Free Sam Cruz's Infallible Guide to Getting Girls by Tellulah Darling Page A

let her fly. Or at least master controlling it. Get one step closer to the end of the insanity.
    I head for this nondescript building that used to be a rave staple. The glow stick bunnies and oxygen-huffing boys have moved on but the space has kept the great DJ’s and lack of a liquor license.
    Outside, musclehead bouncers get off on deciding which teen gets let into the skanky box and who has to wait like a nobody.
    Of course I get in, no problem. I’d like to think it’s because of my cool charm that will pull girls into the club like a magnet, but the free movie vouchers I give the bouncer occasionally probably help.
    The techno music is loud and bass-heavy but only a few people are dancing. More are chatting or, more specifically, scoping each other out, because the night is young. And the crowd is horny.
    Ally has texted me that she’s already inside. I figure it’s a good sign she got in on her own, because her old look would have had her waiting outside until she froze. I scope the room out for her.
    Whoa. Where did she get that dress? It’s red and there isn’t very much of it. I see Rachel written all over the thing and curse her for getting involved.
    Ally is perched unsteadily on a high stool at a small table, legs crossed, which look about ten miles long in her heels.
    I take a deep swig of Coke then hold it up to her as a sort of cheers.
    She smiles and waves enthusiastically.
    Take two. I shake my head and make my way over to her table, weaving through a giant clique of girls who have just started dancing.
    I escape with only minor jostles and get to her, only to find to my shock and dismay that Etienne is there, chatting her up.
    I have no problem interrupting. “You’re not supposed to wave,” I tell her. “You need the definition of ‘disinterest’ tattooed on you?”
    Ally makes a dismissive gesture, sure of herself as usual. “In my opinion, coy yet approachable will work better than disinterested.”
    “First, that wasn’t coy,” I tell her “and second, when you become the expert on pulling the opposite sex, we can try it your way.”
    I face Etienne. “What are you doing here?”
    “Helping you.”
    Yeah, right.
    He shrugs. “I called your house. Your father said where you were. This is your friend, Ally?”
    He sounds genuinely surprised and I realize they’ve never actually met. “Ally, Etienne. There. Now bye-bye.”
    Big shocker, he ignores me. “She is loveliness incarnate. Why do you always speak of your friend “old” Ally? Sam, you are really a douche.”
    “‘Old?’” Ally asks. “Is this how you get women? You insult them and they fall to your feet in a masochistic heap?”
    “The roofies help,” Etienne adds.
    I elbow him sharply. “‘Old friend,’ asshole. Not old. Etienne has a tenuous grip on the language,” I explain to Ally. “And reality.”
    “Allow me to buy you a drink,” Etienne charms. “Better yet…” He pulls a flask from his jacket and uncaps it.
    “That’s so sweet.”
    I can’t believe her. I shoot her an incredulous glance and she gives me a “what?” shrug. I guess she’s trying to stay with the program.
    “No,” I say. “It’s disruptive.” Could he be more annoying right now?
    “Tequila?” Etienne motions at the flask. “The worm is especially potent.”
    “Actually,” Ally says, “that’s a myth. It would violate all kinds of laws in Mexico if there were really worms.”
    “I had one once,” Etienne disagrees.
    “No. What you probably had was a butterfly larva found in some types of Oaxacan Mezcal. The worm in Mezcal isn’t even a traditional element in—”
    “Fascinating,” I cut in. “Now try again. Like you actually mean it.”
    “I mean it,” she protests.
    “Because nothing says do me like ‘I’ve had worms.’”
    Ally turns to Etienne, only to find him scoping out her chest.
    “Hello. My eyes are up here.”
    “I’m aware,” he replies.
    “The only interesting and environmentally