Maybe if you weren't so hot, I wouldn't be so hard.

I slammed the door of Doña Maria's apartment shut and let the air fall out of my lungs as Chandler's words repeated themselves in my head.

I pressed the button for the ground level once I reached the elevator, even more fired up…and a lot turned on. It was strange to be accused of turning a guy on when for months I’d been accused of being a turn off. It was both confusing and kind of sexy.

Restless, I tapped my foot as I waited for the elevator. It was an old building and the elevator was quite janky, but finally it arrived, and I opened the old-fashioned metal cage.

The guy I was going on a date with was going to be so screwed. I'd be nodding and smiling while Javier spoke Spanish that I could barely understand, and meanwhile, all I would be thinking about was Chandler's hot body. His sexy voice. His cocky tone.

I needed someone to coach me out of this mood I was in, to remind me that as charming as Chandler was, he was definitely the kind of man who would dump you after one night. It made sense in my brain, but my brain was fighting hard against my reason. Thirty, to be exact.  

And now, I was soaked. In the several months with Scott, I hadn't gotten this wet when he was going down on me, yet being around this man it was instantaneous. It was almost unfair what Chandler could do to me.

As the elevator dinged to the ground floor, I stepped out and dug around in my purse. I needed to call Becca for a sounding board.

A few seconds of digging made me realize I had no phone.

"Goddamn it!" I muttered, loudly. An older woman was walking toward the elevator, and she smiled at me, surely not understanding my English swear.

I pressed the button to go back up to the sixth floor. Wet panties and no phone was no way to attend my date, which I honestly had less than zero interest in now.

The woman smiled as I let her get in the elevator before me. Her broad grin brought out all of the wrinkles in her face. We began our upward ascent and I wondered why she was so happy.

After a brief farewell smile, I got off on my floor. Inside the apartment, I headed to my bedroom. Before I arrived to my room I heard a whisper that sounded like it was coming from Chandler's room.

"Amy," the voice murmured.

I arched an eyebrow and headed to Chandler's room to see what he wanted.

I was about to knock when I heard him moaning. Instead, I peered through the crack in his door and my jaw dropped. My purse slid down in my hand and I hung onto it by a single finger, avoiding the embarrassment of Chandler seeing me watch him.

He was on his bed, completely naked with the lights out. The moonlight seeped into the room, the only available light. I could see his eyes tightly shut and his back arched as he stroked his hard length. I froze, unable to look away.

"Mmm. Amy," he grumbled again.

I should have walked away that instant, but I couldn't. The truth was, it was the hottest thing I had ever seen: watching him touch himself like that, his hands wrapped around himself as he stroked up and down as he murmured my name.

For the next minute, ten minutes—honestly, it felt like a lifetime and a flash at once—I continued to stare through that crack in the door like a creep. Was he really thinking about me? I was never the hot girl in high school. Nerdy and slightly awkward with people? Absolutely. Why didn't he watch porn like a normal guy, like my ex always did?

I couldn't help it; I pictured myself squatting on that thick, hard cock of his. How I would feel on top of him, my ass hitting his hips, his hands guiding me as I glided up and down on the thing—

Fuck.

Oxygen. I needed some. If my panties were wet before, now they were caught in a thunderstorm.

I felt my pussy clench hard around nothing and begin to pulse.

My brain yelled at me, “Get away from this man, from this peep show if you know what's good for you…he'll open his eyes soon!”

Yet, I couldn't. Chandler's breathing increased and he began to growl on top of the covers. "Yes. Yes. Fuck. Amelita."

Holy fuck. Well, unless he knew two Amelitas—highly unlikely—this had to be me.

I clenched again and did the unthinkable… I reached a finger between my legs and slid my panties to the side. Not good enough.

I slid them down my legs and began to finger myself.

Ok this was bad. Hearing him with his girlfriend and getting off in my room was one thing but I’d never, ever thought about looking in on someone like this, much less touching myself while watching someone masturbating. But Chandler was the hottest man alive, and he was saying my name. No, scratch that. My Spanish nickname. Almost like it was an endearment.

I didn’t know we were on such a friendly basis, but this was quickly becoming the single hottest moment of my life. I pulled up the side of my skirt, my panties falling completely to the ground as I ran a finger on myself.

It felt completely forbidden watching this, and without him knowing, it made it even more explicit. And maybe that’s what made it all the more hot. I grazed my clit with my finger, careful not to rub too hard that I’d moan. If Chandler heard me, I’d die of embarrassment. Not to mention he might hate me for the next two months.

I reached the tip of my finger inside me, wondering what it would be like to experience Chandler’s hard cock inside me instead of just my finger. Sweet Jesus that would be a fun ride I’d never want to get off.

Get off. I couldn’t help myself from increasing the pressure of my finger on my slit. I wanted more pleasure and I wanted to keep watching him.

I closed my eyes. The angel in me told me I needed to stop what I was doing and go back to my room. Chandler, apparently, brought out the devil in me.

Pleasure came in waves, and I thought I might come right there, standing up. I opened my eyes and saw Chandler pumping hard, about to come.

He yelled my name again, louder this time.

“Amy,” he growled into the room’s soft blue moonlight.

The next few seconds happened so fast, I barely remember them. In quick succession, I heard the apartment door open up and Doña Maria speaking loudly in Spanish with a man accompanying her. On hearing them inside, I let out a noise that said, ‘Oh shit!’ but in my orgasmic state, it came out more like “ungh,” followed by ‘ssssss.’

Chandler was so locked in that he didn’t even notice me, at least from what I could tell. He stoked his cock with intense vigor, and my eyes widened as I heard him growl and then watched his cum shoot straight up in the air.

I could hear Doña Maria shutting the door and then her steps to where she would come around the corner. I was risking being seen. In my slightly frazzled state, I ran to my own room and shut the door behind me.

I exhaled, threw my purse on the floor and plopped down on the bed, simultaneously relieved and freaked out. I had just watched my host brother jerk off and without his permission, and liked it. No, loved it.

It was, quite possibly, the most defining sexual experience of my life. When I came back to general consciousness, I realized something that knocked the wind out of me.

My panties?! Where were they?

I went into panic mode, frantically looking around my room. I took off my skirt and tank top and threw on my pajamas and a t-shirt. I whipped open my door, eyes glued to the floor as I searched the area where I’d been standing. They weren’t on the ground. Instead, Chandler was standing in the doorframe of his room, holding something in his hand.

“Missing something?” he asked with a big, wide smirk, his face cocked to the side. He’d at least put on boxers now, but I could literally feel the heat radiating off his body. He was so tall that I had to take a half step back to make sure I was looking him in the eye.

If I could have seen my own face at that moment, it probably would have been blood red from how hard I was blushing. Even my shame was ashamed. I tried to cover it up.

“Do you know a lot of Amy's?” I managed to ask, trying to play it cool.

“Nope. Just you, Squirt.”

He looked at me and licked his lips. Another shudder of pleasure fell over me.

“Give me those.” I pointed to my black lace panties he’d balled in his fist.

He didn’t flinch. “Actually, I think I’m just going to hold on to these as payment for the show you just watched.” I froze. He leaned in and whispered, “For wanting to be just friends, you have a funny way of showing it.”

“So do you,” I shot back. “Glad I could provide you with some material for your spank bank. Now give me those.” I arched an eyebrow. I reached for them, but he held them up.

“Nah ah ah,” he taunted.

“Fine, you know what? Keep them.” I have no idea where I got the nerve or the idea but it just came out. “Because you, Chandler, will never taste this pussy. So enjoy it since that’s the closest you’ll get.”

I smiled, and for once I saw the lordly grin leave his face.

At that moment we heard footsteps nearing and Doña Maria’s voice behind us.

“Hello, hijos!” she said with a warm smile. As she got closer, her expression turned curious. Chandler put the hand with my undergarments behind his back.

“Hola, Doña Maria,” Chandler said, his smile broad.   

“How was your date?” I chirped.

“Very good,” she giggled, sounding more like a schoolgirl than a mature woman. “You two are having a serious conversation?”

“We were just saying goodnight,” Chandler interjected, all ease. I was still trying to cool off.

She put her hand on my shoulder. “Okay. Buenas noches.” She turned to head back to the living room, where she was apparently hanging out with her date. I also turned toward my bed, feeling worn out from all of the sexual energy I’d expended tonight.

“Hey Squirt,” Chandler said, before I could close the door to my room.

I stuck my head out so that I could see him. “What?”

“Sweet dreams,” he said. His smile was positively evil, and my panties were draped over his head like a hat. He winked, then popped his head back into his room and shut the door.

In my room, I collapsed on top of my covers, mentally and physically exhausted as hell from our interaction. Within five minutes, I was fast asleep.

* * *

When I woke up the next morning, I instinctively reached for my phone, like I always did, but it wasn’t within arm’s reach. Instead, after I looked around, I saw that it was on my desk on top of my copy of Don Quixote.

Shit. I hadn’t even texted Javier to tell him I couldn’t make it, I realized.

I sat up in bed and leaned toward the window, pulling up the shades to my bedroom. A single blackbird appeared on my windowsill, chirped at me, and hopped a few times before flinching and flying away.

Judging by the soft outside light, I estimated it was around 7 a.m. or so. For having just woken up, I felt surprisingly awake. Actually, I felt the best I’d felt in months. Was it the Barcelona sun and air? Maybe. But probably not, I thought, glancing at the wall between Chandler and me. However, that was not a thought I was going to entertain; at least, not for long. It was completely absurd to think that a guy I barely knew was the reason for my good mood.  

I swung my legs around and put my feet on the floor. Last night’s events came surging back to me. What had happened felt like a dream. Or maybe a porn scene. What was it about Chandler that both ticked me off and turned me on so much at once?

I yawned, realizing something funny. Last night, I’d fallen right asleep, no problem. That hadn’t happened the entire time I had been in Spain. I’d either taken my meds, or struggled for hours before finally falling asleep. Hell, it’d been months since I’d fallen asleep normally and it felt great to be drug free instead of waking up in a haze.

Unlike most mornings, I felt spry and ready to go already. Motivated, I jumped in the shower, and when I got back to my room, I played ‘Lovely Day’ by Bill Withers on my laptop—an old favorite that my dad used to put on in the mornings sometimes when I was a kid. I threw on a floral dress that was almost too short to keep it classy. But I was feeling a little edgy today so I went with it.

I checked my phone and smiled at a text message from my dad. He sent me random texts of positive quotes. Mom sent a long email. Hers was more parental: are you taking your meds? Remember to tell your host mom about your food allergy. No drinking! Don’t forget your weekly meeting with Dr. Han. Sam got promoted at his firm, and send that busy brother of yours an email once in awhile. Grandma…grandpa, aunts, uncles…news, news, news. I set the phone aside and finished getting ready. I loved my mom, adored her, but for a hippie yoga instructor, when it came to me, she got more wound than a coil.

I was blasting the music when Chandler finally stumbled out of his room and passed mine on the way to the shower. He caught me in the middle of doing a twirl.

“Someone woke up on the right side of the bed, huh?” he murmured. He had a serious case of bedhead. Again, he was shirtless with just sweatpants on and a towel slung over his shoulder.

I kept dancing. “Gonna be a lovely day.” I smiled.

“I like seeing you happy, Squirt,” he said, returning my smile, and my heart throbbed. We looked each other in the eyes but neither of us addressing the oh-so-very-awkward events that occurred last night.

I locked my eyes on his, and I wondered what it would be like to run my hands down his chest, staring at his neck and landing on the V shape that his abs made.

I shook myself out of it and reminded myself of Doña Maria’s warning. Tiene muchas chicas.

“Yeah, uh, I think we really worked on building our friendship last night,” I said, breaking the silence. “I’m glad we didn’t cross any lines though. That would be bad.” Masturbating to each other didn’t count, right?  

“Yes, that would be bad,” he repeated, but he didn’t look like he meant it. The song ended on my laptop. I grabbed it, put it in my backpack, and headed toward the door, toward Chandler. He took up the whole door frame, completely blocking my exit. He reached out and grabbed a few locks of my brown hair and whispered, “But I really want to be bad with you. Especially after seeing what a bad girl you really are, Squirt.”

I blushed, and inside, I wanted to do another dance because what girl didn’t want to hear that from a guy as hot as him? But self-preservation had me blurting out, “Chandler, no. We really shouldn’t. We can’t.”

“Give me one date,” he countered.

Oh, who was I kidding? After what I did, was the friendship pact still legitimate? I knew Chandler didn’t think so, not that he ever really had. “A…date?” I asked, weary.

He crossed his arms across his chest, which was really distracting since I couldn’t keep my eyes off his muscles. “Yes. You know? Like what our grandparents used to do to show interest in each other before everything was all one-night stands and dating sites.”

I had to stop staring at his body because my brain cells were being obliterated, and I forced my eyes to his. “I still don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I’ll prove you wrong.”

The man would not back down. I didn’t budge. “No can do. Sorry I’m not sorry, this will never work.”

“I don’t understand why you’re resisting this, Amy. Your eyes were closed last night when I saw you at my door watching me.”

I knew he’d found the evidence of my standing there, but my throat went dry at knowing he’d seen me touching myself. The only consolation was that he didn’t think I was a pervert or angry for my actions. This got complicated so fast, and it was all my doing. “I’m sorry about that, and it was wrong of me,” I said, haltingly. “That was a mistake. I won’t repeat it.”

“Fine, but I’m not sorry at all,” he said, lowly, his jaw tightening. His arms dropped and he put his hands at his hips and I could tell he was getting annoyed with me. No—frustrated. “Tell me you aren’t attracted to me in the slightest and we’ll forget that ever happened.”

Now he was starting to piss me off again. His pushiness just made my resolve that much more ironclad. “I told you, I am physically attracted to you. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you.”

“Why do you assume I’m going to sleep with you?” he shot back.

I exhaled. “You were sure thinking about it last night.”

“Ha! Well, you’re right…” His demeanor changed, which put me on guard even more. “I definitely want to show you how the real thing feels,” he concluded, with a slow smile.

Men, so predictable but I felt like I had the upper hand again. Then, for some reason, his eyes went to my desk right by the door, and the bottle of pills I hadn’t hidden away.

“What is that?” He was about to reach for it when I snatched it out of his reach and stuffed it in the drawer. He snapped his head toward me, a little taken back. “Did that say ‘Prozac’?”

The panic was immediate. “I found it in the drawer,” I lied, trying to keep my voice even. “Must be Maria’s.” I inwardly cringed at how fake I sounded.

Chandler frowned, a crease between his eyebrows. “She doesn’t seem the type. Prozac’s an antidepressant,” he said with a neutral tone of voice. “It’s used for people with personality, panic and anxiety disorders, and depression.”

Fear cut right through me, at him finding out because right at that moment, I remembered that he was a psych major.

“Then again, I don’t know her that well,” he added, thoughtfully. He clearly wasn’t associating the pills with me in any way. I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or not about that.

Then another thought crossed my brain. Chandler being a psych major made me wonder if he’d be more understanding of my own condition.

“You probably read a lot of case studies on that kind of thing, huh?” I ventured, curious about his response. “People with mental disorders and that kind of thing?”

He nodded, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. “My interest isn’t really in therapy, research or psychiatric care. I wanted to learn it to play basketball better—get into my opponent’s heads and all that. Maybe even coach college ball someday…” He gave me a wry smile. “Obviously, I learn about every aspect within the field itself but going into that particular field, no thanks.”

I had this sinking feeling about this conversation but I had to keep asking. “So,” I said, barely finding my voice, “you don’t really like dealing with people with mental disorders, is what you’re saying?”

He sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “It’s not that. I understand the basics of it and that a lot of people suffer from it and it doesn’t make you this freak or anything. But I guess I’d never wanted to deal with that directly, y’know?” he said, shaking his head and looking off, lost in thought again. “A lot of the case studies dealt with the emotional turmoil for the patient and their families… I just knew right away that that side of psychology was way more then I wanted to deal with and it just didn’t interest me all that much.” He gave a one-shouldered, casual shrug and looked at me. “I mean, there are other reasons too but my interest has always been more on the behavioral and social side of psychology.”

The emotional turmoil. Yeah. On me but on my family as well. My parents had never made me feel bad about my disorder. They’d actually felt like it was their fault when the reasons behind my depression were likely chemical. My disorder didn’t rule me but it was a part of me and my life, for good or for bad. Up or down. And not everyone could handle it, or wanted to and that was okay. That was fine. It just meant I couldn’t be more than just casual friends with Chandler. He wasn’t an ‘all in’ kind of guy and from this revealing discussion, my original instincts had been correct.

At least, he didn’t think I was a freak, so that was something.

With everything aired between us, I had no desire to continue this line of conversation. Ever. Chandler did understand, but he wanted nothing to do with that. With me. Not the real me, or all of me. I wasn’t worth all that complicated trouble and Chandler wanted the very opposite of troubled and complicated. I’d felt the need to hide my disorder from a lot of people in the past and it’d prevented me from getting too close because of reactions and explanations like the one Chandler had just given. I fully accepted my reality. I wasn’t going to try to lay my issues on someone who clearly wanted nothing to do with it—like I had mistakenly done with Scott. It just reminded me that I needed to be more guarded than ever.

“How about this,” I proposed, forcing a smile and levity in my voice, and damn if I hadn’t sold it. “I’ll let you take me out as friends this Friday. Per the pact.”

He eyed me suspiciously. “As friends?”

“Yep. Within the friend zone boundaries,” I said, relief flooding through me. For once, I was thankful for his one-track mind. “Remember the list, our pact, okay? We both agreed to be friends.”

Whatever he thought that was, it made him smile. Big. “If that’s all I can get, I’ll take it.”

“Great!” I said brightly, and made a mental note to review my list, just in case Chandler found a way around any of the rules. “Now move, I have a day I have to crush.”

However, I had to push him aside until he finally let me through. “Oh hey, and Squirt, I almost forgot to tell you one more thing.”

I rolled my eyes and turned, letting his charm work on me because it was easier than feeling anything else. He spoke in a tone that was surprisingly sincere. “Your ass looks sexy as fuck in that dress. Have a great day.” He winked, turned around and walked toward the bathroom.

I opened my mouth to say some kind of retort back to him, but nothing came out. I ended up whispering to myself, “Your ass isn’t so bad yourself. Too bad you are also an ass.”

But he really wasn’t, and that was the problem.

* * *

Despite my conversation with Chandler, I was choosing to not let it bring me down. Dad would be proud of me. Dr. Han, I’m sure, would say I’m making progress. While I didn’t like Chandler’s answer, he’d been truthful with me, whereas, I hadn’t. It was strange that I felt closer and even more attracted to him even though he’d made it clear to me that being friends would be the only way to keep that closeness intact. If that’s all I would get, I’d have to be okay with it and mean it. A part of me was okay with that because I was actually beginning to see him as a real friend versus my superficial friendship with Becca, or others, in my program.

Surprisingly, at school, I felt so tuned in and relaxed that I actually understood what my Spanish teacher was saying today. I even added some to the discussion about Don Quixote. Every time he heard me, he seemed surprised that I was paying attention and contributing.

After class, Becca and I sat on a bench in the sun to eat the lunches we had packed. The weather was perfect, a little warmer than expected and it was nice watching other students milling about campus. I dug into my backpack and pulled out my brown paper bag. Once I opened it, I saw that Doña Maria had given me a few pieces of classic Spanish tortilla with an apple. It was basic but delicious.

“You’re like, in a good mood today.” Instead of grating, Becca’s Valley Girl intonation was really starting to grow on me. “What got into you? Good date with Mr. Spaniard last night, I’m assuming?”

I smiled and thought about how this was the first pill-free day I’d had in quite some time, and I was feeling excellent, despite it all. I sat there, frozen in place for a few seconds when it hit that I hadn’t taken my pills because Chandler had interrupted my routine this morning. I mentally shrugged it off even though Dr. Han would be alarmed if she found out. Then again, she’d be just as alarmed about me drinking while on my meds but to be fair, I wasn’t trying to be irresponsible on purpose. Of course I’d get right back on my pill routine starting tomorrow morning. However, if I continued on a path of not taking them, then…

“Uh, Earth to Amy,” Becca prodded, nudging me with a sandled foot.  

I gave a start and looked over at her. “Oh—ah…I actually bailed on the date,” I told her, barely recalling her question.

She squinted. “Why?”

I sighed. “The night just got a little weird, to be honest. And I didn’t feel well.”

“What do you mean, ‘got a little weird’?”

“I saw Chandler doing…you know.” I gave her a look. She gave me one back, almost egging me to say it. “On his bed, when he thought no one was around,” I said, keeping it PG since we were in public.

Becca’s jaw dropped. “You saw Chandler Spiros shaking hands with Mr. Happy?”

I burst out laughing. “He’d probably call it the five-finger shuffle.”

Becca laughed too, and suddenly we were both laughing so hard that people were staring at us in the courtyard of the university as they walked by.

“So how was the show?” Becca finally managed to ask when we had calmed down.

“Let’s just say I didn’t hate seeing him do the five-finger shuffle.” I paused, reconsidering my words. “Well, to be more accurate, at some point he used all ten.”

I would just leave out the little detail about how I felt inspired to join him.

Becca sighed. “I’m so jealous you have him for a host brother. You were right to stay just friends with him though. In my opinion.”

“Oh yeah?” I fished. “Why is that?”

“He’s a major player,” Becca said, with all seriousness. “Biggest one on campus at UNC. I don’t think he’s ever had an actual girlfriend—nothing long-term, I mean. Just leaves a trail of girls with broken hearts.”

“So he’s not a one woman type of guy?” I asked, but I’d already figured that out.

“Hah! He’s the furthest thing from it.”

“You know this first hand?”

“Well, I heard from a friend of a friend who is a model.” Becca got real animated now. “A model! He went on three dates and they definitely hooked up. And then he ended it saying she was shallow!”

“Was she?” I asked, digging into my lunch.

Becca chuckled. “Are you trying to defend him?”

“No, I just want to get the facts straight,” I said, but she was right. I was defending him. “It just sounds like hearsay is all—a friend of a friend said this and that?”

Becca shook her head, her expression stern. “Trust me girl, don’t go down that path. I know he probably says things about how you’re so great, you’re pretty, blah blah blah. He’s smooth as ice. But he’s saying that to another girl right now…”

I knew she was right but it bothered me, to see one side of him at home, like I was seeing the real him and then to hear this, what was probably the reality. Still, I couldn’t help the things I was feeling for him. But instead of arguing with Becca, I took a big bite of my Spanish tortilla and chewed, saying nothing.

“You know,” she went on, dramatically, picking at her salad with a plastic fork, “his nickname around campus at UNC is Casanova. And I heard a couple of basketball friends call him that when we went out on Tuesday night, so it sounds like a rep he plans on maintaining while abroad.”

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?”