Summary: The rules? No on the mouth, no staying the night, no telling anyone, no getting attached, 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. Game on.

A/N: This book is called "The Hookup." And as said before NO this is not 100%. I'm making minor changes to the story. I really liked the story and I couldn't stop thinking about Austin and Ally for some reason. But anyways here you go :)

/Ally/

When I started college, I loved it. I loved the freedom of choosing what classes I wanted to take and when.

I loved the exchange of ideas and the notion that professors were actually interested in what I was thinking. They might not always agree with me, but an intelligent argument was valued.

And I loved the anonymity of it. No one here knew the old me. I was no longer that weird loner who everyone assumed was smoking up before class. Which is kind of ironic considering I was never even offered drugs until I got to college.

There weren't any stupid cliques in college. Not, at least, in that incestuous way of high school. Sure, you could find one, create one, but there were too many students to even notice those groups. I loved being one of thousands, not one of a hundred. Because I could start fresh, be myself without being told that being myself wasn't good enough.

But now I've grown weary of school. My brain is tired. I don't want to spend another night writing papers or cramming for exams until my eyes blur. I don't know if it's normal to be twenty-one and burnt out, but that's how I feel. I just want it all to be over. And I still have a year left.

Of course, that fact brings its own brand of issues, as in what the fuck am I going to do once I'm out? I majored in European History because it interests me, not because I wanted to be a historian. The truth is, I don't know what I want to "be."

Oh, I have a list of life wants: happiness, security, excitement, and making enough money that I can travel whenever I want. But shouldn't I have an idea of how I'm going to live my life? Isn't that the way it's supposed to go?

I just don't know. It's been plaguing me of late. What to do? What to do?

And because the question brings a sick lurch of fear into my gut whenever I linger on it for too long, I try to ignore it.

I'm trying now, trying to study, trying to not think about the rest of my life. Only I end up staring off into space, my pen tapping against my class notes as I sit in the Student Union dining hall.

Students come and go around me, a constant chatter of voices punctuated by random bursts of laughter. I don't even know what I'm looking at when a familiar—and not appreciated—sensation steals over my skin, prickling it.

Don't react, I tell myself. Don't do it.

I turn my head anyway. And immediately spot him. Moon.

How does my body know? Why does it instantly perk up when he's near? It's like I have internal Austin Moon radar. I ought to be studied by the NSA or something. At the very least have my head examined. Because this has to stop.

My only consolation is that he's looking at me too. Maybe before I even noticed him, because our gazes instantly clash. A buzz goes through my body, a low, warm hum that has my lower belly clenching.

Maybe it is a simple matter of fascination that he keeps looking at me. And even though I know I'm not a toad, I can't help but wonder why. Why stare at me when he's surrounded by girls who are, by anyone's standards, gorgeous. God, he's probably thinking the same thing: she keeps looking at me. Only he's probably not wondering why. Everyone looks at Austin.

They're looking now. He's at the far side of the hall with a hulking group of football players, and all heads are turned his way. I've always thought Austin was big but he's big in a built way and tall. One of the guys next to him looks like he eats screaming villagers for breakfast. A linebacker, if I had to guess. He even has a beard, full and bushy.

The guys are laughing, talking to other friends who come up to see them. A group of girls head straight for them as if they've been waiting. And their arrival is greeted with appreciation.

But not by Moon. He's still watching me, his expression almost grim and so intent that my heartbeat speeds up. I want to look away. I ought to, but I just stare back like an idiot.

"Do you know Austin Moon?"

The question jumps out at me, loud and in my ear, and my pen clatters to the table.

"Jesus, Kira," I say as my best friend slips into my side of the both. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I can see how you'd be distracted." Her dark eyes shine with an evil light that I know means trouble. "What with you eye-fucking Moon and all."

My face is likely pink because it burns. "I'm not 'eye-fucking' anyone." It's a mumble. And there is absolutely no way I'm looking back at Austin now, even though I'm dying to.

Kira snorts and grabs a drink of my iced coffee. "Eye-molesting doesn't have the same ring to it, though." When I open my mouth to protest again, she waves me off. "Don't bother denying it. I know what I saw."

"How do you even know what I'm looking at anyway?" I slap my notebook closed and take back my drink. "I could have been checking the time." There's a big clock hanging on the wall behind Moon, so I'm hoping that excuse is believable.

Kira's smirk tells me it's not. "Because he was eye-fucking you back."

I nearly choke on my drink. "Would you please stop using that phrase?"

Kira laughs a little. "Sorry, but it was kind of hot and obvious, you know."

Fuck. Was it?

Her eyes narrow. "You haven't answered my question, and it's clear that you know him in some way."

When she shifts like she's about to glance in his direction, I react like I'm five, and pinch her thigh in a panic.

"Shit, Ally!" she squeals.

"I'm sorry. But don't look at him." The last thing I want is for Austin to know we're talking about him. I'd expire of mortification on the spot.

She glares, rubbing her thigh. "Drama Queen. I've never seen you so flustered. He's gone, by the way."

"I'm not flustered." I run a hand through my hair. "It's just… Don't make it something that it's not. We have a class together, and we happened to make eye contact just now. That's all."

God, I feel like I'm in junior high again. I hate it, and I hate myself for reacting the way I do. I've worked for years to harden myself, to no longer care what others think of me, to not need to care. My walls cannot crumble.

Thankfully, Kira shrugs. "That's too bad. He's totally hot."

"And he knows it," I mutter.

"How can he not? I mean, like, damn. That face. Those brooding eyes. Those pouty, kiss-me lips. I swear to God, he's like Captain Freaking America."

"I was always more of a Tony Stark kind of gal." I absolutely do not think of the animated gif I have on my computer of Captain America's fine ass rippling as he pounds a punching bag. Over. And over.

Ignoring me, Kira fans herself in dramatic fashion. "God, that body. You just know he's cut. Like a freaking diamond."

I try not to smile as I take another sip of coffee. "I need a nap."

"Oh, right, he's so boring to you. Or maybe you shouldn't stay up reading all night long. Which reminds me," she slaps my thigh, "we're so going out tonight."

"No." Usually I like going out, but lately I haven't had the desire.

"Don't you 'no' me." Kira leans in, her silky black hair sliding over her shoulder. "You haven't been out in weeks. Being a homebody is one thing. Turning into a hermit is just wrong."

"You pay way too much attention to my social life."

Her lips purse. "Kind of hard to ignore when we live together."

Freshman year, I started off living in a dorm, but that was a bit too much like high school for my liking, and the public bathrooms flat-out sucked. Then I met Kira, who also had a dislike of cinderblock walls and wearing flip-flops in the shower. We decided working to pay for an apartment of our own was worth it and moved out by the end of the year. Because we got along so well, we kept the place year round rather than go home during the summers.

Kira sighs, her slim shoulders lifting high before dropping. I bite my lip to keep from smiling, but she sees and plays on my weakness. "Come onnn, Allygator." Like a kid, she taps her feet on the ground in an impatient dance. "I don't want to go alone. I need a girlfriend with me tonight."

I snort. "Where do you want to go anyway?"

Her white teeth flash, a sharp contrast against her lightly dark skin. "A party."

"No."

"Ally! You haven't even heard me out."

"You know I hate parties." I suck at small talk and mingling. Give me a booth in a bar and a few good friends, and I'm a happy girl.

But parties suck.

Slouching back, Kira picks at the edge of my notebook. "I'm not going to leave you alone. We'll hang out."

"We can do that anywhere." I eye her with suspicion. "Why this party?"

She starts paying undo attention to the condensation on my cup, tracing patterns over it with the tip of her finger. "Well...Elliot—"

"Fuck."

"You have the filthiest mouth, Ally." This isn't a new complaint. She makes it constantly. Not that she's wrong. I curse when I'm stressed. Or annoyed. Okay, I curse all the time.

"No shit?" My cussing also tends to increase when Elliot Peters is mentioned. Elliot and Kira have been going out for two years, so you'd think I'd accept his presence in Kira's life. But I have to grit my teeth every time I see him. He's a smarmy asshole who treats Kira like window dressing. He doesn't so much talk to her as talk at her.

And though my friend is smart, funny, gorgeous, and independent, Elliot is her kryptonite. He weakens her, rending her blind to his many faults. Sure, he's good looking, dark-haired and dark-eyed with a nice smile. He's also the captain of the lacrosse team and makes sure everyone knows it. But I'm fairly certain he cheats on her. There are too many times when he doesn't answer her calls or has "important team meetings," you know, on Friday nights or holidays such as Valentine's Day. Yeah, right.

As much as I wish I could tell Kira to ditch him, experience with my mom tells me that I'd only strengthen her resolve and drive a wedge between us.

"I know you don't like Elliot," Kira says now.

While I'm able to keep my mouth shut, pretending to like him is more than I can take. The sleaze always, always, eyes my boobs and ass. Not in the normal way a guy might make a note of them, but in a way that makes me feel covered with slime.

"But he asked me to bring you," Kira continues.

Of course he did. He knows I don't like him. Which he takes as a challenge to piss me off. Elliot might be a dick, but he's a smart dick. He knows I'll look like a jerk if I resist his attempts at polite interaction.

"Why would he do that?" I ask.

"Because he wants me to be happy." She says this like it's obvious. "And he knows I want to have a friend with me at his parties."

Because he'll ignore her within five minutes of getting there.

"This isn't one of his team parties, is it?"

"No." Her eyes are wide and pleading. "It's just a party, Ally. Geesh."

"Fine," I snap. "I'll go."

Instantly, Kira hops up and down in her seat. "Yes! We'll have fun. And then we'll go dancing."

Kira is my opposite in all ways small. She loves reality TV, finds movies too long, and only reads when it's for an assignment. Her idea of fun involves a credit card and an open mall, and she has harbored a massive crush on Justin Bieber, despite all his WTFuckery, since her junior year of high school. Her continuing love of The Bieb is evident by the fact that her favorite nightshirt is a My World concert tee. And while the image of his face plastered over her boobs is more than creepy, I hate that she hides the shirt whenever Elliot comes around. Or rather, I hate that Elliot makes her feel like she should to hide it for fear he'll make fun of her.

Despite myself, I glance at the spot where Moon had been. He's gone and is probably making plans of his own. I suddenly feel restless. Wrong. Like I don't know who I really am anymore. Which makes no sense. Maybe I'm coming down with something.

As I rarely go to parties, I have no idea what to wear. Jeans and a t-shirt will just get me sent back to my room by Kira. She is definitely of the "if it ain't tight you ain't wearing it right" school, especially if she's planning to hit up clubs afterwards. However I am just as definitely of the "I refuse to be uncomfortable in the name of fashion" school of thought. So where does that leave me?

After forty minutes of cussing and general clothes throwing, I'm in a white camisole and a soft, peach pleated skirt that hugs my hips.

Not wanting to leave my room, I procrastinate by peering into the mirror. My hair has a curl factor of three, which is acceptable, and my skin is clear. I apply a sweep of light eye shadow to make my eyes appear browner and dab a pale lip stain on my lips. So then, I've done all I can.

I tromp out to the living room for inspection time. Kira as usual, looks fantastic. I don't even know how she does it; she's wearing tiny black leather shorts and a silky indigo top that hangs over one toned shoulder and is open in the back. If I wore something like that I'd look horrible, but she's so lean and small, perfection on platform stiletto ankle boots that remind me of horse hooves for some reason.

Her dark eyes narrow as I stand there.

"What's with the boots?" she finally asks.

"You're wearing boots."

"Ankle boots. Totally different." Iris lets out a long-suffering sigh. "You look like you're going to a vamp ball in them."

"Watch it, Little Miss Belieber. I can still stay home."

She cringes. "Sorry. You know how I get before going out. Please just for all the love in the world, change into flats."

Yeah, crazy. Because she might disappoint Elliot the Dickhead.

Rolling my eyes, I sigh. "Fine."

I'm in and out of my room in record time sporting a pair of brown ankle boots.

She strides over to me, taller now in her insane shoes, and gives me a kiss on the cheek. The light, flowery scent of her perfume surrounds me. "You look gorgeous," she says. "God, I wish I had your curves."

"We can do an exchange, because I'd love to rock those shorts without terrifying the populace with my legs."

"Fine, my thighs in exchange for your boobs."

"Deal." We both laugh, having made this deal numerous times before.

We take Kira's car because I don't trust Elliot to drive me home, and I have a feeling she might go off with him later. So I'll drive hers back. I'd take my Vespa, but Kira doesn't like to drive to parties alone, and frankly, I'd get helmet head if I did.

Kira taps nervously on her steering wheel as we drive along listening to Adele.

"Why are you so worked up?" I finally ask. "More so than usual, I mean?"

Her eyes are wide as she glances at me. "No reason." And then she turns down a street.

Frat houses line the block. "Kira You said this was an off-campus party."

But it's clearly one of Elliot's horrible team bashes. Which involves beer bongs, guys pissing on the lawns—among other lovely locations—and basic imbecilic behavior. I was suckered into going to one once before and vowed never again.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" Her expression is desperate. "But Elliot really wanted me to go, and you've been moping around the house lately."

"I have not been moping!"

"Staring out the window," she insists. "Like some tragic Jane Austen heroine."

"Austen's heroines aren't tragic. They are empowered."

"Says you. All those repressed feelings and prideful denials." Her snub nose wrinkles. "Pathetic. Just own your emotions already."

"Stop trying to change the subject. You kept this from me on purpose. Not cool."

Kira sighs as she pulls up in front of a big old colonial that's lit up like summer. People spill from the open door, and a girl, laughing manically, tumbles onto the lawn in a pile of limbs.

We both wince before she lifts her pleading eyes to me. "I just didn't think you'd come if I told you." She clutches my arm, and her hand is cold. "Forgive me, Allygator?"

"You should have taken Trent." Trent is Kira's twin and my other best friend. He usually goes to these parties with her, watching over his little sister while simultaneously hitting on all available women. It works for them. "Where is he, anyway?" I grumble.

"He says he's got a headache." Kira's mouth flattens in annoyance.

"Suspect." Trent never gets sick. He's practically inhuman that way.

Kira pulls out her lipstick and quickly reapplies while glancing in the review mirror. "That's what I said." Her words are muffled as she stretches her lips to get a good coat of glossy red over them. "But what could I do?"

"Not torture me?"

With neat efficiency, she caps the lipstick and plops it into her purse. "Well, where's the fun in that?" Her eyes sparkle in the low light of the car. "Besides, maybe you'll see someone you like."

"Kira…" My warning glare is lost on her because she's already jumping out of the car with surprising sprightliness, considering her heels. I follow, knowing I'll regret it.

/Austin/

It's Friday night and I'm tired. My body hurts from a brutal practice. Not much difference from any other day, only I haven't been sleeping well and it's wearing on me. A certain brunette occupies my thoughts to a sleep-depriving degree. When I close my eyes, I picture her. Hell, I picture her with my eyes open too.

Mostly, I think of her in profile because that's what I see when I watch her in class.

Curves. Ally is endless curves.

In my mind, I map the pale column of her neck down to where it swoops out to one of her best curves: her butt and breasts.

I'm just enough of a shit that I long for the days when our classroom gets chilly and she wears one of those cotton shirts that does nothing to hide the points of her nipples pushing against the fabric. Damn, but that sight never fails to make me hard. I'm fairly dying for the chance to peel off her shirt and expose those nipples that so readily stiffen. I want to know their color, their exact size and texture. She's fair-skinned, so they might be pale pink, but I've seen the shadows they make beneath her white shirts, and I suspect they're a nice tawny rose that will go darker when sucked.

Yeah, I'm a sick bastard. But I doubt any guy would blame me. And I can't help myself. When I'm not thinking about her breasts, or the narrow dip of her waist and the rounded curve of her ass, I'm thinking about her innocent brown eyes.

I've got it bad. Bad enough to be sporting semi-wood in the middle of a crowded room. And she's not even here.

I take a sip of water, not really listening to the chatter around me. What does she do on her nights off? Frequent clubs? Hang out at a coffee house and chastise unsuspecting men on the unfairness of the glass ceiling? That makes me smile. I love the way her pert nose scrunches up when she's irritated and her wide brown eyes narrow into slits. Like she won't hesitate to kick someone's ass if she thinks they deserve it. Totally hot.

The water I'm drinking is warm and tastes of plastic. I set the bottle down harder than necessary. An antsy, irritable feeling grows within me. I don't want to be here. I've heard all these stories and jokes a thousand times before. And while I love my guys, I'm bored. I want to hunt down Ally Dawson, rattle her cage, and see what she throws at me. But I don't know where to start looking. And it pisses me off.

I'm about to tell Dez that I'll see him tomorrow, maybe hit the sack in an effort to at least try to get some needed sleep, when I feel a familiar tightening in my groin and along my back.

I have no explanation for how or why it is that I know when she's near. I just do. Like a magnet to metal, my body swivels and my head lifts. And there she is.

Everything stops. My heart in my chest. My brain function. Fuck me sideways. Just someone stick a fork in me. I'm done. She isn't in her standard t-shirt and jeans, or one of her soft little sweaters. She's in some strappy top that barely contains her breasts. Those are going to be the death of me. I'm afraid I've audibly groaned.

And damn if I'm not the only one who's noticed her. Too many eyes are glued to her chest. My hands clench. I'm no different than them, maybe worse, because I've made a habit of staring at her. But I'm itching to smack heads, send those eyes forward and off of her. I also have the sudden urge to whip off my shirt and tuck her into it.

She makes her way farther into the room, and I see the skirt. It clings and sways around her pale thighs. Strong yet soft thighs that I know would feel so good parting for me, that would wrap me up and hold me tight. Je-sus.

A frown mars her face, drawing her auburn brows close and pinching her lips. If there is anything I love more about her than her breasts, it's her lips. Deep pink and plump, those lips entrance me. Lips I've wanted to kiss since I first laid eyes on them.

She isn't happy to be here. And she scowls back at a pair of girls who look at her as if she's an intruder. I know those girls. Sports groupies. "Cock Jugglers" are what Dez calls them. And though it's crude, it's fitting. They've serviced more than half the team. Ugly experience has taught me to keep far away from them. I don't like the smirks they're giving Ally. She shouldn't be here. We shouldn't. I want to take her out of here and just drive somewhere. Maybe to that coffee house in my imagination. I'd be happy to have her lecture me on all the ways I annoy her.

Her eyes scan the room as if seeking a way out.

Look this way, I tell her in my head. Look at me. Give me those wide, brown eyes. Lock them on to me with that intensity I feel down to my bones.

Look at me.

Look at me.

As if she hears me, her pale shoulders tense, and my body seizes with hot anticipation. Her long lashes sweep upward and, bam, those eyes find mine. It's like being blindsided, only heat and breathless pleasure overwhelms me instead of pain.

Her full lips part as if she's taking a shocked breath, and I find myself doing the same. Jesus, I want her. She watches me, a mixture of anxiety and raw excitement gleaming in her eyes. I need to find a way to erase that anxiety. I need to know her better. Nothing on earth is stopping me from going to her.

Adrenaline rushes through my veins and my heart rate increases. Game on.

I like this aloooot. Tell me your thoughts. I'll post another chap tomorrow! :)