The Graham Effect (Campus Diaries, #1)

Gigi shrugs and heads for the men’s room, trusty keys in hand. I haven’t been able to stop checking her out since we got here. Black yoga pants cling to her shapely legs and emphasize her ass. The ass I was squeezing a few nights ago. I still remember how sweet it felt in my palms, and my fingers itch to touch her again.

“How was your week?” she asks nonchalantly.

I try not to raise an eyebrow. We’re playing the casual game, I see. Just ignoring the fact that she was ravenously sucking on my tongue the other night. Cool.

“Good. You?”

“Busy,” she admits. “It’s like every year I forget what a heavy workload it is to balance classes and hockey.”

“What’s your major?”

“Sports admin.” She shrugs. “Kinda always thought I’d make a good agent or manager, so I picked a major that could put me on that path. How about you?”

“Business admin. Not sure what I’ll do with it, though.”

When we enter the change area, she slides her jean jacket off her shoulders and drops it on the bench. For a second, I think she’s going to keep undressing—my libido wholeheartedly approves—but then she picks up her garment bag and heads for the adjacent shower area.

“I’ll change in here,” she calls over her shoulder.

Like the other times we’ve been here, we have the whole rink to ourselves and it’s eerily silent. It doesn’t feel like a real hockey arena without the soundtrack of pucks striking the boards and plexiglass. The sharp slap of a puck meeting its target can rattle the walls of a building. It’s my favorite sound in the world.

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.

She slides her gloves off, wincing as she rotates her wrist. Concern wells up inside me. Shit. If she injured herself…this could fuck up her entire season.

“C’mere.”

I guide her toward the bench, where we sit down. I take her wrist in one hand and examine it with the other. I gently run my fingers over the tendons, watching her face for a reaction.

“Does this hurt?”

“No.” She visibly swallows. “I think it’s fine. Think I just tweaked it when we were against the boards.”

I press down on another spot, still studying her. “What about this?”

“No.”

“You sure?” I feel her pulse fluttering beneath the pad of my thumb now.

Gigi nods, looking relieved. “That twinge of pain I was feeling before is already gone.”

She rotates the wrist again but doesn’t make any move to withdraw it from my probing grasp.

“I’ve never actually broken a bone,” she admits. “Guess I’m lucky. My brother broke his arm three different times growing up. Have you ever broken anything?”

“Do ribs count?”

“Of course.”

“Then a couple different ribs, a couple different times. Other than that, it’s mostly been light sprains. Ankle, wrist.” I shrug. “Never broken anything important.”

“I mean, ribs are pretty important.” She reaches out and touches my rib cage over my sweaty jersey.

Even though she’s not touching my bare skin, I feel her fingers like a cattle brand.

“You know…” She trails off thoughtfully. Gray eyes peering into me.

It makes me uncomfortable, the way she’s looking at me. It’s as if she’s seeing something I can’t. As if she knows a secret about me that even I haven’t been able to decode.

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.”

She continues to search my face, and I resist the urge to duck my head. I feel oddly exposed. It makes my skin itch.

“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. You rarely brag about yourself, only when you’re joking. Every time someone compliments you, you look pleasantly surprised, like it’s the first time you’ve ever been complimented. And you always respond with gratitude.”

Her wrist remains between my clasped hands. I can’t help stroking my fingers over her pale fragile flesh.

“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.”

Gigi’s teeth sink into her bottom lip for a moment. Then she moistens both lips, locking her gaze with mine.

“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?”

That’s a loaded question and we both know it.

I turn her hand over, then deliberately drag my thumb along the center of her palm. I don’t miss the way she shivers.

“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.”

She bites her lip again. The hazy, needy spark in her eyes nearly does me in. I almost pull her into my lap and kiss her. But she’s the one hesitating. This needs to be her move to make.

And she doesn’t make it.

My body cries in silent disappointment when she slowly stands up on her skates.

“Let’s call it a night,” she suggests. “Our heads aren’t in it, and that’s a recipe for injury.”

I follow her back to the men’s lockers, where we sit side by side on the bench to unlace our skates. Gigi removes her gear until she’s in a tank top, sports bra, and boy shorts. I try not to stare.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” she says, drifting toward the doorway across the room.

I remain on the bench, breathing through my nose. Deep, even breaths.

Christ. I want her. Never saw it coming. Totally unprepared for it. And at a loss for what to do about it.

I hear the shower start, and soon there’s a layer of steam rolling toward the change room. I need to grab a shower too, so while I wait for Gigi to finish, I strip out of my practice clothes and shove them in my backpack. I’m putting the rest of my gear away when her muffled voice breaks through the sound of rushing water.

“Ryder?”

“Yeah?” I call toward the showers.

“I forgot a towel. Can you grab one and bring it to me?”

My cock turns stiffer than the hockey stick in my hand. With another deep inhalation, I lean the stick against my bag.

“Sure. One sec.”

I make my way to the wall of cubbies where fresh towels are stored. Grab two off a shelf. Then I walk through the steamy air hanging like a canopy over the rows of showers. The majority of steam comes from the third stall.

Heart pounding, I stop in front of the white plastic curtain. I glimpse the tantalizing outline of her body, a blurry flash of curves and golden flesh.

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.

My breathing grows shallow as her naked body wreaks havoc on my field of vision. Perky breasts tipped with brownish-pink nipples. They’re tight and puckered despite the heat of the shower. My tongue tingles with the impulse to lick them.

I tear my gaze off her tits to curb the temptation, but it only lands between her legs. An even more tempting place. She’s completely bare, and now my tongue licks at my lips the way it wants to be licking her pussy.