Player Season: The Pickup Artist Who Hacked Nike by Brad Stephenson

Author:Brad Stephenson [Stephenson, Brad]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Baseball, Biography & Autobiography, Humor, Nonfiction, Retail
Amazon: B00ENR3S7I
Published: 2013-11-05T05:00:00+00:00

Wrangling girls with Dave gave me a new perspective; no longer was I name-dropping athletes to achieve my goals. It was a true test of game, and it worked out just as well, sometimes even better.

By the end of the month, I processed and absorbed all the steps of designing a website and the basics on how to add content. This is exactly what I hoped for, means to becoming financially independent. Even though Justin's season just ended and another off-season of rampant and uncivilized behavior was up ahead – I knew there was much more to learn from Dave, so we stayed in touch.

"My agent got us tickets to the Angels/Yankees playoff game in LA if you want to go," Justin announced.

I did, because I'd never been to LA before, but it was somewhat odd that our first order of business was going to see Kazmir's new team. More specifically, the tickets were for Game 4, in which Kazmir was the starting pitcher.

"I'm taking a girl with me, so you either need to invite a girl or roll solo," said Justin.

It was the night before our trip and I decided to go out, solo, to a club called the PussyCat Lounge in Scottsdale. It was a normal club, famously known for being owned by porn star Jenna Jameson. She must have played a part in the design because as soon as I walked in, I noticed–through a glass window–a bedroom overlooking the dance floor ... with an insanely attractive blonde sprawled out, wearing nothing but her bra and panties.

So I stood at the bar alone, drinking a beer and rubbernecking the blonde from below. In my mind, I was obligated to pursue her...eventually. Once you go after the best looking girl you see, the others don't seem like a challenge but I couldn't get to her and for the time being, I needed to make my rounds and possibly find a girl to invite to LA.

After several failed attempts (which are successes in my book), I headed for the front exit, but was then stopped in my tracks. Against the wall, dancing alone and bent over like an offensive lineman (but not looking like one), was yet another blonde.

I walked up next to her and stood with poise, but didn't say a word. Another hit or miss tactic, either she would think I was a creep or she was going to open up and let me in.

"Dance with me!" the blonde blurted, after briefly looking me over.

Within a matter of minutes, better yet seconds, IT WAS HARD ... not to invite her to LA.

"Do you want to go to LA with me tomorrow?" I directly asked her.

"Yeah! Why not!" she responded, without even knowing my name.

She gave me her number and name, which was Stephanie, and then told me to call her a few hours before the flight so she could pack her bags in time.

I took her words as typical bullshit girls say at clubs, but I called her anyways.

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