The Graham Effect (Campus Diaries, #1)

“Of course it’s a no. That would be rubbing salt in Miller’s wounds.”

The waitress arrives with our food. After we thank her, Will takes a bite of his cheeseburger, chewing for what seems like forever.

When he speaks again, I realize he was trying to find the most nonchalant way to ask his next question.

“So what’s going on with you and CC?”

His attempt at nonchalance fails horribly.

Laughing, I pop a french fry in my mouth. “And there it is.”

“What?”

“The Case interrogation. What, you think I really believed you just called me up out of the blue and invited me to lunch?”

“We have lunch together all the time,” protests Will.

“Sure, but this particular lunch just happens to fall the day after I tell Case we’re not getting back together? Very suspicious.”

“Purely coincidence.” He winks at me.

“Uh-huh. I’m sure.”

“I swear.”

He takes another bite of his burger and chews extra slow again. He watches me, waiting for me to fill the silence. But I don’t. I simply munch on my fries and pretend not to notice his growing impatience.

“Okay, you gotta give me something here,” he blurts out. “What the hell am I supposed to tell my boy?”

“Ha, I knew it! He totally put you up to this.”

“Come on, you know he’s sorry, G. He feels like total shit about everything.”

I swallow my growing frustration. “I know you’re only looking out for him, but can we please change the subject?”

I search the table for ketchup and realize the waitress forgot to bring it. Instead of trying to flag her down, I take advantage of the perfect way out of this conversation.

I rise from my chair. “Just gonna grab some ketchup from the counter.”

I’m so focused on placing distance between me and Will’s questions that I don’t pay attention to my surroundings. I reach the counter at a brisk pace and slam into none other than Luke Ryder.





CHAPTER FIVE


RYDER



Carma with a C


GARRETT GRAHAM’S DAUGHTER IS HOT. SHE WAS HOT WHEN I met her six years ago, and she’s even hotter now. Her eyes widen after she bodychecks me. Big gray eyes, reminiscent of an overcast sky. But they’re not muted or plain. They’re vibrant, as if that sky is crackling with electricity in anticipation of thunder and lightning.

Her long brown hair is arranged in a side braid that falls over one slender shoulder. She tucks a loose strand that’s fallen out of her braid behind her ear. Recovering from her surprise, she gives me a half smile.

“Hey,” she says.

I lift a brow. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to work up the nerve to talk to me.”

Gigi rolls her eyes at me. “I didn’t need to gather my courage. Just haven’t had an opportunity.”

That’s bullshit. We passed each other in the corridor outside the locker rooms this morning, and she barely acknowledged me. Granted, she was with one of her coaches, but she totally saw me. I also find it interesting that although the women’s practice schedule hasn’t even been set yet, Gigi still wakes up at ungodly hours to skate and run her own private drills. She did the same thing at the camp she helped her father run.

“Anyway, I’m pretty sure I said hi to you in the hall today,” she points out.

“You nodded.”

“That’s the same thing as hi.”

“Is it?” I mock.

“I don’t know.” She sounds frazzled. “Why do you care so much if I greet you properly?”

“I don’t care in the slightest.”

“Then why did you bring it up?”

“I’m already regretting it.”

She stares at me. “I forgot how magical your personality is.”

Sighing, I head for the other end of the counter, where I was instructed to wait for my food. I’m picking up takeout for me and the guys. We could’ve had it delivered, but it’s a nice day, so I decided to walk. Well, originally I planned to drive, but my Jeep’s been making some concerning clunking noises lately. It was already on its last legs back in Eastwood, but sometime during the two-hour drive to Hastings, it also decided it didn’t feel like accelerating when I shifted gears. Swear to God, if the transmission’s going, I’m going to be pissed. I can’t afford to get it fixed right now.

Gigi requests a bottle of ketchup from the teenage girl at the counter. While she waits, she looks over at me. “I hear it’s not going well at practice.”

I smirk. “Going pretty well for me. I’m cocaptain.”

“Cocaptain of a team in shambles. Impressive.” She smiles sweetly.

“Here you go, hon.” The girl returns and holds out a glass ketchup bottle to Gigi.

“Thank you.” She glances at me again. “Amazing chatting with you as always, prom king.”

“Gisele.”

She struts back to her table, and I can’t help checking her out. She’s wearing denim shorts that cling to a round perky ass. The denim is frayed, strands of whitish-blue thread tickling her firm, tanned thighs. She’s not a tall woman, maybe five-four, but her legs appear endless in those tiny shorts. They’re all muscle too, and shapely, a testament to her training. It’s hot that she plays hockey. Female athletes are a massive turn-on.

The flicker of desire fizzles when I notice who she’s sitting with.

I still don’t know the names of every single Briar player, but I do know the good ones. Will Larsen’s one of those. And I guess as far as assholes go, he’s not as bad as his teammates.

“Order for Ryder?”

A man in a white apron appears holding two takeout bags.

“Thanks,” I say, accepting the bags.

I’m leaving the restaurant when my phone buzzes with a call. I grab it from the back pocket of my cargo shorts. It’s an unfamiliar number, so I let the call go to voicemail.

The walk home takes me down Main Street and through a series of quaint, well-maintained parks. Hastings is a tremendous step up from Eastwood. My former town was very industrial, with a lot of strip malls and nothing too exciting to look at. Hastings, on the other hand, resembles a town from an old-timey postcard. Gaslit lampposts and mature trees line the streets, and strings of lights and banners hang overhead on Main Street, advertising a summer jazz festival that recently finished. The storefronts are shiny and clean, the main strip full of small shops and boutiques, coffee shops, and a handful of bars and restaurants.

I cut down a winding path past a wooden gazebo, then emerge from the park onto the sidewalk. I notice whoever called left a voicemail, so I key in my password to listen to it.

“Hello, this message is for Luke Ryder. This is Peter Greene with the Maricopa County Attorney’s office. I’m calling in regard to your father’s parole hearing. If you could call me back at your earliest convenience—”

I delete the message before he’s even finished reciting his phone number.

Yeah, fuck that.

I walk faster, passing a lady pushing a stroller. She takes one look at me and ducks her head. I’m wearing cargo shorts and a T-shirt, nothing remotely frightening. But maybe it’s my expression at hearing the words parole hearing that’s scaring her off.

When I get home, Shane’s right where I left him. Mowing the lawn, shirtless. Across the street, a few girls congregate on their porch pretending to casually chat with one another while their gazes are glued to Shane’s glistening muscles. I’d bet every dollar I made working construction this summer that one of those girls will be at our place tonight. All of them, if Beckett decides to show his face out here.

Sometimes living with Beckett gets a little loud. That headboard banging keeps you awake a lot. Shane’s quieter with his conquests, but he does have them. Frequently, now that he’s single.

“Oh, sweet. I’m starving.” Shane turns off the mower and comes striding toward me.

We leave his fan club behind and go inside, where Beckett is loading the dishwasher in the kitchen. Shane grabs plates from the cupboard while I open the takeout bags.

“Hey, so I invited a few of the neighbors over,” Beckett says.