Rules Of Attraction Read Free Page A

about you.”
    Is he kidding? “No.”
    “Come on, start writing. Consider this a self-help exercise, and a
    way for you to realize that girls like Madison Stone aren’t even
    attractive. Finish the sentence I, Kiara Westford, am great because . .
    .”
    I know Tuck isn’t going to let up, so I write something stupid and
    hand it back to him. He reads my words and cringes. “I, Kiara, am great
    because . . . I know how to throw a football, change the oil in my car,
    and hike a fourteener. Ugh, guys don’t care about this stuff.” He grabs
    the pen from me, sits on the edge of my bed, and starts writing
    furiously.
    “Let’s get the basics down. You’ve got to measure attractiveness in
    three parts to get the full result.”
    “Who made up those rules?”
    “Me. These are Tuck Reese’s Rules of Attraction. First, we start
    with personality. You’re smart, funny, and sarcastic,” he says, listing
    each one in the notebook.
    “I’m not sure all of those are good things.”
    “Trust me, they are. But wait, I’m not done. You’re also a loyal
    friend, you love a challenge more than most guys I know, and you’re a
    great sister to Brandon.” He looks up when he’s done writing. “The
    second part is your skills. You know about fixing cars, you’re athletic,
    and you know when to shut up.”
    “That last one isn’t a skill.”
    “Honey, trust me. It’s a skill.”
    “You forgot my special spinach and walnut salad.” I can’t cook, but
    that salad is an all-time favorite.
    “You do make a killer salad,” he says, adding that to the list. “Okay,
    on to the last part—physical traits.” Tuck looks me up and down,
    assessing me.
    I moan, wondering when this humiliation will end. “I feel like I’m a
    cow about to be auctioned.”
    “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’ve got flawless skin and a perky nose to
    match your tits. If I wasn’t gay I might be tempted to—”
    “Eww.” I slap his hand away from the paper. “Tuck, can you please
    not say or write that word?”
    He shakes his long hair out of his eyes. “What, tits?”
    “Ugh. Yes, that one. Just say boobs or breasts, please. The ‘t’ word
    just sounds so . . . vulgar.”
    Tuck snorts and rolls his eyes. “Okay, perky . . . breasts.” He laughs,
    totally amused. “I’m sorry, Kiara, that just sounds like something you’re
    gonna barbeque for lunch or order off a menu.” He pretends my
    notebook is a menu as he recites in a fake English accent, “Yes, waiter,
    I’d like the barbequed perky breasts with a side of coleslaw.”
    I throw Mojo, my big blue teddy bear, at Tuck’s head. “Just call ’em
    privates and move on.”
    Mojo bounces right off him and lands on the floor. My best friend
    doesn’t miss a beat. “Perky tits, scratch. Perky breasts, scratch.” He
    makes a big deal of crossing both those out. “Replace with . . . perky
    privates,” he says, writing each word down as he says it. “Long legs, and
    long eyelashes.” He eyes my hands and wrinkles his nose. “No offense,
    but you could use a manicure.”
    “Is that it?” I ask.
    “I don’t know. Can you think of anything else?”
    I shake my head.
    “Okay, so now that we know how fabulous you are, we need to make
    a list of what kind of guy you want. We’ll write this on the right side of
    the page. Let’s start with personality. You want a guy who is . . . fill in
    the blank.”
    “I want a guy who’s confident. Really confident.”
    “Good,” he says, writing it down.
    “I want a guy who’s nice to me.”
    Tuck continues writing. “Nice guy.”
    “I’d like a guy who’s smart,” I add.
    “Street smarts or book smarts?”
    “Both?” I question, not knowing if it’s the right or wrong answer.
    He pats me on the head like I’m a little kid. “Good. Let’s move on to
    skills.” He shushes me, stopping me from contributing. Fine by me. “I’ll
    write this part down for you. You want a guy who has the same skills as
    you have, and then