The Graham Effect (Campus Diaries, #1)

“Sleep, no. But I think we should fuck.”

Every inch of my body feels hot and tight. It’s been a while since I felt desire this potent. I don’t think it’s ever been this strong. Not with Case. Certainly not with Beckett last weekend.

“You said you needed release. Someone to help you with the stress. I can help. We already have a good arrangement going here,” he points out. “So why not sweeten the deal?”

“I…”

My brain is close to short-circuiting. I want to laugh this off, tell him it’s an interesting idea but probably not a smart one. But the words won’t come out. Instead, I say something very stupid.

“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.”

There’s more silence, save for some rustling noises on his end followed by the unmistakable click of a camera.

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.

My mouth waters. The longer I look at the picture, the wetter I get. Everywhere.

“Well?”

The trace of amusement in his voice tells me he knows he got me speechless.

“What, no dick pic?” I say, playing it cool.

“I’ve actually never taken one of those.”

“Liar.”

“Never,” he insists.

“Why not?” I’m genuinely curious. I don’t think I’ve met a single guy my age who hasn’t sent someone a picture of his penis. Usually unsolicited.

“Why do I need to?” He sounds almost bored by the question. Until his voice turns smoky. “I’d rather see the look in a woman’s eyes when she sees it for the first time.”

“Why? Is it super spectacular?”

“Say yes to my offer and find out.”

I rub my palm over my scorching face. “Look. Prom king. You’re hot,” I acknowledge. “You know you are. But a ripped chest doesn’t tell me if there’s chemistry between us, only that you’re nice to look at.”

“You’re trying to tell me we don’t have chemistry.”

His soft chuckle makes my throat run dry.

“I don’t know. Maybe we don’t. We haven’t even kissed.” I don’t know why I’m fighting this so hard.

Well, I do know why.

Because the second I open this door, there’ll be no turning back.

And that…scares me.

“I’m not going to agree to a sex deal with someone I haven’t even kissed,” I say when he doesn’t respond.

“Okay. If that’s how you feel.”

Then he ends the call, and the only thing I feel is disbelief.

Did he seriously hang up on me?

I stare at my phone, which now displays my lock screen. He actually did.

Unless…maybe we got disconnected? I wait nearly a full minute for him to call back. But he doesn’t.

I’m in a daze when I return to the living room, where Diana and Mya are debating whether Fling or Forever is pure trash or pure genius.

Diana, obviously, is a proponent of Team Genius.

“You get to see young hot people have sex on camera while pretending to be there for the romantic dates. And then every week, a total stranger shows up and breaks up a couple against their will, and now the new couple is fucking on camera and pretending to care about the dates. Are you truly telling me this isn’t the best show ever made?”

“It’s brain cell–killing garbage. You’ll never convince me otherwise, girl.”

Diana grins at my return. “What, is game night not doing it for you anymore?”

“Who was on the phone?” Mya asks curiously.

“Luke Ryder.”

“Oooh, the enemy,” Diana says. “What did he want?”

I’m tempted to relate the entire conversation, word for word. But I’m barely able to make sense of it myself yet, let alone hash it out with my friends.

“Just hammering out our practice schedule,” I lie, taking my seat on the couch again. I reach for my Scrabble letters.

“That’s still going on?” Diana doesn’t sound as interested now that it’s about hockey.

“Yup. I’m learning a lot from him.”

We resume our game, but my head’s not in it. Even after fifteen minutes pass, I’m still internally marveling over what happened.

Honestly, the sheer audacity of this man. He tells me to use him for sex, and then when I dare to think it over, he’s like, Cool, forget it?

Who does that?

“Beety is not a word!” Mya screeches in outrage when Diana tries adding a Y to board.

“Sure it is.”

“Use it in a fucking sentence.”

“I don’t like this salad because of all the beets. It’s too beety.”

“G, back me up here,” pleads Mya.

I glance up from my tray. “I’m vetoing beety.”

“Traitor,” Diana complains.

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

RYDER:

I’m downstairs.

My heart stops. Just quits beating altogether in my chest.

A shivery sensation whispers through me. I don’t know if it’s adrenaline or anticipation, but I feel weak and dizzy as I abruptly shoot to my feet.

My friends look up, startled.

“I need to go downstairs,” I blurt out.

They both stare at me.

“I, ah, ordered food.”

I haphazardly wave my phone around as if to show them a notification from a food delivery app, except I purposely keep the screen away from their eyes. I also don’t have a plan for how I’m going to explain why I don’t have food upon my return. But nobody ever said I was quick under pressure. Off the ice, anyway.

“We had dinner, like, two hours ago,” Mya says in confusion, but I’m already slipping into a pair of sneakers and heading for the door.

In the small lobby, I greet the security woman at the front desk, whose wary gaze is fixed on the vertical pane of glass next to the door. Beyond the window is Ryder.

“It’s okay,” I assure her. “I know him.”

Although I don’t blame her for being suspicious of the six-footfive man in the black hoodie lurking outside the dorm.

Outside, the night air is cooler than I expect. It’s almost October, though. Soon the weather will turn completely, and going outside in yoga pants and an oversized tee won’t even be an option. Then I’ll be longing for this barely-there chill that’s puckering my nipples.

Or maybe that’s Ryder’s doing.

“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.”

My mouth falls open. I stare at him for a moment.

“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?”

“I…” I honestly can’t think straight enough to speak.

“So.” Those mesmerizing blue eyes focus on my face “Are you going to let me kiss you, Gigi?”

My pulse speeds up when it registers that he called me Gigi. Not Gisele. But my actual name. Because right now, in this moment, he’s not mocking me. He’s not playing games. He’s being sincere.

He moves closer, slipping his hands out of his pockets. His big frame encroaches on my personal space, the spicy scent of him grabbing hold of my senses. I suck in a breath and then regret it because he always smells so good and it’s distracting.

“Yes or no,” he says softly.

I lick my bottom lip and meet his eyes.

Then I say, “Yes.”