Kendall Ryan - The Impact of You

Pretty Boy’s eyes stay locked on mine. One corner of his full 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 Madison’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.

‘C’mon, Avery, dance with us. You’re being a downer,’ Madison whines. When I blow her off a second time, she gives up and drags Noah 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. Noah and Madison are both theater majors, so to say they are dramatic is an understatement. 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 senior 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 college sophomore 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 blue 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 I’m an imposter. Maybe it’s because he’s hiding something too. His friends laugh around him 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 Madison and Noah 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.

Jase

The blond skims her nails over my chest and lowers herself down until her face is level with my groin. She bites her bottom lip and blinks up at me seductively. Too bad this is doing absolutely fucking nothing for me. I attempt a smile, but my face feels tight and unnatural. I grip her arms and haul her up, bending to whisper near her ear. ‘Sorry, baby. Not tonight.’ Disappointment crosses her features, but she nods, and walks away.

A year ago this would have been my favorite way to spend a Saturday night. Girls? Check . Drinking? Check . Raging party with my friends? Double Check. Not so much anymore. I don’t miss drinking too much and waking up next to someone I can’t remember.

But the main reason this holds no appeal? I was plastered the night I got the call from my dad last semester. I had to wait until morning before attempting the three-hour drive home to see my mom, all pale and gray in that hospital bed. After spending a tortured night, shattered without any way to fix it, drinking becomes a far less important priority.

My best friend Trey leans over. ‘Damn man, you don’t even have to try. It’s like you set off some radar that attracts them. Come. Fuck. Me,’ he says in a robotic voice.

I shove his shoulder. ‘Shut up, you know it’s not my fault.’

‘No, the superior genetics bred into you by the Congressman and the MILF ensure you get ass easily and often.’ He shakes his head. ‘Fucking lucky bastard.’

I chuckle, brushing off his comment. The truth is I didn’t ask for the attention, and I rarely sleep around anymore. But I’d earned my reputation during my freshman and sophomore years banging pretty much every girl in sight. And now I don’t do much to dispel the rumors. It’s nice, though, not be on the outs with one guy or another in the house because of whose girlfriend or sister I’d slept with. I’m actually enjoying the reprieve.

I look up and spot a pretty dark-haired girl in the corner. She isn’t dressed like the other girls here – her tits and ass aren’t on display—and strangely it makes her even more attractive. Her eyes widen and she forces a smile. It’s obvious this isn’t her scene.

I take comfort knowing I’m not the only one faking it tonight. She’s not the type of girl the old me would’ve bothered with. Meaning her panties aren’t ready to drop to her knees at my command. But somehow that only makes me more interested. She tugs at the hem of her pink shirt, looking ready to flee.

‘Just wanted to warn you…Stacia’s here and was looking for you earlier,’ Trey says.

Shit fuck. ‘Just what I wanted to deal with tonight. Drunk Stacia.’ Sloppy Stacia, crying Stacia, horny Stacia, take your pick. She’s usually at least one, if not all of the above.

‘You guys broken up again?’

‘For good this time.’

He raises his glass in a mock salute. ‘Stay strong, man.’

I plan to. We’ve broken up and gotten back to together so many times, I don’t know which way is up with that girl. We dated for a year. Why? I couldn’t tell you. I never liked her personality, but I did like her body. Still do, if I’m being honest. And she always shared that with me freely. But hanging out, listening to her talk about inconsequential bullshit… gah, even the sound of her voice frays my nerves.

I glance around the room, looking for the pretty dark-haired girl again. Not spotting her, I lean back against the wall so I can see into the kitchen. People fill pretty much every square inch of the kitchen, living and dining rooms – the only rooms we keep unlocked during parties. And the line for the bathroom is too long, so she couldn’t have gone in there. Considering her friends are still dancing in the center of the living room, spilling beer onto our already disgusting carpeting, I know she’s not far. That girl looks far too innocent to be wandering around a frat house alone. Damn . I hand Trey my beer and go off in search of her.

I step onto the back deck, and it’s so dark out, I don’t see her at first. The moon is just a sliver and she’s facing away from me, sitting on the bottom step. Reddish-brown hair cascades over her shoulders, falling nearly to her waist and blending in against the dark sky. Her back stiffens at the sound of the music flooding the peaceful night. I close the sliding glass door behind me, muting the noise but not blocking it out completely.

The T.I. song playing inside is about giving her whatever she’d like. A testament I currently share, looking at this pretty little thing in front of me.

She turns and catches my eyes. Her expression isn’t the reaction I’m expecting. She seems mildly annoyed…bothered by my presence. It’s not the usual effect I have on females.