The Graham Effect (Campus Diaries, #1)

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

He cocks a brow. “Says the person who got the ball rolling with the thought-provoking question of how tall I was.”

“I’m just saying, you could make an effort over here. You know, Hey, Gigi, how was your day? Do you have big plans for this weekend?”

“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.”

“So,” Shane pipes up, and I realize I’ve completely forgotten his presence. “This is”—His head moves between us—“fascinating.”

“What is?” I’m puzzled.

Shane nods toward Ryder. “I’ve never heard him speak so many words at one time. And then to punctuate it with a compliment? Did you drug him?”

“Fuck off,” Ryder grumbles.

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. Tall and willowy, wearing skinny jeans and a corset top with her ample cleavage spilling out. Black curls tumble down her shoulders.

A desperate gleam lights her eyes before she rises on her tiptoes to whisper frantically in Ryder’s ear. Next thing I know, he has his hand on the small of her back while guiding her onto the front porch where it’s quieter.

Okay, then.

Beckett returns. “Hey, sorry about that. Let’s grab you that drink now. Where did Ryder go?”

Grinning, Shane points toward the porch. Through the open door, I glimpse Ryder and the girl talking.

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.”

My brow furrows. “I don’t get it. He did something to deserve something?”

“No, that’s her name.”

“Carma with a C,” Beckett explains. “Feel free to make a hilarious destiny joke.”

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.”

I try to ignore the knot in the pit of my stomach. I guess Ryder’s off-limits.

For some unpleasant reason I’m not willing to examine, I’m more disappointed in that than I ought to be.

In the kitchen, Mya and Kate are at the counter standing very close to each other. With her hand on Mya’s arm, Kate whispers something in her ear. Mya giggles in return.

When I introduce them to Beckett, I notice the approval in Mya’s eyes. Yeah. He’s drop-dead gorgeous, no denying it. And the kind of man who doesn’t need to put in much effort to look sexy. A white T-shirt and that face. That’s all it takes.

Beckett gestures to the row of liquor bottles on the kitchen table. “What are you in the mood for? I can mix you something sweet if you want a cocktail.”

“Honestly, I’m the most boring drinker ever.”

“I can attest to that,” Mya confirms.

“Yeah? What’s your poison?”

I sigh. “Scotch and soda.”

“Intriguing. Are you a fifty-year-old businessman in an airport bar?”

“I know, I know. But it was the first drink I ever had with my dad,” I admit. “And I kind of loved it. Either that, or a beer.”

“Well, I don’t think we have any scotch on hand, so beer will have to do.”

He wanders over to the large cooler on the table across the room, where he fishes out two longnecks. He passes one to me. We clink bottles.

“Cheers,” he says.

A few others drift toward us. Two sophomores named Patrick and Nazem. A guy named Nick who has one of those serious stay-the-fuck-away-from-me faces. But his girlfriend, Darby, makes up for it with a contagious smile and by talking a mile a minute. She seems cool.

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.”

“Oh God,” sighs Darby.

I take a sip of my beer. “All right, I’ll bite. Hit me.”

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.”

“What? It’s an objectively great question.”

“I’m just saying. You do not want to encourage it, girl.”

Nick nods gravely at me. “You really don’t.”

“Leave her alone,” Patrick grumbles at them. To me, he prompts, “So? How many?”

“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.

Nazem, who said to call him Naz or Nazzy, jabs a finger in the air. “Explain yourself.”

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.”

We talk about stupid stuff some more, until someone gets a beer pong game going in the backyard and everyone but Beckett heads outside. I might be cavorting with the enemy, but I realize I’m actually having a good time. I’m glad Mya dragged me out tonight.

In the back of my mind, I wonder what Ryder is up to. It’s been a while since his “neighbor” showed up. Maybe they went upstairs. That doesn’t bother me at all. Why would it.

Through the wide doorway that spills into the living room, I spot Mya and Kate on the makeshift dance floor created when somebody pushed the coffee table and armchairs aside. The hip-hop that was playing before has been replaced by sultry R&B. Mya’s jam. She moves her body seductively to the beat, using Kate’s lithe frame as her own personal stripper pole. Those two are unquestionably ending up in bed again tonight.

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.”

He winks, and my heart skips a beat.

I’m not afraid of the way he makes my heart react. It’s a normal flip, not the entire group of gymnasts unleashed by Luke Ryder at the booster gala last week. Your heart isn’t supposed to do that much gymnastics for a man. Too much anxiety isn’t healthy.

Passion, whispers a little voice in my brain. Not anxiety.

Anxiety, I firmly tell myself.

And Beckett Dunne doesn’t make me anxious.

“You’re thinking too hard,” he teases.

“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.”