Page 23 of How NOT to Seduce a Rockstar
She glided between tables like a decadent poet on tour, leaving behind her a trail of black tulle and self-celebration. Stopping by a gleaming steel column, she slid onto a stool.
“Better to stay slightly off to the side,” she said, arranging her skirt with a geisha’s precision. “Otherwise I’ll be mobbed, and I won’t be able to put the manual’s techniques into practice.”
“Isn’t that thepointof tonight? To attract warm-up men?”
“If all I wanted was free cocktails, I wouldn’t need a manual. I’d just show up in my old tired-librarian look: glasses, cardigan, and an aura of ‘I’m not ready but if you insist…’”
She paused, dramatically.
“But tonight isn’t about collecting random happy-hour pick-up lines. Tonight, I need to practice with a man of higher caliber. A target worthy ofla Contessa’s spells.”
She slowly removed her sunglasses, as if revealing the twist ending of a psychological thriller. Her eyes glittered, hunting for prey. And then—an epiphany.
“Actually, you know what?You’regoing to pick the man I seduce.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yes yes yes. It’d be too easy if I chose. And besides, I want to shut you up once and for all. Because I know you, Bea: if I pick someone, you’ll start in with, ‘He’s too short,’ ‘He’s too ugly,’ ‘He looks like the kind of guy who writes printer reviews for fun’… No. No. No.”
She waved a grand hand in the air, brushing aside all my objections before they could form.
“Even though I don’t have to prove anything to you, I wantyouto point out the most untouchable man in this place. The top-level challenge Spice has to offer.”
“Uh… your confidence is really something,” I muttered, glancing around, still dizzy from her theatrics.
She leaned toward me, smiling. “I don’t have faith in myself,” she whispered. “I have faith in the Countess.”
So I started scanning the bar for someone who was simultaneously attractive, charismatic, and strictly out of reach—the perfect Tess-approved trifecta. But I didn’t have time to lock on a candidate before a waitress appeared, smiling professionally, order pad in hand.
“If you give us five minutes, darling,” Tess said in a honeyed voice, “our drinks will be sent over by some adoring gentleman.”
The waitress blinked at her for a second, then turned to me, visibly amused.
“My friend made a bet with me,” I explained, raising my hands in surrender. “She says she can seduce any man I point out. Since you actually work here, maybe you know the clientele better than I do. Who should we aim for?”
The waitress tapped her pen against her chin, thoughtful.
“Hmm… let me think…”
She scanned the room discreetly, like a spy in the service of flirtation.
“Married or single?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Tess replied, already certain of victory.
“Single,” I cut in. “Single guys with options are slipperier than cheating husbands.”
The waitress nodded knowingly, then tipped her chin toward the swankiest corner of the bar.
“I’d recommend that one, under the Neptune painting. He’s our little king of the jungle.”
We followed her gaze.
The man in question was about thirty, with artfully messy blond hair and the athletic build of a post-college sports guy who only works out when the mood strikes. He wore a black shirt with rolled-up sleeves and the air of someone very aware he was being observed.
He sat in the most strategic spot in the place—the one Al Capone would’ve picked: back to the wall, full view of every entrance, dominant without being flashy. Two guys flanked him, laughing raucously at his every line like he was warming up for a Netflix comedy special.
He radiated that particular brand of swagger that makes you want to either challenge him… or run the other way. Or both.
