Read Sam Cruz's Infallible Guide to Getting Girls for Free Online

fall over themselves for you then leave them broken and wanting in their beds, fine. But call it what it is. Dumpee’s revenge.”
    “Biology,” Ally retorts.
    “Who wants a drink?” I ask, hoping to cut off WWIII.
    “Several, I think,” Rachel mutters. She hands Ian the car keys.
    Rach swats the top of Ally’s head as she passes and Ally gives her the finger. Their way of making everything fine between them again.
    “What exactly does one drink with veggie pizza?” Rachel asks as we stare at the booze in the fridge.
    “White wine,” Ian decides. “Sorted. Now let’s eat.”
    “Good choice,” I reply. I nick one of my dad’s bottles of Champagne-type stuff and set it on the counter.
    Rachel flips the pizza box open and I snag the biggest piece before Ally can. No way she’ll let me have it after what I’m about to say. “Tomorrow Ally is going for a makeover.”
    I time this bombshell just as Ally takes a bite of pizza so as to induce maximum choking.
    She wraps her arms around herself. “I’m not a total troll.”
    I blink in surprise. “I didn’t say you were.” Not that I’d thought about it one way or the other.
    Rachel picks up the bottle to open it and studies her cousin.
    “You could use a good hair cut,” she decides.
    Ally focuses intently on picking at her pizza. “Wow.”
    I can tell she’s feeling totally defensive and picked on so I nudge her. She glances up at me, annoyed, and I grin and nudge her again.
    She nudges me back and I know she’s cool now. Mostly.
    Rachel tilts the bottle slightly. “I’m just saying. A hair cut wouldn’t kill you. Maybe even some new clothes that have shape and look like something worn in this century. To improve on all the greatness hidden behind the hemp.”
    “I’m not wearing mass-marketed clothes that exploit the planet.”
    “Who’s telling you to? Sustainable fashion has come a long way, baby. Even vintage is based on recycling. You’re just hiding your lack of fashion sense behind an activist agenda.”
    Ally looks like she’s about to protest, then shrugs. “Yeah, pretty much a zero on the fashion front.”
    Rachel grins at Ally as she grasps the cork. Ian braces himself.
    “You need to shiny up. Men respond well to visual clues,” I explain.
    “Much like dogs,” she replies.
    “Exactly. It also helps that guys have a sex thought roughly every ten seconds.”
    “That’s an urban myth. Sorry to disillusion you.” Ally shakes her head at me.
    Rachel pulls the cork out. The force of it not only sends the cork flying with a loud bang into my kitchen ceiling, it knocks Rachel off balance.
    She drops the bottle, which shatters on the tile floor, spewing foamy liquid everywhere.
    “A swing and a miss,” Ian says.
    As Ally scoops up a rag from the counter, I punch her.
    “Ow! What was that for?”
    “Ten seconds,” I reply.
    “You had a sex thought?” Rachel asks, gingerly picking up glass pieces with Ian.
    “Sure. Cork popping, foam explosion…”
    “You’re sad,” Ally tells me, as I shoo Rach out of the way to sweep up the mess.
    “It’s not like it takes much,” I reply. “We’re guys. Back me up here, Ian.”
    Ian shakes his head. “I’m Switzerland on this one.”
    “Pussy,” I retort, dumping the shards in the garbage and putting away the broom and dustpan.
    I punch Ally again.
    “No, I’m not,” Ian says. “But my girlfriend is holding a very jagged shard of glass.”
    Rachel glances down at the piece in her hand, laughs and tosses it out. She retrieves another bottle of fizzy alcohol from the fridge.
    Ian takes it from her and pops the cork. “No way, spitfire.” He pours us all a glass.
    I punch Ally one last time.
    Just because.

Chapter eight
     
    My slightly drunk, happy haze lasts well into the night. I’m full of cheesy pizza goodness.
    Ian and Rachel have left, leaving me and Sam.
    I have to pee so I go into the bathroom, thinking about makeovers. Which leads me to Brazilians, which are icky