Mechanic with Benefits

by Mickey Miller

  I replayed Becca’s words over in my head. Hearing her say it made him sound like the really shallow one when my opinion of him had begun to rise. But yes—he was a player and I couldn’t forget that either. Chandler and I could have a real conversation as friends, but my attraction to him was only deepening and that warred with the realistic side of me.

  He wanted me and I was flattered and frazzled by it. Logically, I knew Becca was right. He only wanted a night or a few nights and then he’d be done with me. In Spain, things had turned upside down. I shouldn’t want someone like Chandler because we had nothing in common and were only brought together by chance. I had to face the fact that for Chandler, him wanting to hook up was pure convenience, living in the same space.

  An anger welled up in me, and I instantly felt foolish for even thinking that I could be the one to tame him. Be special. I hadn’t even realized that I was trying to be some force that could change Chandler until now. The anger gave me some semblance of clarity. All he was trying to do was nail me then move on to the next girl. I’d known that since the beginning and that I wasn’t the one in control of this game. Chandler was, and he had years of experience. Just when I thought he might be okay, like saving me from that creepy guy at the bar, taking me out dancing afterwards, being around and talking with him—he ruined any good parts of him by pursuing me just to pursue me. I had to remember that he didn’t care about me and never would. I hated that it made me feel so hollow inside. At the same time, I’d just broken up with Scott, and while he wasn’t an ideal boyfriend, we’d been together for a while. I was feeling weak, lonely and I could probably use Chandler in a way that wouldn’t hurt him in the least. But I wasn’t built like that, screw some guy then move on. Just as I wouldn’t be able to change Chandler, he wouldn’t change me. I’d just be the one left wounded.

  “Changing the subject,” she continued, “what are you up to tomorrow night?”

  Just a friend date that I am currently considering canceling.

  “Nothing,” I decided, glancing over at her, “why?”

  Becca grinned wide. “Friday is my twenty-first birthday and I want to do something fun. Are you in?”

  “Totally,” I said, forcing all thoughts of Chandler out of my head. “What are the details?”

  Nine

  Chandler

  My sneakers screeched on the hardwood of the basketball court as I pulled up short of Le Ral, who was guarding me in practice today.

  “You can’t touch this, Le Ral. No chance.”

  “Keep talking, pretty boy,” he barked back. “You are not getting to the hole.”

  The Frenchmen was cocky as hell and I liked it when he guarded me because he toughened me up. He was a solid few inches taller than me, but my wingspan was longer than his and I was solid muscle. He, on the other hand, was more of a lanky type build.

  I faked left, then dribbled right. Le Ral was a half step behind me as I took off in the air and slam dunked the ball with authority. He jumped in vain to block me.

  “Fuck!” Le Ral yelled.

  I let out a primal yell. “Told ya I would get by you.”

  Coach whistled at all of us to a stop, clapping his hands a few times and said, “Fellas, let’s call practice here. Good work today.” He pointed to me. “Spiros, I don’t know what the hell you had for lunch today, but can you let us all know so we can get some of that? Thanks.”

  There were a few sniggers from the team but it had been evident today that I was on fire. I felt unstoppable, unbreakable. Even Tony Le Ral, who was a year older than me and sure to get drafted by either the NBA or signed by a Euroleague when the year was up, couldn’t do anything with me.

  I knew what had given me my razor edge, but I’d never tell: I was pumped up for my little friend date with Amy tonight. Even more so because I hadn’t seen her since our interesting conversation yesterday morning, which had been kind of off the wall but not in a bad way. I was looking forward to hanging out at home with her again last night but I’d had late practices and when I got home early evening, according to Maria, Amy had turned in early. Then this morning, she’d been gone before we could have breakfast together, which I wouldn’t have minded and having another oddball conversation.

  Sometimes you just know that you have an explosive chemistry with someone, and with Amy, that was the case. Ever since I’d first seen her, walking into the kitchen still half asleep and sexy, I’d wanted her. She had these tight, perky tits, and a great ass that I knew was going to feel absolutely amazing to grab. But these past few days had been enlightening. Usually, I just focused on the superficial and hooked up with girls that took a mutual interest in me. It didn’t go that much deeper. I didn’t really make any attempt to get to know them beyond the very basics. We didn’t have meaningful or off the wall conversations. We didn’t talk about ourselves in finite and uncomfortable terms. It was just very safe—especially for me.

  Amy wasn’t safe. She had fire, personality and she spoke her mind. I liked that. A lot. More then I thought I would. I was still inexplicably drawn to her even knowing she wasn’t a safe choice. Maybe if we weren’t living in the same space, I could be more casual but the more I got to know her, the more interested I became. Other girls hadn’t even blipped on my radar since Amy came into the picture. Nearly a week of foregoing sex was the longest dry spell ever.

  There was just one problem. She could admit a mutual attraction but continued to refuse to admit that we wanted each other like a couple of virgins on prom night. Convincing her to just relax and have fun with it was proving diffiult. She was almost as stubborn in denying me as I was about getting her into my bed.

  Since Tuesday, my head had been spinning, trying to figure out what Squirt’s deal was. What kind of girl stands outside your room—watching you in the most intimate thrusts of self love, saying her name—and then says that we were still going to be ‘just friends’?

  It put me on edge but taking my frustrations out in practice was apparently useful instead of distracting. I mean, what the fuck was up with this girl? A friend date? Was that even a thing? I am not the guy that girls friend zone. On the contrary, I’m the guy they put in the fuck zone.

  Plus, she’d left her panties outside the door for me. No way she hadn’t done that on purpose, which meant her little pact was nothing but a defense and not meant to be taken seriously, just as I’d thought. Was she really going to play pretend that she didn’t want me to give her the Chandler Spiros treatment for the rest of spring semester?

  She was only kidding herself if she thought she could hold out against me. Tonight, I would break down her defenses just like I broke down the defenses of any team that we played.

  I was up for a challenge. Hell, I liked a good challenge. Squirt was the best challenge I’d ever had. And what made her think that we couldn’t hook up for the next two months? She made it sound like it’d be a one-time thing. With her right next door, a ‘one-time romp’ would never happen.

  The team grabbed their stuff from the benches while the coaches and staff lingered behind. The university’s basketball court was regulation size and newly built, clearly catering to the influx of student athletes—specifically, basketball. And Spain was the epicenter of Euorpean basketball at the collegiate and professional level, with the sport’s major organziations headquartered right here in Barcelona.

  My athletic scholarship was even paying for this Euro Prep Program, which was organized by the European Basketball Academy, and geared towards USA college athletes interested in playing ball in Europe. But leaving UNC and during winter and spring semester when the season was just starting had not been easy. I wasn’t the star player and never would be but I was pretty damn good so my coaches had been fairly pissed at me. But the opportunity to study abroad, right now, had been too important to pass up. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do once I graduated—either redshirt and have another year to figure shit out and consider the NBA or skip that and maybe join the European league that a few of
my teammates back at school had been talking about. It was another reason I’d come here, and I knew the language fluently because of my mom so it was almost like kismet.

  The guys razed me about my game while we all walked towards the locker room, especially Le Ral. While I was friends with all the guys on the team, Le Ral and I had become the closest and was making my decision about my basketball career that much clearer. He was already getting a lot of interest from teams in the Euroleague and would have his choice of teams to pick from. Tagging along with my new best friend might be fun since I had so little to really go back home to.

  After I showered, Le Ral and I chatted as we sat on the locker room bench while we toweled off.

  “You want to go out tonight?” he asked, giving me a look.

  “I would… But I have a date tonight.”

  He smirked, like he’d already known the answer. “Let me guess. With Amy, that short little ball of fire who was at the bar the other night?”

  “How’d you know?” I asked as I toweled off my hair.

  “A Frenchman knows when love is in the air.” He grinned. “I could just tell by the way shorty looked at you.”

  “She is short and also hot as fuck,” I replied, pulling on my jeans. I slipped a white t-shirt and light sweater over my head, tied my shoes, and stood up. I grinned, almost stupidly. “And she’s cool man. Way cool.”

  “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 towar
d 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 staring 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.