Summary: The rules? No kissing on the mouth, no staying the night, no telling anyone, and above all…no falling in love. Ally Dawson just wants to finish college and focus on her life. Conveniently meeting star quarterback Austin Moon? Wasn't on her to-do list. That is until one chance encounter leads to the possibility of something great. Something they both need. A hook up. Simple. Unfortunately, Ally wants it to remain that way but that's cool. He has a plan and she's gonna fall. Hard.

A/N: This is based off a book I read. So some of the things in this is not 100% mine. I just wanted another smut story after I decided to stop writing for 'The Bet'. But anyways as always, enjoy. :)

Prologue

/ Ally /

He's like the fucking north wind. He blows in, and I turn his way.

And here he is again. Yeah, that one, the jock striding into class like he owns this university, which he kind of does. Football is a religion around here, and he is the chosen messiah. Which sounds kind of sacrilegious considering the fact that he's smacking a brunette on her ass as he leaves her at the classroom door. And she giggles, giggles, like it's a privilege to be degraded in front of thirty students.

And I suppose it is to some. God knows there's a pack of girls who follow him around campus, all wanting to meet Austin Moon, star quarterback, the phenom who will take us to the National Championship.

Their faith isn't exactly misguided. He's won it for them for the last two years. Even I remember those victories, the way the campus went wild, talk of Austin and his crew on everyone's tongue. I fled the campus for the safety of my apartment. Not that it did much good; the whole city had been awash in football fever.

As if he knows that I have this slight need to look at him, his eyes find me as he ambles along. Those eyes, dark brown beneath straight, dark brows. Their focus is complete, hard. As if he can reach right down into me and pull my heart out.

God, everything just bottoms out inside of me. My thighs tighten as my pulse picks up. I can't let him see, can't let him know that one look from him has me dry-mouthed and struggling for breath.

I don't look away—that would be too easy. Instead, I hold his gaze for three seconds, counting them out in my head as his loose-limbed stride brings him closer. 6'0", the guy knows how to move his body. Effortless. I'm sure he's never stumbled, bumped into a desk with his ass as he threads through the rows to get to his seat. No, not him.

Ridiculous.

I probably sound like a snob. Maybe I am. Don't get me wrong, this is the Florida, I know how important football is to people. Football. My personal association with football begins and ends with my dad shooing me out of the way whenever I stepped in front of the TV screen on Sundays. And Monday, and Thursday. Is there a day that football isn't on?

And my only personal experience with jocks was in high school. Complete ignorance of my existence comes to mind. Except that one time when a group of them managed to surround me in the hall. I spent a week in detention for kneeing one of them in the balls, a punishment I still find less than fair, especially since none of them had to go.

I don't understand football players. I don't understand the need to have your body bashed by some other guy while you throw a ball around. I like musicians. Wiry guys with long hair and haunted eyes. Eyes that make you want to search their depths. Not eyes that tell you something. Not eyes that say, I know who I am and I like it, and I know who you are—I see you, and you cannot hide.

Moon is getting closer. Close enough to see the way his arms flex and shift beneath his shirt with every step.

Okay, that's enough. I let my eyes drop, deliberately. You're not bothering me in any way. See? I have appraised you and moved on. Looking over my class notes is more interesting. By far.

He slides into the desk next to mine, and his long legs stretch out into the aisle. I feel his gaze on me, watching, waiting for an acknowledgment.

He's sat next to me since that first disastrous day of class. And because I am as much of a lemming as everyone else when it comes to picking my seat, I remain where I am. It would be one thing if this were a large lecture hall, built to hold three hundred students. No one would notice a shift in seating. But those rooms are reserved for freshman classes. Like a cattle round up, they pack in starry-eyed eighteen year-olds and see who guts it out.

But this is History of Philosophy 401. A specialized class filled with mostly juniors, seniors, and a few grad students, all of whom are either majoring in history or padding their final semesters with advanced classes.

To move would be to admit my weakness.

Professor Lawson enters, and class begins. I don't even know what he's talking about, I'm so distracted. My neck hurts from straining not to turn my head and look at Moon. It's a lost cause, I know. But I try my hardest to hold out for as long as I can. Have I mentioned that I'm screwed?

/ Austin /

Four weeks into the semester and I still get the cold shoulder from her. At this point, I've lost all game and have no idea how to get it back. I wish I could figure Ally out like I can football.

Football has always come easy for me. Don't get me wrong, I work my ass off to keep in top condition. What free time I have between practice and classes goes to working out or studying. I ignore physical pain and mental exhaustion on a constant basis.

But when it comes to the game? Effortless. Gripping the ball fills me with power. During a game, I don't fear the three hundred pound linebacker trying to take me out. I control my pocket, see paths, openings, opportunities. I talk to the ball and it listens, going where I want it to go more often than not. If no opportunity presents itself, I find one, running the ball, avoiding the hit, until I can make a play. It's that simple.

And it's fucking fantastic. The roar of the crowds, the victories, they're addictive. But never as addictive as the need to do it all again, throw that perfect pass, trick the defense with a brilliant handoff or pass fake. Because I can always do better. So, yeah, football is my joy. And I know how lucky I am to have found it, that I have the talent to be one of the best. If there was one thing my parents hammered into me, it was to appreciate what I have.

All of which makes Ally Dawson's disdain more irritating. She thinks I'm vain, a meathead. I should stay clear of her. There are tons of women who want to get to know me—kind of goes with the territory.

I still don't even know what it is about her that gets to me. She is pretty, luscious even, with the classic looks of a vintage pin-up girl. Beautiful face, a pert little nose, dark brown curls that tumble around her shoulders. But she isn't my usual type. Normally I prefer a girl who doesn't look at me as though I'm a hair that snuck into her salad.

So why can't I get Dawson out of my head? All I can see these days are her eyes glaring at me, not giving a shit about the glossy veneer of my fame—hating it, in fact. And it turns me on.

So here I am, slouched in my seat, watching her arms wave and her breasts bounce as she discusses philosophy's impact on society.

"Take Descartes," she's saying. "His move from trying to explain the 'why' of a question to observing the 'how,' helped forge modern scientific method. In antiquity, philosophers changed our world by constantly questioning the status quo."

Because I want her to acknowledge me, I speak up. "I agree."

Ally's mesmerizing brown eyes cut into me with one glare. Then, as if she realizes that glaring at me means an acknowledgement, she reins it in and gives me her profile, facing forward once more.

She clearly doesn't like it when I take her side. Hell, she doesn't like it when I join any conversation she's involved in. It's like I insult her just by speaking. Which pisses me off and makes me want to do it some more.

"Take his argument on dualism, that the mind not only controls the body but that the body can control the mind." I find myself grinning, watching Ally's tension rise, as I lower my voice, directing it toward her. "That one's passions can overtake rational thought and prompt them to act in irrational ways."

Ally's focus stays on Professor Lawson, but beneath her desk, her legs cross then uncross. Clearly, I've made an impression on her. Good. Now we're even.

"Is there a point to your mentioning dualism, Mr. Moon?" Professor Lawson asks, his wry tone pulling my attention back to him and the class. Shit, what was I saying?

I sit up higher in my seat, clearing my throat just as a few junior girls turn their heads to stare. "Ah, just that Descartes got people thinking about the relationship between the mind and the body in a different way."

Hell, I fumbled that one. My face feels uncomfortably warm. That's it, no more talking for me. And I'm grateful when the girl in the flower skirt jumps in. Only her eyes are narrowed at Ally in annoyance.

"I wouldn't say Descartes is such a hero. His belief that animals did not possess a soul led to wide-spread abuse of animals." The girl's expression grows irate as her voice climbs. "Vivisection, experimentation, neglect, these atrocities to animals can be drawn back to Descartes."

Since the girl's yelling this at Ally, all eyes are now on the both of them. Ally doesn't cower, though. Her response is smooth as cream. "Given that my argument wasn't about Descartes, but on how philosophers changed societal beliefs, I'd say you just proved my point."

Hell, but I like this girl. I like her quick mind and her fire.

Flower Girl, however is turning red. "So you're just going to ignore the ill his theory brought to the world?"

"I'm not ignoring it," Ally says. "But I also don't think we need to throw the baby out with the bathwater. He was responsible for a lot of positive changes as well."

Despite my former resolve to shut the hell up, I find myself saying, "Dawson is right, we can't judge the whole of a person's work based on one negative outcome. Shouldn't we give the guy a break? Maybe he had no idea the damage he'd do with a few misunderstood words."

I will Ally to answer that. She stubbornly ignores me. But she's the only one. As usual, whenever I talk, eyes turn my way. It's annoying, but I'm used to it. The fact that I'm defending Ally, however, sends curious glances her way as well.

I hear the brunette who's been trying to catch my attention for weeks now mutter in a voice meant to carry, "'Dawson?' He knows her name?"

A flush pinks Ally's cheeks. Tension lifts her shoulders, and I could swear that she's fighting the urge to duck her head. It's strange, as if she both wants to hide yet refuses to cave. But I have to be wrong. Nothing about Ally conveys shyness, and she didn't seem bothered when she was arguing with Flower Girl. Yet she drops off from the discussion and concentrates on taking notes.

Since she's no longer in the conversation, I lose interest as well. I resume watching her out of the corner of my eye and wonder if there's some sort of remedy for this kind of fascination. A sane man would give up the ghost and let her go.

Does that stop me from following her when class is over? From stalking her like some creeper as she heads to the food court at the Student Union? No. Not even a little bit.

I will try to have the first real chapter up soon!