Page 39 of How NOT to Seduce a Rockstar
And as the stadium exploded in decibels, strobe lights, and pure delirium, she smiled.
An evil smile.
The smile of a woman who knew exactly whose soul she was about to steal.
17
The next morning, even though I’d gotten home at vampire o’clock, ears still ringing and hair marinated in that unmistakable cocktail of fake smoke, spilled beer, and post-concert adrenaline, I actually found the motivation to wake up early.
Eight a.m.
Okay, once upon a time I used to get up at six to write.
Six. In. The. Morning.
Which now feels like pure Norse mythology.
Back then, my job was to invent things: characters, dialogue, punch lines, dramatic endings.
Now my method had evolved. Revolutionized, actually.
All I had to do was observe.
Open my eyes, keep my mouth shut (as much as humanly possible), and write everything down. No need to add irony, rhythm, or pathos—my new heroine was already a natural cocktail of all three.My only job was not to mess her up.
By waking up at eight, I was sure I’d catch her off guard. Maybe still with pillow lines on her face and mascara smudges under her eyes. I wanted to study her mood, her look… see if the night had brought wisdom or just more supervillain schemes. After all, last night she’d declared war on the King.
But nope.
Not this time either.
Did she even sleep? Or was her brain now a steam engine powered entirely by revenge, ambition, and sublimated testosterone?
The truth was simple: Tess was no longer my roommate.
She was an entity.
A seduction-Terminator, programmed for one mission only: to bring Ryder to his knees, panting and begging at her feet. And she wouldn’t stop until it happened. Amen.
Funny to think that beforeThe Manual, she couldn’t even form words in the morning. She’d shuffle into the kitchen like a silent zombie and grunt if you asked, “How’s it going?” Now she looked like she’d just marched out of a war movie—epic soundtrack, sunrise lighting and all.
I found her at the window, back straight, hands clasped behind her back, eyes locked on Manhattan’s Upper East Side.
Motionless. Strategic. Focused.
A statueof pure calculation.
“Well, well… if it isn’t General Patton,” I said from the doorway. “Already awake and in pre-battle mode.”
She didn’t turn. Kept her eyes on the horizon.
“Today we make contact,” she said, solemn as someone predicting an alien encounter.
“Wait—you mean… today I’m going to meet Zane Ryder?”
“Exactly.”
“Holy crap!” I gasped. “I left my notebook in my room!”
