The Impact Of You

Summary:

Falling for the intense boy, Austin Moon wasn't in her plans. Yet she can't deny how alive she feels when he's near. Even as common sense implores her to stay away, her body begs her to get closer.

Austin, numb from his own family drama, has grown bored with weekends fueled by nameless girls and countless bottles when he meets Ally. Helping her cope with her past is better than dealing with the bullshit his own life's served up. Determined to drive away the painful secret she's guarding, he appoints himself her life coach, and challenges her to new experiences. Getting close to her and being the one to make her smile are simply perks of the job.

Rated: T/M for mature scenes and sexual content in later chapters.

A/N: Hey everyone ! Well this is a new story I am starting and I hope you guys like it and well the character are a little OCC (not so much anyway) So ENJOY!

Disclaimer : I do not own Austin and Ally

Chapter 1

Ally

Thirty minutes into my first high school party, and I'm ready to smack someone in the face with a shovel. My first problem is that I'm wearing the most ridiculous shade of pink. Trish's doing , of course. Tugging at the end of my shirt, I plaster a fake smile on my face and try to act as if I own this new look. Compared to Trish in her tight jeans, low-cut leopard print top, and sexy three-inch heels, I look cute in my pink outfit. And I hate that word. Cute is what you use to describe a teddy bear or a three year old, and it only demonstrates that I don't belong at this party filled with gorgeous half-dressed girls grinding on the dance floor. Fuck my life.

Sighing, I push a chunk of hair behind my shoulder and take another sip of the now warm beer in my hand. Trish thrusts her arm around my waist, bumping her hip against mine in time with the music. I smile at her attempt.

"Need more to drink?" she asks above dance music.

I look into my still full red plastic cup. "I'm good." I hate the taste of beer, but manage to take another sip. Tonight was all about blending in. And something tells me being the stone-sober girl with a perma-frown etched into her face isn't the way to do it.

Trish and Dez are convinced this will be my year. They have grand visions of me loose and carefree, thriving in the High School social scene despite the contrary evidence I'd presented them as a junior last year. When they'd dressed me in this pink top earlier – which Dez claimed was actually rosy coral – they'd declared me a ripe peach, ready for the picking. I'd barely kept the scowl off my face at the euphemism.

"Mancandy, two o' clock," Trish announces over the music.

I take my time, subtly turning in the direction she indicates. A group of three guys stand talking near the DJ and, honestly, they're all cute. Either that or my mind won't let me distinguish individual features since my body has no plans of getting involved with anyone. Ever.

" Which one?" I ask, playing along with Trish so I don't disappoint her yet again. I know I make a terrible wing-woman. Dez fills the role a heck of a lot better than me. A fact he's super proud of.

Trish glances at the group of high school boys.

"The pretty one."

Pretty?

Dez steals a glance at the group of guys too.

"Damn, that boy is fucking delish." He shakes his head.

"Major player, though." Trish rolls her eyes.

"The pretty ones always are," Dez added.

I can't resist looking again for this so-called pretty boy, and when I do, hazel brown eyes meet mine and he zeroes in on me with smirk. His lingering gaze rakes boldly over my body, and I feel the nervous lurch of my stomach. The sights and sounds of the room fade away. Yeah, he's pretty. That's the only way to describe him. He's roughly six-feet tall and muscular. His hair is a gorgeous beach blond, and his eyes are such a beautiful shade of brown with golden specks around them. Not to mention the ridiculously long eyelashes that I'd be happy to murder him for in his sleep.

A warm tingle creeps up my chest. It's a decidedly unwelcome feeling and I swallow a large gulp of beer hoping to extinguish whatever the hell that sensation was. I want to look away, but I can't. He has on dark jeans that fit his frame perfectly – slouching a bit on his hips but held in place by a worn leather belt. His T-shirt is plain and red. I like that he isn't overdressed for this thing, like some of the other gel-haired, button-up-shirt-wearing guys circling us. His hair is rumpled and swept just the right way over his eyes. I have the urge to brush the stands out of his beautiful eyes. Or use it to tug him in to kiss me. Where did that thought come from?

His eyes stayed locked on mine. One corner of his mouth pulls upward. Crap. He caught me staring. I can feel my fake smile wavering. As my cheeks heat up, I look down at my feet that are squeezed into Trish's heels. He has to know how gorgeous he is. Guys like him always do. And he is firmly in male-model territory, so he can't fault me for looking.

"Come on, Ally, dance with us. You're being a downer," Trish whines. When I blow her off a second time, she gives up and drags Dez to the center of the living room. She sways and grinds to the beat, obviously hoping Pretty Boy will notice. They gesture for me to join them, but as much as I love them both, this is so not my scene. Sometimes I wonder if I cling to them because their flamboyant personalities mask my non-existent one. I watch them shimmy and shake for a few minutes before sneaking another glance at Pretty Boy in the corner.

He's still watching me, so I give him my best attempt at a smile. I'm pretty good at hiding that I'm wounded, that my life blew up in a spectacular scandal my sophomore year, and that I still walk around fearful what happened that night will be uncovered. I hold the I-could-care-less-smile in place. I'm just a regular high school senior in a hideous pink shirt. Move along folks. Nothing to see here.

My cheeks still burn and my heart pounds in time with the music. It's too damn hot in here. Too hot to be wearing jeans and a three-quarter sleeve top. Pushing a damp tendril of hair from my face, I pull a breath into my lungs, It only confirms what my body already knows. Even with the show going on in front of him, Pretty Boy is still closely watching me.

The way his eyes lock on mine from across the room holds the promise of something much more intimate than two random partygoers. His deep hazel gaze penetrates me and eats away at the calm, cool demeanor I fight to maintain. He looks at me like he knows me all too well, like he sees an imposter. Maybe it's because he's hiding something too. His friends laugh around him and while he looks on bored and unimpressed. I snap my gaze away.

Guys like him bug me for numerous reasons. I hate his overconfidence and the way he's completely ignoring the girl grinding up on him. Like he couldn't be bothered to pay attention to anyone he deems unworthy of his affections. Cocky bastard. If he doesn't want her he should send her on her way, put her out of her misery. Blond bimbo or not she's still a person.

Watching the poor girl conjures up memories I can't deal with. I hate that I was once that girl. Pretty Boy continues to rake his gaze over every inch of me. Well, if this jerk thinks I'm an easy conquest, he's sadly mistaken. Lifting my chin, I avert my gaze and force my smile to remain in place. I throw a glance at Trish and Dez who are full-on impersonating Lady Gaga at this point, and deciding my friends won't miss me, I make my way through the crowd toward the back door. And freedom.

A/N: And first chapter is DONE. I hope you guys liked it! Don't forget to review…