Self Improvement, chapter 15

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The two exchanged an awkward greeting, not quite knowing whether to shake hands or hug. What they did instead was a mix between the two, like how guy friends greet each other.

"You look stunning."

Fred was by no means an awkward person. In fact, he could be very charming when putting in the effort. He had however come to the understanding that Rachael was way in over her head here, never having been to an actual party-party. Motioning for Rachael to follow him, Fred moved into the kitchen where the music wasn't as loud, and a proper conversation would be easier. They ended up sitting opposite of each other, Fred leaning against the kitchen counter while Rachael scooted up and sat her butt promptly on the island.

For a while now, Rachael had begun thinking of herself as a different person than the one she used to be. With all the drastic changes to her behavioral tendencies, not to mention her looks, one could easily understand why. This "new" Rachael cursed her old self. Not because she despised the way she used to be, though she certainly didn't view it as favorably as when she was that person. No, she cursed her former self because that person had failed to gather the experience necessary to handle situations like these gracefully. Sitting face to face with someone she very clearly had taken an interest to, she couldn't help but feel helplessly lost. It had been so much easier when there were other people present, like at the park. Now there was just the two of them.
Fidgeting with the tips of her blonde locks, Rachael very clearly was outside her domain.

"You know, I always get really nervous around pretty girls.."

Why was he saying that? Rachael looked around, as if he'd meant someone else. Not used to compliments, especially for her looks, it took her a bit to figure out he was referring to her.

"Oh. Uhm. Me too.."

She blushed upon the realization that she'd admitted to being nervous around pretty girls. She'd meant to say attractive men, but the words "me too" just slipped out so easily. Funnily enough, Fred took it as a joke. He let out a brief chuckle before continuing on his tangent.

"I don't know what it is, I swear, pretty girls just know exactly which buttons to press to get guys going, y'know?"

She considered the words carefully. Fred had just called her a pretty girl, and now he was going on about how pretty girls were masters at manipulating guys?
Just like that, something clicked inside Rachael's head. Like a whole set of memory and knowledge just unlocked. Every subconscious moment where she'd inadvertently observed a woman seduce a man, either on television or in real life. Every moment came flooding to her, all at once.

As if on instinct, Rachael switched her stance. Her right leg going over her left, quick enough to not give Fred the chance to glimpse of her underwear, but slow enough to attract his attention. She then leaned slightly forward, giving the much taller man a better view of her cleavage. Along with the motion, her hair also dangled forward, only to be neatly tucked away again behind her ear as she gracefully adjusted it.
She shot Fred a look, a glimpse which said: "Like this, you mean?"

The shift in Rachael's whole demeanor was so drastic that it warranted an audible gulp from Fred. It's super effective.
In an attempt to answer the sudden seductress' ruthless killmove, Fred raised his right arm to scratch the back of his head, giving out a slight chuckle while also making sure to flex his bicep in the motion just enough for it to strain through his expensive pique poloshirt.

Rachael was equally as affected by Fred's motions , if not more. She may have found the skills to play men like a fiddle, but her current experience in these types of scenarios was still non-existent. If her pulse hadn't been high already, it most certainly was now. It took her every ounce of self control and awareness not to openly drool at the sight of Fred's arm. If he paid this close attention to his bicep routine, god knows what the rest of his body is hiding.

The pair ended up talking for a good while. Ignoring the other people going in and out of the kitchen. At one point, towards the end of the night, a couple of guys came into the kitchen, clearly wasted. They were having a fairy heated debate concerning the stereotype surrounding blonde women. The first guy's argument was that blonde women were simply dumber on average genetically. The other, more reflected individual, insisted that the stereotype stemmed from society's worship of blonde women, leading them to rely more on their looks than intellect to fetch good lives for themselves. The two went on an on, occasionally saying some pretty misogynistic things , but mostly repeating their points in an endless cycle of ignorance. Their little quarrel was just loud and obnoxious enough for Rachael to overhear. On each side, there were arguments she mostly disagreed with, but the main point that blonde women were dumber really stuck with her. She was blonde, maybe not a natural blonde, but a blonde nonetheless. Did she conform to the stereotype? Thinking back to how she'd lived her life up until this point, it certainly didn't seem that way. But then again, she hadn't been a blonde her whole life, either.

Fred caught on to Rachael's troubled look and asked if she was doing alright. He'd also overheard the guys talking, but thought nothing of it.

"I'm, totally good!" 

Her tone caught him off guard. For the brief time Fred had known Rachael, he hadn't ever heard her talking like that. Being a fairly well spoken person, it was rare for her to allow her language degrade into using lazy filler words like "totally" in sentences. The way she'd spoken in a higher octave than usual further added to the ditzy vibe she was putting on. Fred naively chalked it up to being the booze having an unexpected effect on the girl who wasn't all that used to drinking in the first place..