The Graham Effect (Campus Diaries, #1)

by Elle Kennedy

Which, of course, promptly fades the second I spot Ryder waiting for us at the front entrance. Holding a bouquet of daisies.

“Did you actually bring me flowers?” “Yes,” he mutters.

“Look, we both know you’re a dick, but that’s just your personality, kiddo. You didn’t have to degrade yourself by bringing me apology flowers.” He gives me a slight smirk. “Who says they’re apology flowers? Maybe they’re celebration flowers.”

“It’s International Eat an Apple Day.” He lifts his gaze. “Seemed like something we should celebrate.” I stare at him. “You’re making that up.”

He thrusts the bouquet at me. “Just take the fucking things.” An unwitting smile springs free. I put him out of his misery and accept the daisies. “I do love flowers,” I inform him. “Not as much as I love butterflies, but pretty close.”

“Look, if this were an apology, hypothetically speaking, I guess I might acknowledge that I can be too blunt sometimes.” “No!” I say in shock. “Not that anyone’s ever complained about that.”

“No,” I push. “I’m enjoying your hypothetical apology. So, let’s say, hypothetically, you were too blunt and made someone feel like shit by saying they were only playing hockey for Briar because of nepotism…go on.” His expression sobers. “I didn’t mean that. The nepotism comment was out of line.”

“It wasn’t my intention to make you feel like shit. When it comes to hockey, I’m honest. I’m always refining my own game, working on my weaknesses. Guess I forgot not everyone wants that kind of advice.” He pauses, features pained. “And I’m sorry for implying that your dad is the reason you are where you are. I watched that game. You were phenomenal.”

He snickers under his breath. “Anyway.” He gestures to the bouquet in my hand. “That’s my peace offering. Shane said chicks like daisies and they don’t give the wrong idea.” “What’s the wrong idea? That you’re trying to get with me? Or that you’re sucking up to me so I’ll put in a good word for you with my dad? That’s why you showed up at the game yesterday, isn’t it?” “Yes,” he says honestly. “But you made your stance clear on that, so I’m not going to ask again. That’s not who I am.” He shrugs. “All right. I’ll get out of your hair now.”

“I want the advice,” I blurt out.

“No, I mean it. I was in a trash mood yesterday and that’s the only reason I snapped at you. Usually, I’m like you. Always perfecting my game.” I meet those intense blue eyes. “If you were to give me any advice, what would it be?”

“I have an offer to make you,” I announce. Amusement flickers through his eyes. “What kind of offer?” “Well, maybe more of a quid pro quo. You help me, I help you.”

“My dad’s hockey camp…

But he did mention he thinks you have a bad attitude. So, yeah, I could probably put in a good word for you. About your leadership or whatever. He and I speak on the phone all the time, and I’m going home next weekend for a visit. If you want, I’ll talk you up every time. Well, maybe not every time or he’ll get suspicious. But I’ll tell him we’re friends and make sure he knows you’d be a solid choice.” I offer a shrug. “My opinion means a lot to him.”

“Help me iron out some of those issues behind the net. Maybe we can have a few sessions together. One-on-one.” I grin at him. “Hey, I could probably teach you a thing or two as well.”

Gigi texts later that night asking if tomorrow works for our first private session. It’s weird seeing her name on my phone. Or maybe it’s weird seeing it as “Gigi.” She’s been Gisele in my head for years now. I feel like my phone should probably reflect that, so I pull up her contact info and change the name, chuckling to myself because I know how much this would annoy her if she knew.

And I will say, it is kind of sick that I know an actual superstar in the form of NHL powerhouse Owen McKay. This must be how Gigi feels.

“Garrett Graham showed up to our practice this week. Of course it happened to be the one time I was late.” “Late?” Owen sounds surprised. “That’s not like you.” “The Jeep’s dead. Transmission gave out on me. It’s sitting at a garage in Hastings now because I’ve got no money to fix it, so I’ve got Shane chauffeuring me.” “I’ll transfer you some cash.”

“Bro, I showed you my contract. I can afford it. Besides, I’m investing in future talent here. I can’t have my protégé not making it to practice on time.” There’s no use arguing. Owen’s more stubborn than I am. “You really don’t have to. But thank you, I appreciate that. I’ll pay you back.” “I don’t want you to.”

“I guarantee someone cares about riding the pine.” Shane’s hookup partner, Kara, joins the conversation, her expression wry. “They’re probably super pissed right now. And talk about terrible timing—the list shows up right in the middle of Miller’s goodbye party? Brutal.” “Miller?” Rand echoes blankly. “Miller Shulick. He’s transferring?” She gives us an amused look. “You know they live like five houses down, right?”

“Aw, I’m gonna miss you too, Shu. Are you sure about this Minnesota thing?” I speak in his ear so he can hear me over the loud rock song blasting from the speakers. “They won the Frozen Four last year. Of course I’m sure.” He shrugs ruefully. “Besides, change is good. I’m looking forward to the fresh start.” I’ve always appreciated that about Miller. How adaptable he is. I don’t love change, personally. I prefer stability. Once I feel comfortable with something—a place, a person, a routine—I want it to last forever. I hate that it never does.

I peer past Beckett’s big shoulders to get a better look at who else decided to brazenly crash this party. I don’t know why, but my gaze seeks out only Ryder. I suppose because he’s their leader, and I want to know where he stands on all this. I glimpse him at the edge of the porch, leaning against the railing, looking bored. Seems about right.

“You know what?” Lindley sounds bored now. “Forget this shit. Enjoy the rest of your evening, ladies.” “No, wait,” Case tells them. “Just come in. There’s plenty of booze to go around.”

Ryder takes up the rear of the group. Clad in jeans and a gray hoodie. Completely expressionless, even as his blue eyes conduct a sweep of his surroundings. I can tell he’s entirely aware of everything going on around him. Not quite a live wire like his teammate, but always on the ready. “Gisele,” he drawls, nodding. Case narrows his eyes. “Don’t push it,” he warns Ryder.

When the wind changes direction, I’m suddenly hit with a face full of smoke that makes my eyes water. I edge backward until my shoulders hit a hard wall. I turn in surprise and realize it’s Ryder’s chest.

He gestures to the guy beside him. “You know Shane, right?” “Not officially.” I stick out my hand. “I’m Gigi.” Shane’s handshake lingers, as does his seductive gaze. “Short for Gisele, right?” I snatch my hand back and glower at Ryder. “Actually, no. Not at all. Prom king over here is just an ass.” Shane starts to laugh. “Aw, look at that,” he says to his friend. “You two have your own inside jokes. How adorable.”

“Lindley!” someone shouts from the firepit. “Need your lighter.” “And that’s my cue,” he says cheerfully. He winks at me. “Nice seeing you, Gisele.” “Look what you’ve started,” I accuse Ryder.

I push my way forward and seek out Case. “Come on, Case. Stop this,” I urge. “I don’t know,” he says grimly. “Maybe they need to get it out of their systems.”

“Fucking prick,” Rand roars, managing to roll himself out from Jordan’s grip and get up. “Y’all are a bunch of entitled Ivy League assholes.” “Not my fault you’re goddamn poor,” Jordan grunts out, lurching to his feet. “Fuck you.” Rand launches himself at Trager again.

“Stop this?” I say softly. Case realizes who I’m talking to and his expression flashes with disapproval. But he had his chance to put an end to this. He said no. Ryder looks at me for a moment. Then he lets out a breath and takes a step forward. Completely unfazed when a fist flies past his cheekbone. “Enough.” One word. Deep. Commanding. It succeeds in stopping Rand cold. Ryder shoves his teammate’s chest. “Get your shit together, Hawley.”

Coach Jensen looks like he wants to murder everyone in the room,

“I would like to congratulate each and every one of you for ruining my Saturday plans with my granddaughter. She’s ten years old and recently developed an affinity for tiger sharks, and she cried when I told her I couldn’t take her to the aquarium today. Everyone, give yourselves a round of applause for making a ten-year-old girl cry.” Beside me, Cami smothers her laughter with the sleeve of her hoodie.

“I won’t bother telling you how stupid and irresponsible you all were last night. I get it, I was young once. I enjoyed a good party in my days. I won’t lecture you about the drinking—underage drinking for many of you.” He shoots a pointed look at the lowerclassmen. “I won’t even go too hard on the fighting. But to the bonehead who decided to film the fight and post it online?”

“You will shower praise on your teammates,” she tells the men, her tone brooking no argument. “I expect to see the most flattering, effusive ass-kissing in your individual interviews. Not even a whiff of animosity. From this point forward, you all love and adore each other.”

“Gigi Graham and Luke Ryder?” she calls in question. “Can you raise your hands so I can see you?”

“If either of you have plans tonight, cancel them,” Christie Delmont says sternly. “There’s a charity gala in Boston organized by Leesa Wickler, whose family is one of our largest donors. You two will attend as representatives of Briar University and your respective hockey programs.” “Date night,” I hear one of the dudes chortle.

“I know you hate this kind of stuff, but the boosters love your dad,” he says, sounding apologetic. “I’m sorry. I know you would’ve preferred to be left out of this.” “All good,” I lie. “Happy to do my part.”

“G, you okay?” I find Case in the hall, concern etched into his handsome face.

“This Ryder thing is BS. Want me to talk to Jensen and see if he’ll send me instead?” “No. It’s fine. Really,” I add when I note his skepticism. “I don’t want to make any waves.” We fall into step together, heading down the hall toward the lobby. “I don’t want you hanging around that guy,” Case grumbles.

“I’ll be fine,” I assure him. And you’re not my boyfriend anymore, I want to add. He doesn’t get a say any longer about who I spend time with.

“Where’s Ryder?” I ask. “He’ll be down in a minute,” answers Shane. “You gotta settle this first.” “Fine. I’ll play along. What am I settling?” Shane slides his hands in the rear pockets of his jeans and rocks back on his heels. “Which pickup line you would respond better to.”

“We’re not practicing. We’re trying to determine which one of us is right. Spoiler alert: it’s me.” “I kind of have a feeling you’re both wrong,” I say helpfully.

Shane grabs a full bottle of beer from the table and holds it out to me. “Oh, I’m not drinking. I’m driving.” “You don’t have to drink it. Just hold it. Get in character.”

“Okay, you’re at the club, right? There’s, like, a sick R&B song playing or whatever. You’re vibing.” I start bopping my head to nonexistent music. He stares at me in dismay. “Oh no. I’m not approaching you if that’s how you’re dancing.” I stare back. “Do you want me to play your game, or can I go find Ryder and be on my way⁠—” “Fine, let’s continue. You ready?”

“Hey,” he says. “Hey,” I play along. “I’m Shane.” “Gigi.” “Tell me something, Gigi.” He slants his head. “Are you an organ harvester? Because you’ve stolen my heart.” Dead silence crashes over the room. Then I keel over with laughter.

He hands me the bottle back. “Do the weird head-bopping thing again.” I oblige. Beckett comes at me with an equally confident gait. Fuck, these guys are sure of themselves. “Hi,” he says. “Hi.” He bites the corner of his lip. “I kind of want to fuck you. Do you want to fuck me?” My jaw hits the floor.

Finally, I find my voice. “I…think I might be impressed.” He smiles seductively. “Do you want to get out of here?” “Yes,” I answer, a bit winded. “I think I do.”

“Oh, fuck this,” Shane complains. “No way in a million years would you react that way.” I mull it over. “I might if I wanted to sleep with him.” “Mine made you laugh.” “It did,” I relent, “but if we’re both there for sex”—I nod toward Beckett—“I think he’s my man.” He beams at me. “I knew I li...

I try to ignore how good he looks. “Your friends are trying to get me into bed,” I explain. He shrugs. “Pick Shane. He just got dumped and needs the pity fuck.” Shane flips up his middle finger. To me, he says, “I didn’t get dumped. Like I keep telling these assholes, it was a mutual breakup.” “Oh, sweetie. There’s no such thing as a mutual breakup,” I say frankly. “Ever.” Beckett snorts out a laugh. “See, mate? She gets it.”

I grab two skinny flutes of champagne from a server in a black uniform with a red bow tie. Ryder starts, “I don’t want one⁠—” “It’s not for you,” I grumble. I chug the first glass in front of the amused waiter and place the empty on his tray. Once he’s gone, I sip the second flute. “Easy, partner,” Ryder warns. “Partner? Is that what this is? A partnership? Because from where I’m standing, I’m the one who’s been doing all the Briar hyping. PS you’re driving home because I plan to have at least, oh, ten more of these.” “I told Jensen I wasn’t good at this shit.”