The Graham Effect (Campus Diaries, #1)

by Elle Kennedy

“Oh God, no,” I moan. “I just need five minutes of peace and quiet.” “C’mere.” Ryder grabs my champagne flute and deposits it on the tray of a passing waitress, then takes my hand. The next thing I know, he’s whisking me across the ballroom toward the stage. There’s a curtained area on either side of it, blocking off the two sets of steps leading up to the wings. I blink, and suddenly we’re tucked behind the curtains. Enveloped in darkness.

I gulp, my pulse speeding at the realization that Ryder and I are standing in the dark, scant inches apart.

“You look nice.” His voice is gruff. Surprise flickers through me. “What?” “I should have said it earlier when you showed up. That was rude of me.” “Since when do you care about being rude?” “I don’t.” A laugh slips out. “Well. Thanks, I guess. You look nice too.” Another beat of silence.

“I hate this, you know.” I tip my head to look at him. “Whatever you think about me and my last name, I don’t use it to get ahead. I never have. Hell, I would legally change it if I knew it wouldn’t break my dad’s heart. But it would kill him. And, really, it’s not his fault he’s the greatest hockey player of all time. He deserves all the love and accolades.” “But…you hate this,” he prompts.

“Did he ever come with you to these things?” “Sometimes.” I shift awkwardly. It feels weird to discuss Case with Luke Ryder. “And he didn’t get creative? Find ways to make these shindigs more fun for you?” “What do you know about fun?” I can’t help but tease.

“What would you be doing right now if you were Case? How would you make it fun?” “If I was Colson.” “Yes.” “And you were my girl.” “Yes.” Ryder leans in, his warm breath on my ear, sending a tiny shiver through my body. “We would have been behind this curtain five minutes after we got here.”

“Getting you primed.” My throat closes up with arousal. I struggle to swallow. “Primed,” I echo weakly. “Primed for what?” “For me.”

His voice deepens. Just a hint of gravel. “I’d use my fingers probably. Yeah. I’d press my fingers inside you. Get you close. But I wouldn’t let you come. Just close enough that your entire body hurts, and then I’d force you to go back out there. Watch you squirm while you talk to all those irrelevant people, until finally you’re begging me to leave so I can take you home and make you come.” It’s the most animated he’s sounded since I met him. I can scarcely breathe. And the lack of oxygen gets worse when his hand finds my cheek.

Ryder dips his head and brings his mouth close to mine. Our lips are a whisper away. My eyelids flutter closed as for one heart-stopping moment I think he’s going to kiss me. “But…I’m not Colson,” he finishes, wearing the merest hint of a smile as he straightens up. To my dismay—and disappointment I don’t expect to feel—he inches the curtain aside to check if the coast is clear. Then he slides...

Until then, I still have some errands to run, including one that’s more treat than errand: meeting my uncles at Della’s Diner. I grew up with a lot of uncles. Luckily not the creepy kind who say inappropriate things at weddings and hit on all the teenage girls.

Uncle Logan stepped outside to take a phone call from my aunt Grace, one of my three godmothers. I’ve also got three godfathers, because my parents didn’t want to choose between all their best friends but still had to make a decision. Although my family isn’t religious, my grandparents on Mom’s side insisted on a christening when Wyatt and I were born. The pictures from that day are literally ridiculous. An entire sports team of godparents standing up on that altar holding Wyatt and me as infants in our filmy white gowns.

So it’s really nice being surrounded by aunts, uncles, and cousins. There’s always been a lot of love in my life.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. But yes, Case and I are broken up, we’re not getting back together, and that’s all I’m going to say on that subject.” “So then you’re playing the field now?”

Dean’s features crease with resignation. “Damn it. I really didn’t want it to come to this.”

I almost spit out my coffee when he places a box of condoms on the table. No, not just a box. A very large value pack containing a staggering fifty condoms.

“I can’t have you acting irresponsibly now that you’re single. Better safe than sorry, Gigi.” “How much sex do you think I have? Nope, wait—” I hold up my index finger, my tone stern. “Don’t you dare answer that.” Dean snorts. “I’m just saying… I remember college. Vividly. All the hormones. The parties. I want you to be safe, all right? And don’t tell your parents I gave you these.”

“Also,” he continues, cutting off a piece of the pecan pie with his fork, “before you get involved with any dude, make sure he’s not the slut of the group. And if he is, get him tested. Because there’s always one slutty boy in every crew.”

John Logan chooses that moment to return to the booth. He stares at the monster box of condoms. Then he glances at Dean and sighs. “Yeah, I’m telling her father.” “Like hell you are.”

“Please, let me treat my dear uncles.” I offer a beaming smile. “Young people should always be kind to the elderly.” They both balk at me. “Oh, I’m going to remember that,” Dean growls. “I’m telling your father,” Logan adds. “He knows he’s old. You don’t need to remind him.”

“You got to admit, a bite of forbidden fruit always tastes sweeter.” “I’m not looking to bang her. I said I’d help her behind the net. She said she’d talk me up to her dad. Win-win.” “Uh-huh. I’m sure that’s all it is.”

“Anyway.” She clears her throat. She has her bags over one shoulder, and a leather purse on the other. She slides a hand into the latter and pulls out a key ring. “Let’s go in.” I raise a brow. “You got a key to this place?” “I know a guy.” “What guy?” Beckett asks curiously. “My uncle. He grew up here.” At the entrance, there’s a small gold plaque screwed onto the outer wall that reads: IN RECOGNITION OF JOHN LOGAN FOR HIS GENEROUS DONATION TO BETTER THE TOWN OF MUNSEN, MASSACHUSETTS “Your uncle John Logan,” I mumble incredulously. “I mean, not by blood, but he’s my dad’s best friend. My brother and I grew up calling him Uncle Logan.”

“Anyway, I told Logan I needed a private place to practice, and he offered up this rink. I grabbed the keys from him earlier.” “Nice perks you got there from Daddy,” I can’t help but crack. “Hey, Daddy is the reason we’re here, isn’t he? So I can talk you up to him?” She offers a saccharine smile. “So I’ve either got a famous dad who can benefit you and you don’t complain about it, or I don’t and you’re shit out of luck. Can’t have it both ways, prom king.”

As she bends forward to stick the first key in the lock, her purse slides off her shoulder and down her arm. She attempts to catch it before it falls, but to no avail. The bag tumbles to the shiny floor, its contents spilling out on the way down. A giant box of condoms lands at my feet. Beckett and I stare at it, then exchange an amused look. Gigi’s cheeks turn a shade of red that doesn’t exist in nature.

“You didn’t see that,” she orders. I raise a brow. “Value pack, huh? Big plans this weekend?” “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.” “Out of curiosity, how many rubbers do you require per session?” Beckett pipes up, grinning with delight.

Beckett’s still working through the condom math of it all. “I mean, a box of fifty, huh? Let’s be ambitious and say we go three or four rounds a night. That’s three or four condoms. Although I guess if it’s a group thing…you know, like the three of us here⁠—” “Oh my God. Would you stop?” “—then we’re talking two condoms at once, three or four rounds. That means you could hypothetically go through six to eight condoms per night. Damn. We’re knocking that whole box out in less than a week.”

“There.” She pushes open the door for us. “Go suit up.” “Should we put the condoms on now or after?” Beckett inquires. “I hate you.” She moves down the hall toward the women’s locker room. “I’ll meet you guys on the ice. Rink B.” In the men’s room, Beckett and I change into our practice gear. I strip off my shirt, then give him a dry look. “You’re not as cute as you think, you know. And you sure as shit ain’t getting a three-way out of her.” “Bullshit. She was interested.”

“What about you?” he asks as he sits on the opposite bench to lace up his skates. “What about me?” “You interested?” I lift my head to find him grinning at me. “Sorry, brother. I think you’re pretty, but I just don’t feel any sparks.” “I mean, in her. Because you look interested.”

because for some reason uttering the words, Yes, I’m interested makes me…uneasy. Because I’m not interested. I don’t think.

“Okay,” Gigi says, beaming. She skates a few circles in front of us. “I’m your willing student.” Beckett groans softly. “Don’t say things like that. I can’t skate with a stiffie.” Her smile only widens. “I think I’ve figured you out,” she informs him.

“Yes. You’re the man who tries to disarm everyone with sex.” She jerks a thumb at me. “And he’s the grumpy man of few words.” She shrugs. “I like knowing where I stand with people.” I do too. I suppose we have that in common.

“Beck is gonna get all up in your personal space,” I warn her. That’s actually why I picked him to assist. Dunne’s one of the more aggressive d-men on the team, and he knows how to make life claustrophobic for another player.

“Hey, I’m trying. That beast was on me.” “Aw, thanks,” Beckett says, looking pleased. I roll my eyes. “All right, go again.”

you’re trying to make Team USA, huh?” Beckett says. Gigi recaps her empty bottle. “Yeah.” “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.”

“Thank you for this,” she tells both of us, but her gaze is on me. “Let’s do it again? Maybe next week?” “Sounds good,” I say brusquely. “What are you up to this weekend?” Beckett asks her. “Not sure yet. Why?” “We’re having people over on Friday. You should come by.” I give him a look, which he returns with a wink. I know what he’s up to. Beckett is as transparent as glass. Mostly because he never tries to hide his intentions.

snicker as I duck into my bedroom. I’m not planning on seducing anyone, but I do choose an outfit that’s…racier than usual. A black skirt that barely covers my lower thighs and a ribbed gray crop top with no bra. I debate how I feel about everyone being able to see the outline of my nipples all night, then decide to live a little.

“You been working hard this week?” “God, you don’t even know. Uncle Logan’s letting me use his rink after hours so I can fix my issues behind the net.” I pause, adopting a nonchalant tone. “Ryder’s been a big help.”

Dad is understandably suspicious. “I still don’t get why you asked him instead of Case.” It’s the same thing he said earlier in the week when I first dropped Ryder’s name. So far, Operation Good Impression is not a smashing success. “Because he’s a better player than Case,” I reply.

“His instincts are incredible,” I say. “He’s amazing to watch.” In the passenger side, Mya signals for me to dial it down a notch. Good call.

Kate takes her hand, and Mya’s free hand tugs on mine. But I’m intercepted by Beckett, who strides toward me in a tight T-shirt and cargo pants. Blond hair artfully tousled.

“You came,” Beckett says when he reaches me. He nods in approval. “Yep. Here I am.” “You look…really good.” I have no doubt he’s noticed the beaded tips of my nipples, but his gaze doesn’t linger there. It fixes on my abdomen instead. “Fuck,” he groans, eyes glazing over. “What?” “Those abs.” “Jealous?” I say smugly. “Nah.” He lifts the bottom corner of his T-shirt to flash his own set of chiseled abs. Not a six-pack, but a solid twelve. Jesus. “I don’t know. Mine are pretty sick too.”

Shane Lindley wanders into the hall holding a can of beer. He looks surprised but pleased to see me. “Hey,” he says, flinging his arm around my shoulder. “How’d they manage to lure you into enemy territory?” “There was no luring involved.

“Gisele,” he says. “Ryder,” I say. He closes the distance between us, towering over me as always. I’m average height for a woman, yet standing next to Luke Ryder makes me feel positively tiny. “How tall are you?” I ask curiously, craning my neck to peer up at him. “Six-five.” Damn, he’s a monster. Even has a couple of inches on my dad. A little shiver runs through me, although I suppose I’m not the first girl to have a thing for tall strapping guys. Wait. Not that I have a thing for this one. Just, you know, the body type in general. Right, this one does nothing for you, a voice in my head taunts.

I shift my feet and say, “Dude, would it kill you to pull your conversational weight?”

“How was your day? Do you have big plans this weekend?” “Wow. Could you sound less enthused?” “You fed me the lines. How excited can I really be about them when they’re not my own?” “Fine. Then give me your own.” He looks at me. Hot gaze raking over my body before his dark-blue eyes return to my face. “I like that top.” I don’t expect the compliment, so I’m genuinely startled. “Oh,” I squeak. “Thanks.”

Suddenly his attention shifts. An emotion I can’t discern flickers through his eyes. Then he says, “Excuse me.” His voice is tight. He walks toward the front door. The crowd parts slightly and that’s when I catch a glimpse of the woman who just walked in. She’s pretty.

Beckett looks over and rolls his eyes. “Who’s that with Ryder?” I ask, trying not to sound overly eager for an answer. Shane’s knowing smirk tells me he knows how badly I want that answer. “That’s Carma.”

I force my gaze off Ryder. “Is she his girlfriend?” Beckett shrugs. “She’s our neighbor. They hooked up once, but I thought that was over. Who the fuck knows.”

Patrick grabs a fresh beer and twists off the cap. “Okay,” he says, focusing on me. His eyes are bright, either from excitement or alcohol. He’s cute, though. “Are you ready, Graham?” “For what?” “A thought experiment that will blow your mind.”

Patrick hops up to sit on the counter, long legs dangling. “It’s a regular day. A normal sunny afternoon. You’re outdoors, running errands or whatever. How many owls would you need to see before you got worried?” “Oh, that is an excellent question.” Beckett chuckles, but Darby turns to me with pleading eyes. “Please don’t feed their insanity.”

“Am I in the city or a rural area out in the middle of nowhere?” “You’re here. In Hastings.” I raise my bottle to my lips, giving the matter some serious consideration. “Three,” I finally answer.