"Es mi hermana." That's my sister.
When he said those words, the man's grasp instantly loosened, and he backed away with his hands raised in the air in an apologetic manner. I didn’t blame him. Chandler had a large, muscular frame and an intimidating look. His jaw flexed and his eyes were intense. He looked as though he wouldn’t mind a scuffle, which would likely involve this creepy Spaniard getting beat to a pulp. "I didn't know. I didn't know. I’m sorry," the man said, still holding his hands up.
Chandler mean-mugged him as he walked away.
"You okay, Squirt?" he asked, putting a hand on my shoulder. I was a little surprised by the tone of genuine concern his voice had taken on. My heart was stilling thumping like mad, and I felt all of my senses suddenly on edge as adrenaline coursed through me.
“I’m okay.”
"You're shaking." He put his other hand on my shoulder in an attempt to steady me.
"No, I'm not shaking,” I argued, stubbornly.
"Squirt. A sexy as hell girl like you in a seedy bar like this? You gotta watch out. The guys are gonna be all over you. You look hot as fuck tonight," he said, so calmly and earnestly. When Chandler said it, even I believed it was a widely accepted fact that I was hot.
"They are?" I looked up at him, uncertain. The club was dark, but there was a bit of light that flashed on his face so I could see his totally gorgeous dimples as he laughed again, the kind of big laugh that came from his belly.
"Oh please,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Don't try and pretend you don’t know how hot you are. You're a regular matahombre, Squirt."
"A…what?"
"Matahombre,” he repeated. “You knock guys dead.” When I didn’t respond, he sighed and dropped his hands from me. “Man, I need to teach you some Spanish, don't I?"
I swallowed as I stared at him. In our third encounter, he’d already dished me out two separate compliments. But who was counting?
Scott had been as stingy with compliments as Scrooge McDuck was with his dollars. “Yes. You should teach me.” I could think of some other things I’d like for Chandler to teach me, aside from Spanish. But then I remembered that Chandler was an asshole.
"Let's head to the bar.” He moved aside. “I know just the shot for us."
“Um, I have to use the bathroom first.”
“I’ll wait here while you use el baño.” He smiled. “I’m starting you off slow with Spanish words, Squirt.”
I really hated that nickname, but I turned away only mildly irritated since he did save me from that Spanish creep. Worse, I checked myself out in the mirror to make sure my hair was still looking good and that my makeup wasn’t running. Why did I kind of like Chandler despite the fact that he could probably be diagnosed with textbook narcissist disorder? After I came out of the bathroom, I followed Chandler out toward the bar. He waved at his basketball friends to come over to us since they had been in a different area of the bar.
I introduced them to Becca, who was thrilled to meet some tall guys since she was over six feet and taller than the majority of the guys here. The other players with him were even taller than Chandler, which was saying something since he was around six foot three. Tall as they all were, they seemed to defer to him like he was the leader of their international crew.
Becca gave me a look, and I shot her a nod back, indicating that she should go for it with these guys. I wasn't trying to hook up with any of them—hell, it was less than a few hours ago that I had broken up with my boyfriend. I wasn’t even ready for a rebound yet.
The guys quickly took a shine to Becca, chatting with her and leaving Chandler and me off to the side on our own. He ordered us two shots, pushing one towards me and taking the other.
"To Dirty Sweet Girls," Chandler said, toasting Becca and me. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him as he looked off for a second then glanced back down at me. “This is my favorite shot. It’s got a little pineapple juice, Amaretto, and Baileys.”
"Pineapple juice, eh?” I reversed my earlier decision about having had too many shots. “Seems like a weird addition to this drink," I noted, going for polite observation over flat out snark. Also, I knew I really shouldn’t drink any more.
But damn him, he winked at me. “It’s the most important ingredient, trust me,” he added, touching me on my waist. It was light, so brief, but it had my brain cells go haywire. More precisely, in the gutter.
“If you say so,” I said as I raised my shot glass to his.
“Believe me, Squirt, you’ll like it,” he coaxed, then tossed his back.
I did the same. Surprisingly, the Dirty Sweet Girl was actually quite delicious. I set my glass down. “Not gonna lie, that was an interesting combination,” I admitted. “Goes down smooth but there is some bite to it.”
“Told you, it’s easily my favorite,” he returned, with a smile but watching me too closely, like he thought I’d react different. I couldn’t tell if he was fucking with me and making me try something really weird for no reason, just to gauge my reaction to all of this. I kept my mouth shut. No matter what, I wasn’t going to step up my flirty game with him. Maybe he was being nice to me now, but his cockiness was still annoying. Plus, he had a girlfriend.
I couldn’t help but wonder what Chandler’s shot would be, though. The DSG perfectly described me, but what would be his?
The Baller? No, he was too laid back.
The Smiling Dog? Chandler did always seem to have a cocky smile plastered on his face. But that’s when I saw it on the chalkboard menu behind the bar.
The Bad Decision.
Yep. That’s definitely what he was. But not one that I was going to make.
“Want to get another one?” I asked. “This chupito is on me.”
Chandler smiled. “Dropping the Spanish word for shot like it ain’t no thing. I like it, Squirt. How could I turn that offer down?”
I bit my lip, unsure if this was a genuine or patronizing complement. I turned toward the bartender, and ordered, “Two Bad Decisions, please.”
I felt Chandler’s hand on the small of my back, and he turned my body slightly toward his. “I like your style,” he said.
Although I was shocked at feeling his hand there, like before, I didn’t hate it.
I liked it a lot. I felt a buzz course through me, and I couldn’t figure out if it was from Chandler’s presence or the booze. Probably both.
When his hand fell off me, I told myself that the pang of disappointment was nothing. Nothing at all.
As we each took our Bad Decision shot down, Chandler didn’t take his eyes off mine the whole time.
***
Two hours later, Becca and I had a nice buzz going (definitely alcohol related this time), and the endorphins were flowing. After a spell of dancing, we huddled around the tall guys, who were gesturing wildly, telling hilarious basketball stories that made fun of each other. I was impressed with how coherent their stories still were after the amount of shots we’d taken. Then again, they were all twice our mass.
“So Chandler bets me that he can dunk over my head,” said the one with a hilariously thick French accent. “I didn’t believe this Greek asshole could be so good for being so short."
His buddies were cocky like Chandler. But most of it was in an easygoing, a-good-ribbing-will-keep-us-tough kind of way.
"Jesus, if he's short, I’m a midget,” I piped up. “Hey, what is your ethnic background anyway?” I lobbed the question at Chandler, still curious. “I partly guessed Greek—and Italian, maybe?”
He looked at me with a serious expression, which was surprising since we were many drinks in, but also because I’d never seen Chandler uncomfortable or unsmiling.
“My mom is Spanish and Greek, so you’re close,” he said, his voice flat. “As for my dad? I have no fucking clue.”
I nodded, not having meant to broach a touchy subject. The guys all kind of looked down or away, like they had heard this story before and knew it wasn’t something Chandler wanted to talk about. That�
�s probably why I was interested in knowing those details. I made a mental note to ask him about his father at some later time, when we were alone.
A strange tension hung in the air for a moment, until Becca shrugged and broke the silence. “My family is from California, and my great-great grandmother, well, she was literally a prostitute during the Gold Rush. She was one of the original gold diggers. Get it?”
We all chuckled and the awkwardness disappeared. The group was back to its easy vibe before I’d ruined it with my stupid question. Somehow, Chandler got even more charming in my eyes—but I knew the booze was helping. A little. Mostly, I was just glad Becca had convinced me to come out. I’d needed this and I felt like the cloud over my head the past two weeks was finally fading away. Chandler’s friendliness eased my guard and I felt myself relax around him. Aside from being a bad decision waiting to happen, I swore his face lit up every time he talked or touched me, and mine did too, in turn. I wondered if my Dr. Han could prescribe me a daily dose of Chandler instead of my pills.
When you go months without having actual fun, and finally go out and have a great time, you don’t want the night to end. Still, it was time to leave, and the lights of the bar were starting to turn on.
After we took our last shots, I had to admit, I was starting to feel a few degrees past “just tipsy” on the drunk spectrum.
Since Chandler and I were headed to the same place, we said goodbye to Becca and his friends. He hailed us a cab, held the door open for me while I got in, then slid in next to me. Before giving the driver our address, he turned to me.
“You want to go home?” he asked.
I wiggled my eyebrows. “You want to stay out? It’s late.”
“The night is young in Spain.”
“Well,” I said, giving it half a thought. “I do have class tomorrow. Spanish Lit.”
Chandler laughed. “Oh yeah, how’s Don Quixote coming? Did you finish it yet?”
“Shut up,” I groused. “It’s like three thousand pages.”
“So do you think it would be a bad decision to go to a late night salsa bar I know of?” He arched an eyebrow my way. Little did he know, he’d just said the magic words.
Dancing was my Achilles’ heal and anyone that could actually salsa rose up in esteem but…Chandler? Salsa? I almost laughed out loud.
“You know how to salsa dance?” I asked, dubious.
He gave me a slightly offended look. “I’ll blow your mind,” he said in a flirty voice.
I set the challenge. “Prove it.”
Chandler smiled. “I will. Tonight.”
“How do you even know how to salsa?” I asked.
“It’s a great way to meet girls.”
I rolled my eyes. Chandler’s motivations were beginning to become rather apparent. At least he was honest.
“And, dancing late at night helps me to not be so hung over the next day for basketball practice,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “It gets the alcohol out of your system.”
I feigned that I was thinking hard to make this decision. However, there was no way was I turning down an opportunity to go out and dance more. Not tonight.
He looked at his watch as our driver cleared his throat and made a gesture for us to make up our minds, tapping the meter, which was running. “It’s two a.m. right now. Salsa goes until four. You ready to work up a sweat?”
“I guess…why not,” I said, putting up some resistance. I didn’t want to show my hand. “Let’s go.”
Six
Amy
The man wasn’t lying.
He could dance so well, I questioned whether he might be gay.
“That’s an unfair stereotype,” he shot back. “Some straight guys can totally dance, too. Especially when they have Spanish blood.”
Normally, I had to take the lead on the dance floor; but finally, here was a man who seemed to always be one step ahead of me. His body was big compared to mine, but the man could move. After an hour of me enjoying every minute I had to get close to his rock hard body, we took a break and headed to the bar.
“Two waters,” Chandler ordered.
“Good call,” I said. I felt dehydrated not only from dancing but from all the alcohol I’d drunk earlier. We were both sweaty, as promised, but we were both having a really great time. He’d kept the flirting to a minimum but hadn’t made a move on me while out on the floor, where he was all about nothing but dancing and making sure I felt comfortable. That surprised me but, of course, Chandler was a suave one, that much I knew.
“You feel like a quick bite to eat after here?”
I wasn’t sure of the time but it was getting pretty late. “Where?” I asked.
“I know a great seafood place by the marina,” he said, eying me. “Open all night.”
But I was already shaking my head. “No can do,” I said. “I’m allergic to seafood—shellfish, of any kind. But I tend to just avoid all seafood as a precaution since a lot of places aren’t careful about keeping types of seafood separated and my family doctor told me to be extra careful while I’m abroad.” Especially late night seafood places, I thought. I never knew if they were cooking my ‘seafood free’ meal on the same grill they cooked everything else.
Now he was staring at me. “Oh, shit. That sucks.”
“Yeah…” I said, and tapped my party purse. “No big deal. I always keep an Epi pen on me, just in case.”
“Have you, ah, ever had to use it?” he asked, suddenly uncomfortable.
“Just a couple times since I was a kid,” I answered.
He frowned. “Does Maria know about this?”
I had to smile at his serious response. “Of course. Why do think she never makes seafood when we live near the water?”
I could see the wheels in his head turning. “Huh,” he said, drinking his water. “Good to know…”
As I took a swig of the ice water, I remembered something that had been bothering me all night, that I had somehow forced to the back of my mind.
“Hey Chandler,” I said, then paused. Yes, I needed to know the answer even though it might give away my position on the matter. "Where's your screaming girlfriend?"
He laughed. “Funny you ask. I saw her making out with some guy at the bar tonight. And I ended things." He shook his head. “She also wasn’t my girlfriend. We were just dating, having fun. It was a casual thing, but I hate cheaters.”
“That happened tonight? Just like that?” I asked, shocked. But I agreed with Chandler when it came to cheaters.
“Right before I went into the hallway and saw that creepy dude hitting on you.”
We each took another swig of our water and our eyes met.
“You called me a matahombre before,” I said, mulling things over. “A man-eater. But you're a lady killer."
He tried to deny it. "I've dated a few girls, sure—"
"Stop being coy,” I said, not buying his bull. “Doña Maria even talked about how you have muchas chicas. What’s that about?”
His expression softened slightly. "Didn’t think you caught it when she said that. Look, I'm twenty-one and I'm enjoying myself,” he admitted, not defensively or apologetically.
I let out a sigh. “No shame in that, I suppose."
He eyed me sharply. “What about you and your boyfriend?”
“Yeah. What about me?”
“I heard you yelling,” he said, looking away and raising his cup to his lips. “In your room. I’d just gotten home from practice…”
“You heard that?” I asked, clearing my throat and kind of embarrassed.
“I wasn’t eavesdropping. I just heard the end of it, I think. And the words ‘we are officially over’. That, with what I heard Becca yell at the bar, makes me think you’re single now. Like me.”
A really terrible idea cropped in my head. The numerous shots did what my Prozac and Xanax usually did: kept me in the kind of dull haze that made me react slow or not at all. Who was I kidding about where this was going? I was out l
ate dancing with the sexiest man I’d ever seen in the flesh, and now we were both conveniently single all of the sudden.
It was too good to be true.
“Amelita—”
"We can't hook up," I blurted out. As soon as the words were out, I had to remember to breathe properly.
"What? Where did that come from?" he asked, perplexed.
I felt my face get warm at the possibility that he’d had no thoughts about hooking up with me like I had. "What I mean is that I want to have a friend here,” I continued, deciding to let the thoughts in my head roll off my tongue. If this went to shit, I’d blame that on the alcohol, too. “And, yeah, I did just get out of a long, crappy relationship. And you're hot. Really hot.”
"Uh, okay," Chandler replied, fighting back a grin. "Thanks. You’re hot, too.” He leaned in. “Very hot.” He’d whispered very hot in my ear, and then leaned back with a smirk. “But I don’t see your point about not hooking up.”
I took a deep breath, brain on delay. The way he said very sent a chain reaction of butterflies through my body. They began at my neck and my throat, and traveled their way past my chest before landing square between my legs. Yeah, I needed to stop this right now.
"We need to make a pact,” I said suddenly, determined. “We don't hook up. We'll just be friends. Nothing more."
Chandler laughed hard, from the belly again. “You’re hilarious. Why don’t we just, you know, see where things go? Not put expectations and labels on things.”
The guy was damn good. But just looking at him, I could tell he was one of the guys who girls never said ‘no’ to and I was not about to be another one of his casual girls. Casual just wasn’t my style. Either he was in or he was out.
I shook my head at him. “I’m serious. I can see right through your little ‘no expectations’ crap. I think we do need expectations. Specifically, we need the expectation that you and I will be study abroad friends and nothing more. I’m not going to be another one of your muchas chicas.”
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