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126 pages

English

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Why the hell can't chicks be more like guys?

That question plagues high school senior Sam Cruz.

Sam is perfectly happy being a player. He just wishes girls wouldn't change the game from sex to relationships. It makes him look like an asshole.

But when Sam's best friend, Ally Klinger, gets dumped, she begs him to transform her into someone who can screw around then screw off.

No risk of heartbreak that way.

It's Sam's chance to create the perfect female AND cheer up his best friend.

Armed with Sam's Three Step Guide to Backseat Success, Ally gets the game better than Sam thought she would and before long, Sam has his wish: the female version of himself.

Too bad it's driving him nuts.

This contemporary teen romance contains strong language, drinking, euphemisms, and lots of "bow chicka wow wow."

Get it now.

Sujets

Romance contemporaine

Fiction

Romance

Contemporary

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Publié par	eBookIt.com
Date de parution	04 août 2012
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9780988054028
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0150€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Sam Cruz’s Infallible Guide to Getting Girls

Tellulah Darling
Copyright © 2012 Tellulah Darling
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
Published by Te Da Media, 2012
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Darling, Tellulah, 1970-
Sam Cruz’s infallible guide to getting
girls [electronic resource] / Tellulah Darling.
Electronic monograph.
Issued also in print format.
ISBN 978-0-9880540-1-1 (MOBI)
I. Title.
PS8607.A74S36 2012 C813’.6 C2012-902961-0
Cover photography: L. Di Stefano
Cover Design: Mark Stuckert
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Contents

The Rules a.k.a. Sam’s Infallible Guide

1. Sam Ponders An Age-Old Question

2. Ally Has A Boyfriend

3. Sam’s Magical Penis

4. Ally’s Birthday Sucks

5. Sam Is The Veritable Master

6. Ally Does Not Send A Text

7. Sam Has A Sex Thought Every Ten Seconds

8. Ally And The Vullet

9. Sam Definitely Doesn’t Hate It

10. Ally Is Smoking Hot And Avenged

11. Sam Gets Christmas Early

12. Ally And Abra Renfrew

13. Sam Is Stymied

14. Ally Gets It On

15. Sam Breaks A Cardinal Rule

16. Ally Goes Bowling, Supposedly

17. Sam And The Truth About Strawberry Centers

18. Ally Tests Friction

19. Sam And The Iron Manny

20. Ally Fakes It

21. Sam Evolves

22. Ally Bolts

23. Sam Takes The Fall

24. Ally Throws Down Steely Glares

25. Sam’s Mind Is Not Blown

26. Ally Has The Worst, Most Awkward Kiss Ever

27. Sam Tells A Penguin Joke

28. Ally Hopes For A Rationalization

29. Sam Denies Till Sunrise

30. Ally Considers Ecuador

31. Sam Doesn’t Want To Be A Joke

32. Ally Is Unimpressed

33. Sam Has A Pity Party

34. Ally Asks Why

35. Sam Mans Up

36. Ally Explains About Oxytocin

37. Sam Flies

Excerpt from My Ex From Hell

Acknowledgments

About the Author
The Rules a.k.a. Sam’s Infallible Guide

1 ) Stay cool. Never let girls see you jonsing. Especially if you want to get them back to your place.
2) Never take them back to your place. Ditching them will be harder by a billion and make you look like an asshole. Good times, happy parting.
3) “Friends with benefits” is the greatest phrase ever invented by a guy. Enough said.
4) Never refuse sex when it’s on the table. Life’s too short. There is no such thing as “I have a headache” for guys.
5) Desperation is ugly, man. Girls like cool moves, not filing restraining orders.
6) Never get caught up in that love crap. It will just wreck everything. Trust me.
Chapter One

Sam Ponders An Age-Old Question

L ike other chica chasers of the grade twelve persuasion, I’ve got my preferred player strategy: hit ‘em with a killer charm offensive, rock the pleasure palace, and everyone gets respected in the morning.
Though it’s harder when pushing a giant broom, dressed in a blindingly turquoise T-shirt with Come see stars at the Galaxy written in gold like a shooting star on it, courtesy of my lame job at the movie theater.
There’s supposed to be this other dude, Todd, helping me but he’s busy bragging to the concession guy about feeding string to some stray cat hanging around the parking garage. And since nothing says psycho like hurting animals, I decide it’s not worth the potential carnage to try and get him to do his job. I can’t wait to get “promoted” to front of house where at least I get to upgrade from janitorial bottom feeder, cleaning up random sticky liquids I can only pray are pop.
So when I hear my name called by a familiar, sexy voice from across the lobby, I shove the broom behind a giant cardboard movie ad and take a sec to re-rumple my dark hair in the “I don’t even bother with it” way that is Kryptonite to females before I turn around with my most charming grin. Not ideal but the best I can do right now.
It’s the super hot Cass, nineteen and naughty in her barely there miniskirt, from the perfume store across the mall. Come back for her fourth visit in as many days, which I figure means something good. My player strategy guiding rule number one (stay cool) is firmly in play and now it’s time to jack it up to rule two so we can get to the excellence of rule three.
Cass tucks her jet-black hair behind her ear before holding out a small square of paper to me. “Smell.”
I take it from her.
“What do you think?”
I shrug. “Eau de cardboard?”
“Funny boy.” Cass holds up her wrist and wafts it under my nose. “How about now?” she asks, all flirty.
“You smell how happy feels,” I tell her. Because she does.
I’m rewarded with a big smile.
“Is it your break time yet?” Cass looks hopeful.
I hate to disappoint her. “Sorry. Another half hour.”
She pouts. “Could you switch? I reeaallly need some help jump starting my car.”
I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress, so I grab my gray and black striped sweater to cover the hideous work shirt and follow her out of the theater.
Cass leads me to her sweet sports car out in a deserted corner of the underground parking garage and unlocks her door with a click.
She notices my admiration for the wheels. “Daddy bribed me with this, thinking it would get me to behave,” she laughs.
I’m betting he regrets having spent the cash.
“Okay. Let me pop your hood and see what’s going on.” I reach for the driver’s side door but she stops me, directing me to the back seat instead.
Inside, Cass stretches back against the seat, propped on her elbows, and stares up at me through half-closed eyes. “It’s not the hood I need popped.”
No dead car battery? I smile. “You lying little minx.”
She cocks an eyebrow at me.
“While I’m all about the blatant invitation, maybe we could move this somewhere less public? Away from the security camera?”
Cass pulls a condom package from her skirt pocket and flicks it at me. “Let them watch.”
Looking at Cass lying there all “do me,” I see she is the definition of “a hot mess.” However, if that’s why I’m about to get unexpectedly laid, then go “team crazy” and security cameras be damned.
Rule four, kids.
I’m in.
And out in about ten minutes. But I am in a car on my break, so cut me some slack.
“Short but sweet,” Cass sighs happily, as we stand back up.
“I aim to please. Even on a tight schedule.” I hand her a chocolate bar I snagged for her back at the theater.
She takes it and with her other hand twines her fingers through mine. “What do you feel like doing, Sam?”
“I have to get back to work.”
Cass wraps her arms around me and pulls me toward her. In a death grip. “Tonight, dummy. Where should we go on our date?”
Just like that, Cass morphs from rebel delight to buzzkill destructo, coiling herself around me like a metal snake as she spouts off about connections. Bad emotional ones; not good, blow-my-mind ones.
“We just had sex in your car.”
“Yeah.”
“And that means we go on a date why ?”
She waves the chocolate bar at me. “You bought me candy.”
Oh, come on.
“That’s not some Willy Wonka loophole to what was so obviously on the table.” I give a good wrench and manage to fling myself backward, out of her hold.
Cass sends a furious glare my way. “You are such a dick.”
While unfair and undeserved in this situation, I can’t argue with the truth of it. Teenaged bros are dogs. We’re walking, talking idiots driven by sex and food. We bow before girls’ much more complicated minds and don’t get why they keep holding our nature against us.
But that argument won’t get me anywhere. Believe me. I’ve tried. It’s my fault. I need a better exit strategy because it’s the rare gazelle who enjoys the bounce then throws you your pants with a “don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”
I try reason. “You faked a dead battery to trick me into coming out here so I would have sex with you.”
“Well, it’s not like you said ‘no,’” she retorts.
“Because I’m male and breathing. If there were going to be other conditions on this offer you should have shown me the small print. Beforehand.”
“If I’d done that, you would have freaked out.”
And there you have it, boys and girls. The place where my rules, carefully constructed to ensure a mutual good time, fall to shit.
The fundamental problem between the sexes.
You girls keep screwing up the game plan with relationship crap.
I mean, I try and take precautions. I stay away from my female high school classmates. Those red flags of puberty induced insanity and jailbait awkwardness? Back away. Quickly.
But Cass is an entry-level college girl, high on freedom and experimentation. So you’d think she’d know better.
I throw Cass my most charming grin but it fails to remove her scowl.
Her eyes narrow. She leans forward, arms out to grab onto some part of me, but I’m faster: the gold medalist of the morning-after dash.
I fly through the parking lot, trying not to pay too much attention to the stream of impressively foul names she’s calling me, which echo off the walls.
It’s a bummer but kind of a rush. Can I escape the garage without getting caught?
Some QB-type opens his car door, hears a particularly inventive phrase from Cass, and smirks at my predicament, throwing me a look like I’m some loser who can’t handle himself.
Suck it, monkey. What happened to solidarity?
I round the corner to the lower level and slow down, pretty sure I’m safe. Feeling stoked, I strut across the cement because until she went postal it was a hot time. I’m still riding high off it when I trip over something that doesn’t like being tripped over, because it attacks.
I chec