The Graham Effect (Campus Diaries, #1)

“Of course.” I feign recollection of this too. I gesture to Ryder. “This is Luke Ryder. Cocaptain of the Briar men’s team.”

“Good to meet you.” Yarden gives his hand a quick shake before turning back to me. “We’re hearing murmurs about the Hall of Fame, and we cannot be more excited. What’s your father thinking about it all?”

“I mean, that’s up to the selection committee,” I remind her. “Not sure Dad has any say about whether he’s nominated.”

The next ambush involves a trio of male boosters who interrogate us about whether Chad Jensen expects to win the Frozen Four this year. I don’t know why they think I can speak for Jensen, nor can I offer many details about the men’s team because I don’t actually play on it. But Ryder is no help, so I talk out of my ass for about ten minutes before they mercifully move along.

For the next hour, we shuffle around the ballroom like mindless robots, while I pretend to care about the boosters and what they’re saying to me. I’m the only one touting the program, so my voice hurts by the time we manage to find a quiet moment for the two of us.

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.”

“Yeah, and you’re even worse than you made yourself out to be. Would it kill you to smile?” I peer at him over the rim of my glass. “I’ve seen you do it, so I know your face is capable of arranging the muscles in that way.”

He narrows his eyes.

I spot another small group of donors making their way toward us. Pure, single-minded purpose.

“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.

“Better?”

His rough voice tickles my ear.

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

“This wasn’t what I had in mind,” I murmur over my pounding heart.

“Yeah, well. Best I could do.”

I draw a breath, falling silent for a moment. The music in the ballroom is muffled now, not only because of the barrier provided by the curtain, but because my heartbeat continues to thunder against my rib cage. The scent of him surrounds me. Woodsy and spicy, with a note of leather I find odd because he’s not wearing leather. It’s deliciously masculine. I probably shouldn’t enjoy it as much as I do.

“I don’t get you,” I confess.

“Nothing to get.” He shrugs, and the action causes his shoulder to nudge mine.

“Seriously, I can’t figure out if this grumpy Mr. Silent thing is an act. Some cool persona you put on.”

“Sounds like a lot of effort.”

“Exactly, and that’s why I’m leaning toward it being genuine. That you really are just this grumpy, dangerous—”

“Dangerous, huh?” he cuts in. A soft rasp.

My eyes are adjusting to the darkness. I note that his are heavy-lidded, slitted as he looks me up and down. One side of his mouth lifts mockingly.

“Do you feel like you’re in danger right now, Gigi?”

“Should I?”

“No.” He chuckles. Low and smoky.

“Well, then I don’t.”

Something dangerous is happening, though. A strange thread of awareness traveling between us. Or maybe that’s a natural consequence of being in the dark with an incredibly hot guy. Ryder eases a bit closer. Still watching me.

“What?” I ask self-consciously.

“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.

“Do you think we can hide in here forever?” I ask hopefully.

“No. Eventually somebody’s gonna pry you out of here so they can rave about how amazing your father is.”

“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.

I bite my bottom lip. “Yes. I hate these events with a passion. I’ve never enjoyed myself at a single one. Like, I’d literally rather be anywhere else.”

“You used to go out with Colson, yeah?”

“Yes…?”

The query comes out of left field, but he’s quick to connect it to the topic at hand.

“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.

He offers his trademark shrug.

“No, tell me,” I push. “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.”

“Doing what?”

I regret the question the moment I voice it.

“Getting you primed.”

My throat closes up with arousal. I struggle to swallow.

“Primed,” I echo weakly. “Primed for what?”

“For me.”

Oh my God.

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. Rough fingertips scrape along my feverish skin.

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 out and leaves me there feeling the exact way he just threatened to make me feel.

Squirming with need.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN


GIGI



There’s always one slutty boy in every crew


RYDER:

We still on for later?

ME:

Yup. Does it still work for you guys?

RYDER:

We’re good.

ME:

Thanks again for doing this.

RYDER:

Sure.

ME:

It must kill you that there isn’t a decent shrugging emoji. The current one has too much emotion in it for you. It’s the hand motions. Far too dramatic to accurately depict your shrugs.

RYDER:

Is it too late to cancel?

ME:

I love your quirky sense of humor! Kills me every time.

Ryder’s last message is the middle finger emoji.