Love, Ally (Brooks University #1)

by Hannah Gray

  Knox and his chick suddenly appear next to me. “Dude, what the fuck? The movie is starting soon. We’ve probably missed all of the previews.”

  The same moment I start to ask who cares about the previews, Ally snorts.

  “Who actually likes previews?” she says, reminding me that we are almost the same person. Too alike at times.

  Frowning at Ally, Knox looks at me. “You know I love previews, man. I’ve told you,” he whines. When I give him a blank look, he scowls. “Do you not listen when I talk?”

  It would be hard to hear everything he says. Because honestly, that motherfucker talks a lot. But I can’t say that to Knox. He’s become my best guy friend. He might talk as much as a fucking thirteen-year-old girl, but he’s a good guy. And he’ll always have my back. I know it. What we have on the field is something I’ve never experienced. I hope we ride this thing right to the NFL. I hope we get drafted to the same team too. That would be a dream.

  “Of course I know you like watching the previews,” I lie. I can’t imagine anyone enjoying fucking previews. But he’s a different breed. Putting my arm around his shoulders, I shake him lightly. “Let’s go watch this shitty movie, yeah?” Glancing back at Ally, I narrow my eyes. “There’s nothing to talk about here anyway. Waste of my time.”

  She flips me off and walks in front of us toward the theater. Her ass moving perfectly as she does. She’s always had one of those asses that makes people stop and stare at it. It’s thick. On a petite girl? That’s fucking perfect.

  “You know her?” Knox whispers. “You must because you seem a little … hostile toward her.”

  Shaking my head, I pat his shoulder and follow Ally. “Story for another day, brother.”

  “More like story for the ride home, dickface.” He whistles under his breath.

  “Nah, man. Not worth our breath,” I say loud enough for her to hear.

  four

  Ally

  I can’t wrap my mind around the insanity that the double date I got dragged on ended up with none other than Cole fucking Storms.

  Well played, universe. Well played.

  I had hoped and prayed every single day these past fifteen months to see him again. But I wanted it to be somewhere private. Somewhere I could explain why I’d left. Not in a damn movie theater, surrounded by our friends and where he could wave his dick around and show everyone how big it was by treating me like dirt.

  Asshole.

  I’m absolutely dumbfounded that he’s here, in Georgia, right now. I mean, hell, last I knew, he was jacking off to the thought of going to college in Texas. He wanted to play football there, thought he could go and be some big shit on turd mountain star. I should know after all. I was going to go there with him and enroll in the music program. That was the plan anyway—until life went to hell in a handbasket. But all the time I knew him, he never once mentioned Brooks University. Then again, neither did I.

  I haven’t seen him in well over a year. Fifteen months, to be exact.

  I haven’t spent this time apart making friends or finding myself. How do you find yourself when you feel so broken?

  I spent the first six months surviving in the hell I had been sent to while also healing from the horrible events I had faced the day I left. The rest of it was spent in a homeless shelter, where I used the computers at the library next door to earn my high school diploma. Wrote a poor me letter to a bunch of colleges. Much to my surprise, they ate that shit up and accepted me, and some even gave me scholarships.

  Lucky for me, the online classes were a breeze, and I ended up passing most classes with straight As. So, I had that on my side too.

  I wasn’t surprised to see that Cole still looked good. At the expense of sounding like a gigantic pansy, my knees felt weak when we walked into the movie theater. There was a moment when I first saw him, and all I wanted to do was jump into his arms. Like old times. I wanted to feel his arms around me as I smelled his sexy, masculine scent and have his heart beating against my own chest. Having him that close without being able to touch him was torture. My heart has ached for so damn long. Seeing him was what I’d imagine coming home felt like. To a home where you were loved and it was all warm and familiar. For a second, it felt like that anyway.

  Then, he opened his beautiful mouth and had to be a complete dick. And as always, my walls went up. And that fight-or-flight response kicked in, turning me into a bitch.

  I can’t blame him for being mad at me. I know he’s placed me in that box with everyone else who has hurt him. But I am also not the type of girl who just takes insults. Especially when they are coming from the one person who, before we were ripped apart, would have knocked another man out for speaking to me that way. Even if they only called me a bitch, he would have lit them up.

  It boils my blood that he thinks that little of me, that he thinks I chose to up and leave. How could he ever believe there was a world where I would do that to him?

  He’d never treated me like that in all the years I’d known him. It was like he wasn’t even him anymore, which broke my heart to think that I was to blame for turning such a gentle giant into a cruel man.

  Cruel as he might be, I keep going back to how damn good-looking he is.

  It’s only been fifteen months, yet somehow, he looks even bigger. His entire body is made up of pure, hard, deliciously lickable muscle. His brown hair is shorter than it was back then too. And now, he has more facial hair.

  I won’t lie; I dig it. And knowing underneath his shirt, on his back, there is a tattoo of me, well … unless it’s gone, that is. He probably covered that shit up with a damn four-leaf clover—or worse, a giant football.

  We both started getting inked at age sixteen. We were underage, but Cole had connections because he worked in the tattoo parlor, helping out.

  His arms are still bare. By now, I’m sure his back is nearly covered. He had scars on his back—scars he thought the ink could somehow not only hide, but also mask the everlasting pain.

  Those tattoos though. On his muscly back …

  Tattoos and muscles. Every bitch’s weakness.

  Well, this bitch’s weakness at least. But Lord, there’s nothing hotter than big, strong arms, covered in dangerous-looking ink. My heart speeds up, and parts of me ache, just thinking about clawing his back tattoo as he has me pressed up against a wall. Just like old times—only now, it’s been so long since I’ve been with him, since I’ve been with anyone. I’m sure I could have picked some random dude to hook up with, but I didn’t want to. The thought of being with anybody but him made me cringe.

  There’s no hiding the reasons why the girls back home wet their panties over him. He’s hot as fuck. He knows it too. That smirk? Yeah, no one smirks like that and doesn’t know how sexy they are. And to anyone on this campus, I’m sure that’s exactly what they think. Star football player, hotter than hell, a cocky motherfucker who doesn’t have a care in the world. Even I’ll admit, he paints a pretty picture.

  I know Cole better than anyone on the face of this earth. He might be cocky in his football skills—as he should be because he’s an incredible athlete—but nobody knows that deep down, he has more insecurities than a teenage girl. And I don’t think anyone can blame him for that.

  Like me, he’s a foster kid. His mom has never been in the picture. She left when he was just a baby. He doesn’t even know what she looks like. He has no pictures, no name, nothing of her. He tries to play it off like he doesn’t care, but I know from experience, there’s a void you feel when you don’t get that unconditional love parents are supposed to give. I filled that void for him, just like he filled mine. But when I left, I was just another person who hadn’t stuck around.

  His dad didn’t leave by choice though. According to Cole, his father always made him feel unwanted. He died when Cole was ten. Overdose. Just like my mother did. And then he was bounced around to different foster homes until he landed at Dave and Marion’s, the same one where I would soon end up.

 
; His whole life, he’s been pushed aside. Take it from a girl whose parents didn’t want her, it leaves a mark. And not a pretty one either. More like the kind that you get from a rusty, old fence. It grabs the skin, ripping it on contact, jagged and uneven. Leaving you almost never the same as before. Flawed.

  That’s what he and I are—flawed.

  But in each other, we were able to find a safe haven. And even though the universe ripped it from us, just like it had done every single thing we’d ever had, for that period of time, he was the best thing that had ever happened to me. Still is to this day.

  He would have given me the world if he thought it would make me happy. He would have figured out a way to even if he killed himself trying. He was the epitome of the perfect first love. But more important than that, he was my very best friend. My only friend.

  He doesn’t look at me the way he did before though. He thinks I left him because I simply wanted to. As if I woke up one day and decided I was bored. If only he knew it was so much deeper than that. But I can’t tell him about it—not yet anyway. I’m not ready, and neither is he.

  Instead, I’ll do what I do best. Play the coldhearted bitch that everyone thinks I am—blame it on my resting bitch face. But it’ll come in handy now that I need to keep him at arm’s length.

  Maybe I do come off as frosty to the outside world. But since I came out of my mother’s womb, I’ve been taught to keep my guard up. Trust absolutely nobody—ever. That is the only way I keep myself protected. Not from him though. He’s not one of them. He’s one of the good ones. Few and far between.

  I find a place to sit, and Sloane follows me, sitting in the chair next to mine. Knox takes the seat next to hers so that we’re all together.

  Not Cole though. He goes a few rows in front of us, plopping his ass down next to some floozies who giggle and twirl their hair like a bunch of morons.

  Dumb bitches.

  Sloane leans into me and says, “What was that?”

  Fuck, I must have been thinking out loud.

  “Nothing. Thanks for inviting me.” I force a smile. “This is fun.”

  This is not fun. At all.

  I’m using every ounce of self-control I have not to run up to their row and smash those girls’ faces against the seats in front of them. It isn’t their fault that he’s sitting with them. They just happen to be at the wrong place, at the wrong time. If it were anybody else, I’d say, You go, girl, because I think we are all free to do whatever we damn well please. But unfortunately for them, it is Cole. And when it comes to him, I can be a monster. I’m not a violent person, but that man brings out feelings inside of me that normally stay dormant.

  It doesn’t help these girls’ cases that I’ve never seen him with a girl who wasn’t me. My heart can’t handle it. And this feeling that is flowing through every vein in my body is unrecognizable. Almost as if someone stuck a needle into my arm, pushing toxins in.

  My eyes drift back to Cole, causing my fists to involuntarily curl, and I have to all but chew my cheek off to keep my cool and not lose my shit.

  Don’t give him the satisfaction. He’s hurt. He’s acting out like a five-year-old. It isn’t your problem. I can tell myself those words over and over again, but it doesn’t dull the sting my heart is feeling.

  The fury rolling inside of me only grows every passing second as I sit, subjected to watching him flirt shamelessly with these girls. These girls that I know don’t even give a fuck about him.

  It was one thing to assume he had moved on this past year and was likely banging other chicks. It’s another thing to physically see him flirt right in front of my face.

  Some nerve he has.

  I consider finding myself some random dude to go cuddle up next to. That would give him a taste of his own medicine and piss in his Cheerios for the day. Double win. But I don’t want to stoop to his level. Besides, I know he’s just upset. I hope that’s all it is anyway. I have a hard time believing that he’s actually over us. We were inseparable.

  “Oh, okay. Well, I got you popcorn.” Sloane smiles, passing it onto my lap and then handing me a cup. “And a Diet Coke.”

  Gratefully taking both, I smack my cup against hers. “I’m one lucky bitch to have you as my roommate.”

  “And friend,” she says wryly. Almost reminding me that we are indeed friends.

  I pause and glance at her. “Definitely that too,” I agree.

  Having girlfriends isn’t something I was accustomed to, growing up. What normal girl wanted to befriend the nervous kid in the class who had tangly, unbrushed hair and dirty clothes? Not to mention, I was constantly either late or missing classes. That left me as a loner—or if I was lucky, one of the guys. And once Cole and I met, we were sort of a dynamic duo, attached at the hip.

  I think it’s true what they say. The ones who act the most confident are the ones who can barely stand to look at themselves in the mirror. They might carry themselves like a badass, but on the inside, they cringe, walking into a room. Afraid everyone is laughing at them. I say they and them, but really, what I mean is me.

  I wear tight leather jackets and black crop tops that show my stomach, and my body has a variety of ink on it. If you saw me walking into a place, you’d probably think I was some sort of badass. I carry myself to be perceived that way. But inside, I’m struggling, like anybody else. Inside, I’m still a scared, little twelve-year-old girl who just wants to have a damn birthday cake like the rest of the kids my age. Instead, I was gifted with finding my mother dead on the couch with a needle in her arm.

  I’m not alone now though. And that’s something I need to focus on. I have Sloane, and I have the people at my new job at Lenny’s. And they are all kind, welcoming people. They’ve already made me feel like we’re a family there.

  I glance at Knox. He’s cute—no doubt about that—with his messy brown hair, goofy smirk, and laid-back demeanor. I might not know Sloane that well, but I know he seems to be just her type. He’s sweet and charming.

  Moving my stare to Cole for the thousandth time, I wonder how he stands it. The people surrounding him, invading his space. He’s never been that type of person. He’s never needed or wanted people in his bubble that didn’t actually care about him. He didn’t want people just there to fill a void. He wanted them to have a purpose, and if they didn’t have a purpose, he wanted them gone. That left him less open to getting hurt. Now, it looks like he’ll let anyone into his circle.

  It seems I’m not the only one who’s changed.

  I shake my head to myself. They are only next to him because he’s now a hotshot football player at an impressive college. Sure, he’s cool and all, but a lot of the students at this school are a bunch of rich pricks. They probably have no idea where he came from or who he really is.

  Pulling my jacket tighter, I feel an ache in the pit of my stomach as I continue to watch him. Maybe I don’t know Cole Storms anymore.

  The movie’s nearly halfway over when I see the blonde sitting next to him stand up. I think my heart stops beating when I see her reach out and pull Cole up by the hand.

  As they make their way past my aisle and toward the exit, I don’t miss the smirk the douche bag shoots me.

  “Attaboy. Get some!” Knox yells to him as they pass, laughing once they’re gone. Completely and utterly oblivious to the fact that he just made himself look like a total douche canoe.

  That catches both Sloane and me off guard.

  “That’s disgusting,” she snaps, flinging her head to face him. Her entire mess of blonde hair flying in every direction. “And incredibly rude. Have you never been on a first date before? Because news flash: you just failed the test.”

  “Wha—fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful,” Knox says.

  I have to give it to him. He looks genuinely sorry. I don’t think his goofy brain really even comprehended it was rude when he yelled it. But it was a dickwad move. I don’t blame homegirl for being pissed. I likely would have punched my
date in the balls if he’d pulled something like that. Then again, I’ve been told I’m a little cray-cray.

  Standing, she looks down at me. “Can we go? I’m over this.”

  This movie is funny as shit, and Vince Vaughn, my favorite actor, is in it. But if my one and only friend wants to leave, then that’s what we are going to do.

  Standing, I nod. “Sure thing.”

  “Seriously, don’t go. I was being fucking stupid. I’m sorry,” Knox pleads.

  She keeps walking, flicking him off. “Fuck off, douche bag,” she whispers aggressively.

  I have to hand it to her. I’m proud as a peacock. I didn’t know she had it in her to put a man in his place. She always seems so sweet and PG. Maybe I read her wrong, and I didn’t realize it.

  Once outside, we head to her car, and she throws her hands on her face. “Shit! My phone is in there!” She sighs. “I really don’t want to go back in there.”

  Patting her shoulder, I give her a small smile. “I’ll get it. Be right back,” I say.

  Walking into the theater, I’m shocked to see Knox in the same spot, all alone. He even appears to be sulking.

  His face lights up when he sees me. “Is she—”

  “Not coming back,” I cut him off, snatching the phone from the seat. “I’m just grabbing this,” I try to whisper, not wanting to disturb the other moviegoers any more than we already have. Although, when I gaze around, I see the majority of them have their tongues so far down each other’s throats that I’m surprised they’re not coming out of the other’s asshole.

  Running his hand through his hair, he cringes. “Damn it. I knew I shouldn’t have said that to Storm.” He sighs. “It’s just how us guys are with each other. I didn’t mean anything by it. It was fucking stupid though.”

  “It was.” I nod. “Try harder next time.” I don’t wait for a response before I walk away.

  It was his first strike. The poor guy deserves one more chance at least. But I think she should make him work for it.

  I’m almost out the door when the family restroom door swings open, and Cole and the blonde stumble out. Her hair is a mess, and he smirks. A callous smirk.