Kendall Ryan - The Impact of You

BY KENDALL RYAN

Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by Kendall Ryan Books 2013

First published in Great Britain by Harper 2015

Copyright © Kendall Ryan 2013

Cover photograph © Tom Merton / Gallery Stock

Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2015

Kendall Ryan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9781489519108

Ebook Edition © April 2015 ISBN: 9780008134075

Version 2015-04-13

To girls everywhere who have made mistakes.

Forgive yourself.

Then let it go.

Contents

Cover

Title Page The Impact of You BY KENDALL RYAN

Copyright Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk First published by Kendall Ryan Books 2013 First published in Great Britain by Harper 2015 Copyright © Kendall Ryan 2013 Cover photograph © Tom Merton / Gallery Stock Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2015 Kendall Ryan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Source ISBN: 9781489519108 Ebook Edition © April 2015 ISBN: 9780008134075 Version 2015-04-13

Dedication To girls everywhere who have made mistakes. Forgive yourself. Then let it go.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Acknowledgements

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Avery

Thirty minutes into my first college 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. Madison’s doing, of course. Tugging at the hem of my hideous shirt, I plaster a fake smile on my face and try to act as if I own this new look.

Compared to Madison in her tight jeans, low-cut black 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 frat 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. Madison 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 hip-hop music so loud I can feel the beat vibrating in my chest.

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 is 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.

Madison and Noah are convinced this will be my year. They have grand visions of me loose and carefree, thriving in the college social scene despite the contrary evidence I’d presented them as a freshman last year. When they’d dressed me in this pink top earlier – which Noah 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,’ Madison announces over the music.

I take my time, subtly turning in the direction she indicates. A group of three guys stands 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 Madison so I don’t disappoint her yet again. I know I make a terrible wing-woman. Noah fills the role a heck of a lot better than me. A fact he’s super proud of.

Madison glances at the group of preppy college boys. ‘The pretty one.’

Pretty?

Noah steals a glance at the group of guys too. ‘Damn, that boy is fucking delish.’ He shakes his head.

‘Major player, though.’ Madison rolls her eyes.

‘The pretty ones always are,’ Noah adds.

I can’t resist looking again for this so-called pretty boy, and when I do, icy blue eyes meet mine and he zeroes in on me with a 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 lean, but with a hint of muscle. His hair is a warm mix of brown and blond, and his eyes are such a striking blue, it shouldn’t have been possible without colored contact lenses. Not to mention the ridiculously long eyelashes that I’d happily 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 lean frame perfectly – slouching a bit on his hips but held in place by a worn leather belt. His T-shirt is plain and navy blue. 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 unruly and rumpled like he’d been in a fight with his comb. I have the urge to brush the strands out of his face. Or use it to tug him in to kiss me. Where did that thought come from?