The Graham Effect (Campus Diaries, #1)

by Elle Kennedy

I take another sip first. “Okay, well, I see one owl, and I’m like, Hey cool, an owl during the day. Two owls, and I’m thinking, This is kinda weird, I never see owls around here and now I’m seeing two? Odd. Then I see the third owl, and all my hackles are raised. At this point it’s an omen and I don’t fucking like it.” Mya nods in agreement. “I would’ve said four, but similar reasoning.” “What would you say?” I ask Patrick. “Seven.” “Seven!” I exclaim. “If I saw seven owls in one day, I’d be packing up the car and driving to Mexico.”

Beckett follows my gaze. “Wanna dance?” “Nah, I’m good.” “Thank God. I hate dancing.” I can’t help but laugh. “Then why’d you ask?” “Seemed like the less sleazy way of saying I want your body pressed up against mine.”

“It’s a bad habit.” I meet his eyes. They’re a shade of gray much lighter than my own. “Maybe you should help me stop thinking.” His lips curve. “Mmm. How am I supposed to do that?” “You seem like a creative guy. Come up with a creative solution.” Those silvery eyes gleam half a second before he cups my cheek with one hand. I’m not drunk enough to be doing this. In fact, I’m sober enough to know it’s probably a terrible idea.

When I emerge from the bathroom, Beckett leans against the wall waiting for me. “Hey,” he says. “Thought maybe you’d gotten lost.”

“You really do look incredible. Don’t think I can stress that enough.” “Are you hitting on me right now?” “Yes. Do you want me to stop?” I slowly shake my head. “No.”

“There’s something about you,” he says, his voice low, husky. “Is that a line?” “No. I don’t use lines. I say what’s on my mind. And there’s just something about you that makes a man…” He drifts off, thoughtful. “Makes a man what?” “All jumbled in the head.” He smiles. “I look in your eyes and kind of get lost in them.” He sounds a bit sheepish now. “I know that does sound like a line, but I swear it’s the truth⁠—” Before he can finish, I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him.

“Sorry,” I blurt out, blushing from a pang of embarrassment. “I should have asked if I could do that. Is it okay?” He responds by kissing me again.

Beckett glances over his shoulder, but Ryder’s looking at me, not him. “Your boyfriend’s downstairs.”

“What the hell? You were upstairs with him?” he snarls. “I was using the bathroom,” Gigi says. The lie leaves her mouth smoothly, but we both know that’s not what she was doing up there. I can’t explain the jolt of…something…that surges through me at the memory of finding her and Beckett up against the wall. Fuck. I think that something might be jealousy.

“Let’s go.” Case’s tone invites no argument. Harsh and unyielding. She glances over her shoulder at Beckett and mouths, Sorry, when Case has his back turned. Beckett just shrugs and grins.

“That was fun,” Beckett remarks, stepping onto the porch beside me. I shake my head at him. “Antagonizing them on purpose now? Come on, bro. Of all the chicks to get tangled up with.” “You’re giving her private lessons, mate. You can’t lecture me about entanglements.” My irritation only grows. “All I’m saying is, be more careful next time. What if he’d run upstairs? You were five seconds from screwing her in the hallway if I hadn’t interrupted.” Beckett blinks. Then he starts to laugh. “Oh. I see.”

Beckett claps me on the shoulder, still chuckling. “All good, mate. I’ll back off.” I want to tell him there’s no need, that he can do whatever—and whoever—he wants. But those words, the go-ahead to keep pursuing Gigi, can’t seem to leave my mouth.

“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.” He skates off to grab his water bottle, but not before I hear him chuckle. “And you laughed!” I cry in delight, gliding after him. “I’m telling everyone.”

Ryder uncaps his bottle. “And when are you going to hold up your end of it, exactly?” “Already have, smart-ass. I’ve brought your name up almost every time he’s called. And I’m going home this weekend, so I’ll talk you up even more.”

“Maybe I’ll get a FaceTime in too before the weekend. Rave all about my good pal Ryder. Tell Dad how we listen to Dan Grebbs together…” “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.”

“I am that good of a lay.” He says it dead seriously. My heartbeat kicks up a notch. There’s something very, very sexy about this man. No wonder Carma tried to come back. I set down my water bottle and pretend my heart is thumping along at a normal clip and not careening at a breakneck pace.

“Beckett gets around.” His abrupt remark stops me midglide. I turn to face him. “What?” “Just thought you should know.” Ryder absently drags his stick along the ice as he skates toward me. “He’s not exactly a one-woman kind of guy, and you don’t seem like a multiple-man kind of girl.” I tip my chin in challenge. “Who says I’m not? Maybe I’m all about casual sex and multiple partners.”

“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’m not interested in marrying your friend,” I find myself saying. He gives me a sidelong glance. “Didn’t think you were.” “You made a point to tell me he’s not Mr. Monogamy. Obviously that means you were super worried about it.” “Wasn’t worried in the slightest.” “Jealous, then?” I mock. His eyes narrow. “I wasn’t jealous.”

“I miss having regular sex. I was in a relationship for almost two years, and I got used to having a regular partner, you know? It’s so nice to have someone when you’re stressed or need to scratch an itch. You don’t have to date around, flirt, figure out if there’s an attraction, worry about STIs. You can just call them up and be like, Babe, I need to fuck your brains out, and they’re happy to oblige.”

When he still doesn’t speak, I sigh. “Anyway. I’m starting to feel the pressure. Our first game is coming up and I needed a way to release the stress.” I grin at him. “And he’s got an Australian accent.” “Chicks do like it,” Ryder says dryly. “But it was probably a good thing we got interrupted. I would’ve totally been using him. And, yeah, yeah, I’m sure he would’ve been happy to be used. But I kind of feel bad using someone for sex.” I poke him in the side. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For the girl talk. It’s obvious you’re really into this stuff, you know, sharing feelings and talking about boyfriends and girlfriends. I’m giving you what you crave. You’re welcome.” He presses his lips together, and I suspect he’s trying not to laugh.

The universe must be off-kilter, because as I examine the board trying to figure out where I can squeeze in the word COCKY, my phone buzzes with an incoming call. From Ryder. My heart stutters. Why is he calling me?

“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.”

Holding the phone to my ear, I wrinkle my forehead to try to make sense of what Ryder is saying to me. “I’m sorry, what?” “Use me for sex,” he clarifies.

“Earlier you said you wanted to use Beckett for sex. I’m offering an alternative.”

“That’s…not how this works,” I finally manage to croak out. “Just because I wanted to get laid last weekend doesn’t mean I’ll fuck just anyone. Beckett and I shared an organic moment. I didn’t go to the party planning to have sex with him.” “So you don’t have an itch that needs scratching anymore?” “That’s not what I’m saying.” “Then you do still require naked stress-busting.” On a raspy chuckle, he throws my own asinine descriptor back at me. “All I’m saying is, just because I need…” “To get fucked,” he supplies.

“…just because I need what I need,” I finish, “doesn’t mean I’m desperate.” I bristle to myself. “I’m not interested in pity sex.”

“You think I’m throwing you a pity fuck?” “You’re not?” “No.” There’s a pause. “I need what I need too.” Another pause. “And I want it from you.”

“I’m not sure I’m even attracted to you.” Then I almost burst out in waves of hysterical laughter because what the hell am I even saying right now? Someone hijacked my voice and is making it spew nonsense. Of course I’m attracted to him. Ryder goes quiet for a second. Then he says, “All right. Hold on.”

When my phone buzzes from the incoming message, I stop breathing entirely. I’m expecting a dick pic. I get something even better. His bare chest, impossibly broad with more muscles than I knew existed. He’s cut like stone. Abs galore. He wears a pair of low-hanging sweatpants, his thumb hooked under one corner, pulling them down even lower to provide a suggestive view of his obliques. I notice a jagged white scar on his hip, about an inch long, and wonder how he got it. I wonder what that raised, puckered skin would feel like scraping beneath my fingertips. What I’d find if I slipped my fingers under his waistband.

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

“Why are you here?” I grumble, pulling him away from the door. We move to the edge of the path, where he shoves his hands in the front pocket of his sweatshirt and gazes down at me through heavy eyelids. “I came to kiss you.”

“You…drove all the way here to kiss me.” “Yes.” “I…You…” I’m at a genuine loss for words. Ryder shrugs. “You won’t fuck someone you haven’t kissed. Isn’t that what you said?”

“Yes or no,” he says softly. I lick my bottom lip and meet his eyes. Then I say, “Yes.” Before I can second-guess myself, I reach up to slide my fingers through his hair and tug his head down. Our mouths meet in the lightest of caresses. Just a taste. A tease. But our lips feel so right against each other that I can’t stop myself from driving the kiss deeper. Ryder spits out a growled curse before his tongue slides through my parted lips and sends an electric current through my body.

“I…” I drop my hands from his shoulders and take a step back. “I don’t think I’m good at casual sex.” I press my hands against my sides to stop them from grabbing him. I’m already craving his kiss again. “That’s what you’re looking for, right?” “Yes.”

“All right.” He finally shrugs and flicks up his eyebrows. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

It’s almost impossible to focus on hockey tonight. Which is a thought I never imagined myself capable of thinking. I’m always focused on hockey. It’s in my blood. But tonight, my blood is burning for something else. Gigi seems distracted too, dropping several passes she’d normally make in her sleep. You never realize what a truly bad idea it is to play any sport while distracted until someone gets hurt.

During our next battle for the puck, Gigi lets out a cry of pain that causes my entire body to tense. I stop in my tracks. “You okay?” I ask immediately.

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.”

“Tell me a misconception you had about me.” Her request startles me. I hadn’t given it much thought, but now that I muse on it, I realize I did have some preconceived notions about her. “I assumed you’d be cockier. Entitled,” I admit. She nods, as if expecting that. “But you’re more humble than I expected.

“I’ve known kids of famous people before,” I tell her. “I thought you’d be like them. But you’re not at all like them.”

“Just to clarify, you’re not trying to date me.” “No.” I chuckle. “If you want someone to be sweet to you and take you on dates, I’m not your man. I’m not good at that stuff.” “What are you good at, then?”

“I’m good at making you wet,” I say, hearing the rasp in my voice. “And I’ll fuck you so good you’ll be thinking about it for days after. It’ll be the best fuck of your life.”

I clear my throat to announce my presence, then bring the towels to the edge of the stall. “Here.” The curtain rustles. Then it parts. Rather than take the towels from me, Gigi stands there, fully on display for me. She’s incredible.

Some other time, I plan to spend hours playing with her, teasing her, but the urgency has reached peak levels, and suddenly the only thing I want is to make her come hard and fast. “Let go,” I whisper in her ear before dragging my tongue along the delicate tendons of her neck.

I’d consider Kurth, but you know how weird goalies can be sometimes. Luke Ryder has really stepped up as co-captain, so he’d be a good choice too.” “I don’t know about Ryder. He’s a great player, but he has a bad attitude. His behavior at Worlds is a cause for concern.” “He was eighteen. Anyway, like I said, he’s leaning into the leadership role lately.”

“You’re really singing Ryder’s praises lately. What’s up with that?” “I told you, I’ve been working with him. Beckett Dunne too,” I add, so he doesn’t think I’m spending a bunch of alone time with Ryder, getting fingered in locker room showers. “But you wouldn’t recommend Dunne for the camp?” “Dunne doesn’t take anything too seriously. He’d treat the camp as a lark. Ryder and Larsen would step up. In my opinion.”

“You know, you have a really bad habit of never talking about anything important.” “That’s not true. We talk about hockey all the time.” “Hockey doesn’t count. And you know that’s not what I mean.” I reach for my lager and take a sip before setting it back on the dresser. “It wouldn’t kill you to share sometimes. Even minor things. Like, for example, what you have against stuff.”

“I moved around constantly when I was a kid,” he finally answers. “Stuff got stolen a lot.” “You moved around with your family?” “Foster care.” The words are clipped, gravelly. I soften. “Oh, I didn’t know that.” He takes a drink of his beer. “Most of the homes were overcrowded. Kids would be fighting for toys, for attention. It became easier not to have anything to fight over or get stolen from me. If that makes sense.” He gives his trademark shrug. “The neatness is a habit from those days too. We used to get in trouble if we didn’t keep the room clean.”