to her. “So. What are you doing here?”

  She glanced back at me, and I thought I saw her eyes tear up. The only time I’d ever seen Amy near tears was the night of Becca’s b-day bash, and, in essence, when we drifted apart. “I was supposed to go to Barcelona for a trip with my boyfriend David. I was going to show him all of the cool places we used to go when we studied abroad.”

  Boyfriend. Of course Amy would have a boyfriend but it was like a slight gut-check. “And then what happened to this David guy?” I prompted, when she didn’t resume.

  Amy had always been upbeat around me—when we were on friendlier terms, of course. There were very few times when I saw her get sad like she was right now. She’d always had the kind of peppy personality—at least, what I knew of her back then—that made me think if she was sad, something was really wrong with the world.

  Instinctively, seeing her on the brink of crying actually made me a little sad, too. I reached for her hand and held it, lacing our fingers together.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, then reopened them after taking a deep breath. “What was I saying?”

  “You were talking about David. Trip to Barcelona. What happened?” I gave her hand a squeeze. She squeezed back, which made me smile.

  “Oh right. Sorry…” She blinked a few times, eyes darting to our joined hands. “Well, I was thinking that David was ‘the one’,” she said, her expression grim and unhappy. “So I bought us tickets to Barcelona for our six month anniversary. I even left work early to surprise him at his apartment. And then I walked in on him fucking his forty-year-old manager from the bar where he works in downtown Chicago.”

  My anger, on her behalf, was immediate. “What the fuck?! What an asshole!”

  “It’s okay.” The tears were gone, and now she was just fiery-eyed and pissed. “I’m glad I found out now as opposed to ten years from now. But I wasn’t about to let my ticket to Barcelona go to waste.”

  Now there was the Amy I remembered. “And now you’re here getting drunk on a plane…” I let the corners of my mouth slide up in a tiny smile.

  “Yep. My life is pretty much a Dierks Bentley song right now. I’ve got this 737 rocking like a G-6.” She laughed but disengaged her hand from my hold, running her hand through her hair. I instantly missed the feel of her skin against mine.

  And fuck, that hair. She smelled so good. Just as good as she did years ago. Better.

  She slanted me a look. “I forgot how funny you are. But seriously, you have no idea how good it feels to just say this stuff. To someone who cares. And listens. I’ve always liked that about you.”

  I laughed at how crazy this was, this random chance encounter five years later. If I hadn’t boarded last, I would have likely seen her at O’Hare in the waiting area. The possibility of missing her when we landed in Barcelona was fifty-fifty in the baggage claim, so thank g
od for Renee and her need of vodka tonic with lemon. “Can I record you saying that so I can play it back to…oh I don’t know…every girl I’ve ever dated?” I teased.

  “Shut up.” She punched my arm playfully again. “You’re a good guy. Even if you can’t hold down a girlfriend for more than a few weeks.”

  She was right about one thing: after all this time, I still did care. About her, a lot. More then I thought I would have with five years between us. The pain of how we drifted had always haunted me. But sitting here, with her next to me, the connection and chemistry we’d had from the beginning was still there, so visceral, it nearly knocked the wind out of me. I took a moment, and stared at this face I’ve missed and inventoried the changes.

  She eyed me back. “What are you staring at?” she asked, a little shyly.

  “Just that you’re as gorgeous as I remembered you,” I stated, simply. Truthfully. For all my propensity for bullshitting, when it came to Amy, I just couldn’t.

  She looked away, blushing and licking her lips. She could deny it, like she tried to do five years ago, but I knew she felt it too. This tension between us. “And, I, um…I…” she said, stumbling over her words. “I bet all your ten-night stand—”

  “Ten-night stands?” I interrupted, giving her look. I groaned. “Seriously?”

  She laughed. “Yeah. You’re not a one-night stand guy. But you’re not a relationship guy either. You do ten-night stands then move onto some other girl.” She poked me in the chest. “Come on. Like your lady friend when I first got to Barcelona in Doña María’s house.”

  I thought about it for a second. Drunk Amy was Honest Amy, and she knew my habits pretty well. “Sounds about right,” I admitted. I guess I hadn’t changed that much in five years.

  “I’m glad you agree. I think I’m going to end on that tidbit of wisdom,” she said, yawning. “I forgot that one drink at this altitude is worth three on the ground, and I had at least two. Thank god I’m not on my meds right now.”