Sam Cruz's Infallible Guide to Getting Girls (7 page)

I am confused. And turned on.

“I…”

I shift, uncomfortable.

“Are you alright?” Hannah asks.

I glance back at Ally, who takes a sip of her drink then licks her lips.

I take a large sip of pop and press the glass to my neck. “Hot in here.”

“I should get back to my friends,” Hannah says.

“No! I mean, let me buy you a…” Once more, there I go. Except this time it’s because I realize what’s actually been going on.

Ally hasn’t been doing this for my benefit. She’s been coming on to some douchebag in urban clothing who’s honing in on her like a heat-seeking missile.

“Monkey humping credit card baller,” I mutter. “I don’t think so.”

I hurry off to intercept the guy, bailing on Hannah and skidding to a stop in front of Ally.

I glance back over my shoulder with a scowl, momentarily stopping the DB.

Ally shoves at me. “Get lost. I hooked one.”

“I don’t like the way he’s looking at your soft underbelly. Let’s go.”

“No,” she protests.

“No arguing with the master.” I grab her hand and drag her away.

Chapter fourteen

Sam flicks on his bedroom light and I stomp in. His kitten, Attila, snuggles on his pillow, asleep.

Even though I’m annoyed at Sam for killing my potential happy buzz, part of me is hugely relieved. There was a lot of pressure back at that party. Not that I’m backing down, but it all felt so contrived.

I’d kind of like my first post-Jeremy hookup to be a bit more natural and not so blatant, like the clock is ticking down to midnight so I better nab some guy so I’m not on my own when the lights come up.

Of course I’d never admit this to Sam, so I keep my annoyed face on as I stroke the kitten.

“Ooh, you’re a sweetheart,” I coo as she rolls on her belly, eyes wide open and gazing up at me.

“Mistakes were made,” Sam tells me.

I flick my gaze toward him and reach for my indignant place. “Are you totally insane? You drag me out of there, don’t talk to me the entire way back, and then tell me mistakes were made? What mistakes?”

“The mistake was that you’re not ready because you don’t know the last lesson.”

Uh-huh. “So it’s your mistake,” I charge.

Sam brushes me off. “Do we really need to assign it?”

I scratch Attila’s ears. “What’s the last lesson? Or should I say who?”

“The Ethan Hunt. Because getting out of there without hard feelings can be a mission impossible.” Sam considers me, thoughtfully. “Although as a girl, you probably won’t have the same trouble. They’ll just want you gone.”

“Charming.”

“However, in case you happen to snag the one girly man who wants to cuddle, we need a sound strategy to get you out safely. Because after your night ‘o fun, you must end it. Hit the road.”

“Thank God you told me that. I might have just stayed stuck in the bed for years.”

Sam makes a face at me, his lack of amusement plain. “When you enter a guy’s room, the first thing to do is find a bedpost or easily accessible place to throw your clothing for speedy retrieval. Take a moment to map out the room so that you can leave without any noise, even if it’s dark.”

He mimes out taking note of the room and scampering away.

“That seems a little callous.”

“Awkward ‘après chit chat’ is worse,” he informs me.

Yeah. I’m sure he hates talking to girls any longer than he has to and he probably has a point, but still. Maybe I can modify the lesson as fits the situation.

Sam senses my doubt because he continues with “When you leave that bed, you have about sixty seconds before they notice you’re gone. Or about 4 rounds of the MI theme music. Make the most of it.”

“The depth to which you’ve broken this down is actually kind of frightening me,” I say.

“You’ll thank me when you’re out of there safe and sound,” he assures me.

“What if we’re at my place?” I ask.

He huffs in utter frustration. “Never bring him to your place. How will you get rid of him?”

“Hang on,” I interrupt. “You mean you’ve never slept with a girl here in your room?”

“Nope.”

“Seriously? Not ever?”

“No. This is what I’m trying to tell you. Also, bring your own protection. Did you have anything tonight?”

“No,” I admit. I’d figured either the guy would have something or the deed wouldn’t get done.

Sam shakes his head sadly. “See all the reasons why you weren’t ready to be a lioness?”

Yes, but they weren’t the ones you were thinking, buddy.

“Obviously I’m not going to have unprotected sex, but explain to me why he can’t have protection?” I ask.

“It helps you own it and not be dependent. Even the tiniest hint of neediness is unappealing.”

I cross my arms, ready to be done with this. Sam may be the master but I think he needs therapy. I never realized the depth of his issues. “That it?”

“Almost,” he replies. “In one night stands, the general rule is blow jobs yes, going down on a chick, not so much. You should live by the motto, ‘It’s better to give than to receive.’”

He’s got to be kidding. “No wonder girls throw themselves at you. They’re hoping to fall on your tongue and get some release.” My look makes it clear that there is no way I’m following that rule.

“Suit yourself.” He nudges the kitten to move off his pillow. She totally ignores him.

“Am I ready to fly solo now?”

“Fly solo; spread those wings. Go forth and fornicate.”

“Good.”

“No kidding,” he says. “I’ve gotta admit, it’s been weird helping you get guys. I’m glad we can get back to our regularly scheduled programming.”

“Me too. Well, releasing into the wild…now.”

We fist bump.

As I leave I hear Sam say, “Thank God that’s over.”

And then it actually happens.

I get it on.

His name is Matteo and he’s a pretty, pretty boy, all floppy hair and blue eyes with heavily fringed eyelashes. The opposite end of the looks spectrum from Jeremy, who I found cute but, if I’m being honest, liked initially more for his brains. His looks grew on me over time.

Matteo, though? Let’s just say I think you’d have to be dead not to check him out twice.

I suspect he’s dumb as a post but hey. Means he won’t want to chat after, either.

How it goes down is that the night is still relatively young when I leave Sam’s and I’m starving. Like hypoglycemic, throw someone off a bridge if I don’t get fed, hungry.

So I stop by my favorite food truck for some of their gourmet fries. Super crispy with caramelized onions and a spicy salsa aioli, it’s scrumptious heaven.

Except this dude totally tries to steal my order. So I say to him, “Yo, fry Ninja, step down.”

He turns to me with a rude glare and that’s when I get my first glimpse of his adorableness. Me want.

So I immediately switch tactics, tilt my head like I saw the ditz back at the club doing and put on my best breathy voice. “I think those are mine,” I say, all wide-eyed and “why don’t you help me figure this out.”

Being a gentleman, plus they really are my fries, he hands them over and totally checks me out.

Turns out I know him. Kind of. His mom used to babysit me when I was a kid.

So when he tells me he’s got a place nearby and asks if I want to get my fries to go and eat them someplace warmer, I agree.

I figure since his mom is sweet that the chances of him being a psycho-killer are pretty slim. And off we go.

His place is small but relatively neat and of course, there’s the requisite guitar, as if his looks aren’t swoon-worthy enough. He plays me a couple songs, and to be fair, he’s not going to set the world on fire, but I’m thinking that as long as he sets me on fire, the rest doesn’t matter.

Matteo sets his guitar down, leans over, and kisses the hollow of my neck. I shiver, loving the rasp of his stubble against my skin.

His hair brushes against my face and I catch the faint whiff of some musky cologne. The expensive kind, not the gag-worthy, cover-up-bad-BO stuff.

I am putty in his hands.

He presses me back against his futon. Everything progresses nicely. There are kisses, fumbling, zippers unzipped and clothes removed; I’m at the all-you-can handle buffet of taste and touch.

I may not have had time to get my own protection, but Matteo is well stocked. I have a wide selection of textures and colors.

He slides my underwear off and I realize I’m naked. Yeah, brilliant, right? But it’s the first time I’ve ever been naked in front of any guy except Jeremy.

And suddenly I’m completely self-conscious.

I’m fighting the urge to cover myself and chanting “Abra Renfrew” over and over in my mind. I want to be that girl. I really do, but the odds are mounting against me.

Just as I’m worrying that I’m going to lose all my joy, he kisses that spot on my neck again and my mind goes happily blank as my stomach knots up in tingly delight.

Things get hotter; bases are rounded. Matteo’s body covers mine and his face is a study in delighted concentration.

Except the closer we get to home plate, the more I want to call off the game because it feels like we’re going into a seventh inning stretch and I’m getting bored and crampy. He’s also crushing me, which is making me sweat on my back and stomach. I’m damp, itchy, and blech. I’m not sure what to do.

Jeremy didn’t like me to talk. Probably why sex was very basic. He got the job done but there were no special features.

New me wants all the bells and whistles. Or at least one long hard blast as that train goes into that tunnel. And I don’t want to have to ride all night to get there.

I squirm under Matteo, hoping that might get his attention. Nothing.

Fine. Conscious of my bossiness, I go back to my best non-threatening, breathy voice that landed me here in the first place.

“Matteo,” I breathe.

“Feeling good.” He grins down at me and it’s so heartstoppingly adorable that I decide to forget it and just take what I can get.

No. That would be old Ally territory. Submissive ain’t in my vocab any longer. So I keep my voice cutesy-pie and add a smile. “Could you just…?”

“Yeah.” He’s off in his own happy place.

I get a bit more insistent. “No. Could you…?”

I squirm under him again, starting to wonder if this guy can find my clitoris without the help of a GPS.

Matteo nods. “Harder? Like rough?”

He steps up his thrusts.

I snap. “No!”

I grab his hand and shove it down to my joy buzzer. “Move it.”

Matteo look surprised. Then does as he’s bid.

“And get your elbow off my hair,” I order.

I see his shocked look and soften my command with a giggle, cute once more.

He smiles.

Geez, boys are easy.

However, a few days later, as I burn my head on the straightening iron for about the billionth time because I wriggled to pull my thong out of my butt, I have to wonder if Matteo level sex is worth the pain of upkeep.

I mean, it was great to know that I got that beautiful, beautiful boy to want me. He even sent me a couple of casual texts dangling requests for a repeat hookup, like bait.

But the deed itself was kind of, well, meh. Like a solid 6.5. Out of ten. Not on the Richter scale.

It’s all fine to leave them wanting more but I want to be completely satisfied.

So I decide to try try again for more positive results. And that’s when I meet Adam.

Chapter fifteen

I try to make it up to Alicia for the pain I caused her at the paragliding cock-up with maximum pleasure now.

We’re making out in her candlelit room and I’m very careful of her wrist, still in a small cast.

It’s been easy to note the exact location of the door in her dorm room in relation to the bed. And her desk chair will work for clothes layage. Escape plan ready, my attention is all on her.

“You’re not going to faint on me again, are you?” she murmurs, tugging at my belt.

“The blood
is
rushing away from my head,” I admit.

She nips at my neck. “Getting all limp?”

“Definitely not the problem.”

Her hand moves down lower.

I raise an eyebrow.

“Just checking you out,” she says in a saucy manner.

“I don’t know. Are you a certified professional?”

“Mmm.” She rubs me through my jeans. “You’re in good hands.

“So are you,” I reply and pull her down on top of me on the bed. Warm and soft. Just how I like them.

Alicia turns out to be one of my better encounters. There is a minimum of fuss when I go. Maybe she’s worried I might damage her again, but whatever the reason, I get out of there pretty easily.

And speaking of encounters, it’s time to check back in with Ally.

I’ve seen her in passing after school the last week but it’s been midterms and she’s been under the radar. We haven’t really had a chance to talk since the night at the club.

With exams out of the way, though, I’ve managed to nab her for a game of pool.

I take my shot and break the balls on the table with a satisfying crack.

I glance over and spy an elderly couple playing pool at the table next to ours. They must be about eighty. The man stands behind the woman, correcting her stance.

I watch them exchange the kind of smile that only a couple together forever and still in love can. Their fingers brush as they part, after her shot. He sets up for his shot but first he glances over at her with a warm smile, totally connected, before he sinks that eight ball with one wicked stroke.

Good for them, I guess.

I lean over to set up my shot.

“I’m sorry things haven’t worked out for you,” I say to Ally.

She beams. “They have. Tingly happiness.”

I miss my ball and look at her in surprise. “Really?” I can’t believe she hasn’t said anything. I wonder if she’s lying but she’s not that good an actor. “Wow. I mean, great. We should celebrate. Indian food?”

Ally shakes her head. “Not spicy. You get headaches.”

“But you’re sick of sushi,” I remind her.

Ally moves off to grab some cue chalk from another table, tossing back at me, “Pasta? Stream a flick?”

The elderly couple walks past me, hand in hand. The man winks at me. “Pretty girl you got there.”

“No. She’s not my—”

“Sam?” I jump as Ally hands me the chalk. I look at her and shake my head sharply. Definitely not.

I decide not to press Ally for details. First off, I’m not sure I want to know—sister TMI thing—and second, I figure if she wants to tell me, she will.

But since I do want her to know I’m happy for her, and truth be told, even happier that I don’t have to be a part of this anymore, I make her a celebratory stir fry at my place.

Ally takes over sautéing the veggies because she’s very high maintenance on how she likes them done, while I hand her a Diet Coke.

“To your tingly happiness,” I toast, holding up my own can to clink.

She leaves me hanging. “Yeah…”

I set my pop on the counter. I knew it was too much to hope that we were done and she was on her merry way. “What?”

“Well, the first one was only somewhere between alright and fine. But the next one—”

Hang on. “Next one? You mean next time.”

“Next guy, next time,” she clarifies.

“There was a next guy?”

She raises an eyebrow at my shocked tone.

I backpedal. “Not to sound skeptical but it’s only been a week. How did you fit in a next guy? You had exams.”

“Turns out it’s a very good way to blow off stress.” She shrugs. “I met him cooling down after my jog. We talked. He texted a couple times, one thing led to another…”

My mouth is hanging open so I close it.

“See,” she continues, “I figured I’d better try again. Replicate my results in case it was a weird fluke. Like that dissection back in grade nine. Remember?”

“What happened?”

She shivers. “That weird extra leg.”

“No,” I tell her, impatient, “with the second guy.”

She lights up. “He was good. Broke the bed and everything.”

“Don’t need the visuals.” Really. Don’t.

“But I’m only running a fifty percent tingly rate so I can’t conclusively determine my results until the next time.”

“You might want to slow down. Spread the love. As in ‘out’ not ‘around,’ Contessa Von Funberg.”

“Yeah. I have a couple papers due so nothing’s going to happen this week.”

“Huh. Well, best of luck to you.”

“Thanks.” She sneaks a sautéed carrot from the pan and eats it.

I smack her hand.

Deliberately, she grabs another one and dangles it in front of me. “You know you want it.”

I try and grab it.

Ally ducks but her head hits my arm. Laughing, she rubs it. She grins at me, flushed and adorable.

I lose all rational thought.

Impulsively, I kiss her.

Her mouth is soft and cool from her soda. Our lips perfectly connect and our tongues are touching but not too much. Adrenaline races through my body and my mind is going crazy because it’s Ally, but it’s also the most amazing thing in the world.

Her arms reach around me to pull me closer and I hear a growl and want to laugh at her except I realize that it was me.

But it startles us both enough that we pull back and blink at each other, frozen.

“We shouldn’t do this,” I pant.

“So wrong.” Her breathing is as heavy as mine.

Then I don’t know which of us leans back in first but this next kiss is so hot it’s off the charts.

I wind my fingers into her belt loops to pull her closer.

“Wait,” she gasps.

I freeze.

Reality is about to douse me cold when she says, “stove,” flicks it off, and lunges for my mouth.

Sweet Jeebus.

I pull her backwards out of the kitchen, in furious makeout mode. We make it to the bedroom with only a few smacks into walls and onto my bed.

Hooking up with her is like playing the home version of
WrestleMania
. There’s rolling, tossing, name-calling, and the occasional threat. I’d put her in a headlock to get her back in line but she’s just wormed her way on top of me.

Attila jumps off the bed to hide.

I start to pull off her shirt, but she pushes me back and takes it off herself revealing a skimpy pink bra. Hello, pushups.

I fumble at my jeans button but she stops me.

“Not yet.”

Ally places my hands on her chest, on top of her bra.

Part of me continues to find this wrong but the rest of me has gagged it and stuffed it behind a very solid locked door.

She feels incredible. Must get these jeans off.

I quickly move my hands to tug at them. “I want to feel you,” I tell her. “No clothes.”

“Well, you’ll have to wait,” she retorts.

Since she’s still straddling me, she pins me between her thighs, stopping me from doing anything.

“If you’d shut up already,” I say as I try to dislodge her, “this would take a second and I’d be back.”

“You’re killing my momentum,” she complains.

“What about me?”

Ally brushes me off. “Guys don’t need momentum. Fifteen seconds of friction and you’re good to go.”

She puts my hands back on her rack but she’s pissed me off now, so I snatch them away and deliberately put them behind my head.

“You selfish bastard,” Ally accuses.

“Me.” Right.

“I’m articulating my needs,” she informs me.

“You’re bullying,” I shoot back. “No wonder you’ve been breaking beds. It’s the vibrations from guys quaking in fear.”

Ally gets off me in a huff. My pride wars with the sight of a topless girl in arm’s reach. No contest.

Swiftly, I grab her back and push her onto the bed.

“Now,” I say sternly, “if you play cooperatively like a good little girl, I’ll make you happier than you’ve ever been.”

Her disbelief is evident.

Not that I have anything to prove but… “Twice.”

She looks intrigued. “That’s a myth,” she says loftily.

“That a dare?” I ask.

Ally grins. “Triple dare. Now lose the pants and get back here.”

I aim to please. With a practiced move, my jeans hit the ground.

~

Fucking. Awesome. I stir sleepily and feel next to me for Ally. She’s not there. I hear my front door close.

My eyes snap open. She’s gone.

I can’t believe it. Not only have I broken my cardinal rule about not sleeping with girls at my place, I’ve done it with Ally.

And done it in ways that might be illegal in places. She’s given me the best sexapalooza of my life and then left.

What the hell? I’m not supposed to count in her stupid player strategy.

I pick Attila up from the foot of the bed and pet her, staring stunned and furious in the direction of my front door.

Attila purrs for a bit then spies a shoelace on the floor. She wriggles free, jumps down, and bats at the shoelace.

I roll over, unimpressed with all females. Human or otherwise.

Where’s the respect from any of them?