The Graham Effect (Campus Diaries, #1)

by Elle Kennedy

“They’re not mine,” she says through gritted teeth. “You’re a bad liar, Gisele.” “Okay, fine, they’re mine. But I acquired them against my will.”

“I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t select you. You’re ridiculously good. Ryder showed me some of your game tape, and you’re one of the best skaters I’ve ever seen.” She glances at me, smirking. “You’re showing people my film? That’s so cute. I knew you were obsessed with me.” I roll my eyes.

I know I’m a suspicious asshole, but I tend to err on the side of cynicism. Expect the worst, then be pleasantly surprised to be proven wrong. Which rarely happens.

Beckett blinks. Then he starts to laugh. “Oh. I see.” “What?” I mutter. “When you said you weren’t interested… It was opposite day. Got it.”

That gets me a grin. “Are you smiling?” I accuse. And just like that, my annoyance melts away. Any time I manage to draw a normal human response out of Ryder instead of the grumpy looks he usually gives me, I like to nurture that delicate bud. “No.” He glowers at me. “You were totally smiling.” “You’re just imagining things.”

“And you laughed!” I cry in delight, gliding after him. “I’m telling everyone.” “Go ahead. No one will believe you.”

“Don’t ruin my reputation like that.” “My dad likes Horizons,” I say enticingly. Ryder hesitates. I hoot. “Holy shit, you would actually pretend to like my meditation music to suck up to him! You’re a fraud. I will not endorse a fraud.” He lets out another bark of laughter. “Oh my God, two laughs in less than five minutes.”

“All right, enough chatter. Drop the puck, bitch.” He snorts. “Did you really just call me bitch?” “Yes. I’m practicing my trash talk.” I stop. “Wait. I just realized I can’t use it during a game. I could never call another girl a bitch, even if I secretly think she is one. That’s so derogatory.” “But you can call me that?” “Yes, quite easily, actually. It’s alarming.” A reluctant smile lurks on his lips. I point at him with a gloved hand. “Do it. Unleash the smile. I know you want to.”

From Ryder. My heart stutters. Why is he calling me? “One sec,” I tell my friends, reaching for the phone. I swipe to answer, my tone wary. “Hello?” I don’t get a hello back, or even a normal sentence. His rough voice fills my ear with two inexplicable words. “Use me.”

“You’re trying to tell me we don’t have chemistry.” His soft chuckle makes my throat run dry. “I don’t know. Maybe we don’t. We haven’t even kissed.” I don’t know why I’m fighting this so hard. Well, I do know why. Because the second I open this door, there’ll be no turning back. And that…scares me.

“G, back me up here,” pleads Mya. I glance up from my tray. “I’m vetoing beety.” “Traitor,” Diana complains.

I’m about to put down my next word when my phone buzzes again. A text this time. RYDER: I’m downstairs.

“I came to kiss you.” My mouth falls open. I stare at him for a moment. “You…drove all the way here to kiss me.” “Yes.” “I…You…” I’m at a genuine loss for words.

“So.” Those mesmerizing blue eyes focus on my face “Are you going to let me kiss you, Gigi?” My pulse speeds up when it registers that he called me Gigi. Not Gisele. But my actual name. Because right now, in this moment, he’s not mocking me. He’s not playing games. He’s being sincere.

Finally, she finishes that thought. “You’re not actually a dick.” “Sure I am.” “Nope. It’s an act. You care. You just don’t want anyone to know you care. I thought you had a huge chip on your shoulder, but the rudeness is a front for something.” Gigi’s lips curve slightly. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask what. I know you won’t tell me.”

“Is that your way of asking me to come over on Sunday?” “No.” I shrug. “Come over on Sunday. There—that’s my way of doing it.”

“Are you sure you’re not in the military?” He thinks it over. “No, I’m not,” he finally says. “Was that a joke? Oh my God. You made a joke.” “Shut up.” I grin. I like poking him. It’s fun. Plus there’s always a fifty-fifty chance I’ll be able to penetrate his grumpy jerk exterior and draw out a killer grin or two.

“Stuff is overrated.” “You’re so deep, Ryder. A regular old Plato.”

Ryder sounds dubious. “Garrett Graham watches reality shows.” “He does when we force him to.” I laugh. “He got into it, though. The couple he’s rooting for is so toxic. And yes, I dropped your name a bunch of times.”

“Look at that,” I tell him. “Do you see what’s happening?” “What?” “We’re having an actual conversation.” “Fuck. You’re right. Come here.”

“My hand is on your thigh,” I tell him. “I noticed.” He smiles, and my breath hitches at the sight. Then he chuckles. “I love how you announce your move. ‘My hand is on your thigh,’” he mimics. “You know, most people would just make the move and then wait to see if it works.” “What can I say? I’m a rebel.” “Got it. So, what’s the next move, rebel?” he asks with uncharacteristic playfulness.

His eyes grow heavy-lidded. “Can I kiss you?” “No,” I reply. “I’m not interested.” He barks out a laugh. “Ha. See, I just did that to make you laugh.” “What’s your obsession with making people laugh?” “Not people. Only you. You’re scary otherwise.” “Scary?” His voice thickens again. “Do I really scare you?” “Sometimes. Not in that way, though,” I hurry to add. “I find it unnerving when I don’t know what someone’s thinking.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” she says, biting her lip. “Sure?” “I loathe her.” I snort. “I mean, I don’t blame you.” “I’ve never said that out loud.”

“is a girlfriend. And you, right here, aren’t a boyfriend.” A sigh of my own lodges in my throat. “Just keep this to yourself, all right? Like you said, there’s lots of reasons to keep it quiet. But the most important one is that she asked.” He studies me for another long beat. Then he nods. “Sure. You got it.” “Thanks, brother.”

“Anyway. Here.” An amazed laugh sputters out of my mouth when he holds out a crumpled daisy. It must have been crammed in his jacket pocket this whole time. It’s not in great shape, this poor flower. “Oh my God. You’re bringing me apology flowers again? Can’t you ever apologize without all the pageantry?” He smirks at me. “It’s not an apology flower. It’s to celebrate National Dessert Day.” “That is not a real day.” “Yup. I looked it up.”

“Just setting up my playlist,” she tells me. Dread rises inside me. “No,” I say instantly. “Yes,” she confirms with a broad smile. “Horizons. Trust me, it’s the best thing to listen to when you’re shivering your ass off in that tub.” “I don’t trust you and I believe that to be a lie.”

“I’ve narrowed it down to two tracks. I’ll even be nice and let you choose. What’ll it be? The African bushveld or the reeds of North Carolina?” “I fucking hate North Carolina.” “Africa, it is.”

“Why do you hate North Carolina?” Gigi finally asks, curious. I shrug. “I got stranded there once.” “Care to elaborate?” “Nah.” She laughs. “Man, you really hate talking.” “Thank you for noticing.” “Sweetie. That wasn’t a compliment. You know who else doesn’t talk? Serial killers.”

“Listen, as much as I’m digging the sarcasm. Can it.”

I open my eyes and look over. “Don’t,” I warn. “What?” “You don’t have to feel bad for me. It’s over and done. I’m an adult.”

“What the fuck is that?” I demand. “That, I believe, is a hippopotamus.” Gigi flashes a big smile. “You smile too much,” I accuse. “Oh no. Arrest me, officer.” I roll my eyes.

“I think the real issue is—you don’t smile enough.” “It makes my face hurt.” “But you’re hot when you smile. And it makes you look more approachable.” I blanch. “Baby, I don’t want people approaching me. That sounds awful.” Her mouth falls open in awe. “Did you just call me baby?” “Did I?” I didn’t even notice. “You did.”

“Ohhh. He doesn’t do feelings,” she says sarcastically. “Gosh, Ryder. You’re so cool and tough.” “I’m baring my soul and you’re making fun of me?”

“There you go. That’s how you get in with my dad.” “What do you mean?” “He’s such a history buff. He makes us watch these boring-ass documentaries all the time. Like this summer in Tahoe he forced everyone, even the guests, to watch a two-part series on old aircraft carriers.” I sit up straighter. “Holy shit. That was such a good⁠—” “Oh my God,” she interrupts. “See? You two would be best friends.”

“Are you really not going to tell me where you’re going?” I complain. She hesitates. Then she shrugs. “Fine. Why don’t you come with me?”

Ryder inquires, “What do you have against music? Honest question.” I give him the finger.

“If I told you, you wouldn’t have come,” I protest. “Well, obviously. I thought it was going to be something cooler.”

“What’s cooler than butterflies?”

“Honestly, this is how I picture heaven to be,” I tell Ryder, the lightness in my chest creating a spring to my step. “Look at it. Have you ever seen anything prettier?” I glance over to find his blue eyes, vivid in their own right, fixated on my face.

“I can be serious about hockey and still have other interests.” “Like butterflies,” he says dryly. “Why not butterflies?”

“The butterflies need the warmth to fly. Do you not want them to fly, Ryder? When did this vendetta against butterflies begin?” “At a very young age,” he says solemnly.

I scamper eagerly after him. “No, let’s do this. Ask me anything. But,” I warn, “anything you ask me, you have to answer yourself.” “This feels like a trap.” “That’s how it works.” “Fine,” he finally relents. “What’s your favorite color?” “Wow. Such a thought-provoking question.”

Curled up beside me, Gigi watches as I open the messages app. She suddenly stiffens as if someone poked her with a cattle prod. “What?” I say in concern. “Nothing.” “Gisele.” She won’t look at me, so I pry her chin up to see her face. Hurt and anger crease her pretty features. “What’s wrong?”

She quits scrolling. “I don’t get it.” “It’s too stupid to even explain.” “Please try.” “Patrick—the one we call the Kansas Kid—has this pathetic habit of falling in love after knowing a chick for, like, ten seconds. And once he falls, he does this love bombing thing with romantic messages and flowers⁠—” “Don’t judge him. You get me flowers all the time.” “Twice,” I growl. “That doesn’t count as all the time.”

“It’s two times more flower-giving than I would ever expect from you.” She’s got me there.

She scrolls through the thread again, giggling. “Do you seriously send this message before every game?” “Unfortunately.” She props herself on her elbow, remorseful. “I’m sorry I accused you of lying to me.” “I don’t lie,” I say simply.

The army knife also goes to Case. I make a mental note of that. I guess between the two of us, Jensen believes I’m the one more likely to murder the other and thus shouldn’t possess the weapon. Not sure if I should take that as a compliment or insult.

“Dude, I’m not foraging. That’s a you project.”

“No, I know I’m good.” I pause, grimacing. “You are too.” Case grins. “Hurts to say it, huh?” “A little.”

GISELE: I think I left my necklace at your house. Can I come over and look for it? I grin at the phone. This chick is the best.