The Graham Effect (Campus Diaries, #1)

“Are you serious?”

“Yup.” Gigi sounds livid. “For a while afterward, we were all afraid she would throw out crazy accusations, make a false claim that he tried to do something to her. She seemed unstable enough to do that. But I think even Emma’s not foolish enough to spread that level of hate. All her lies and rumors were always just shy of actually destroying anyone’s life. Mostly petty gossip.”

Gigi sits up, still naked. My eyes flit to her bare breasts, and although my dick twitches slightly, the mood is too somber for anything more than a twitch right now.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she says, biting her lip.

“Sure?”

“I loathe her.”

I snort. “I mean, I don’t blame you.”

“I’ve never said that out loud.”

“Really? You couldn’t say you hate her even after she exposed all your secrets on the internet? Feels like major betrayal in girl world.”

“It is. But I still always tried to take the high road. Find some compassion. Her mother abandoned her when she was twelve. Her father spoiled her to make up for that.” Gigi sighs. “My parents raised me to try to see the best in people. I always try not to drag them.”

“She dragged you. You’re allowed to be pissed.”

“That’s what my friends say. It drives them nuts that I don’t want to sit around and trash Emma. It’s not that I forgive her or feel any goodwill toward her—I trash her plenty in my head. But I never say it out loud. I feel like I’m not…allowed to be hateful.”

I’m curious to understand that. “Because it’s bad for your own well-being?” I ask. “Or because of some toxic positivity bullshit that says you must be nice to everyone, even those who don’t deserve it?”

She shifts uneasily. “I’ve never really thought about why. I guess it feels like I’m not allowed to.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have all these opportunities in my life. I’m not some victim. I’ve had it so good up until now. It feels selfish to bitch about my problems.”

“It’s not selfish, it’s natural. I’m allowed to get pissed when people piss me off, no matter how many or how few problems I have in my life. That chick Carma? She switched off my alarm the night she stayed over and made me late for practice. Dead to me now.”

Gigi grins at me. “That’s harsh.”

“You don’t owe people your forgiveness.”

“You forgive for yourself, not for them.” She sounds distraught now. “That’s why it upsets me. What does it say about me that I’m perfectly okay holding on to the hatred?”

“If it’s not harming you, who cares?”

“I want to be a good person.”

“Who says you’re not?”

She lies down beside me again, growing quiet. Once again, her fingers drag over my abs. With each absentminded downstroke, her elbow nudges my penis. It rests heavy on my leg, only semihard, but the more contact is made, the less semi it gets.

Gigi eventually notices.

“Who would’ve thought,” she marvels in amusement. “Deep conversations get your dick hard.”

“No. You get my dick hard by rubbing it during deep conversations.”

She slides into a seated position again, her long hair falling forward as she peers down at me. “Can I tell you another secret?”

The mischief in her eyes triggers a spark of heat in my groin. “Hmmm?”

“I want you again.”

“Can’t get enough, huh?” I mock. I like it, though, that needy glow on her face.

“I told you, I’m very stressed out.” Licking her lips, she bends over me. Her mouth comes closer, until it’s millimeters from mine. “And you promised to help.”

“You’re right, I did.”

I reach for the strip of condoms I left on the nightstand. A moment later, I tug her onto me so that she’s straddling my thighs. I wrap my fingers around my shaft and give it a long, slow stroke.

“Use me,” I order.

A smile curves her lips.

She settles on top of me and guides my cock inside her. Suddenly I’m surrounded by her tight heat, and my entire world is reduced to the words oh fuck and don’t stop. She rides me, head thrown back in pleasure. It’s the kind of sex that makes you sort of mindless. Her moans are a symphony to my ears. There’s something melodic about them. Low and throaty and so sexy it makes me shake with need.

“I’m going to come,” she chokes out and sinks forward, grinding on my dick.

I can’t remember my name as she milks every ounce of pleasure out of me. She’s breathless from her orgasm when I flip her over and pound into her until I’m lost in oblivion again, this time from scorching release.

And it doesn’t end. We go at it all night. Fucking each other senseless, coming, and then taking a rest, while she lures conversations out of me that I don’t expect to be having.

Eventually, after one last mind-blowing round, our labored breathing quiets and I become aware of voices. Shit. I didn’t realize the guys were back. I don’t remember the sound of the front door opening, or hearing Shane and Beckett in the house when I or Gigi went to use the bathroom. But it’s two in the morning now, and I’ve been so absorbed in Gigi Graham that for all I know, the guys have been home for hours.

“Crap,” she blurts out, noticing the time herself. “I should go.”

“Early practice?”

“No. I have class at ten. But I can’t crash here. Your roommates…” She drifts off. The rest of that sentence is self-explanatory.

I nod. “C’mon. Let’s sneak you out.”

“I need to call an Uber first.”

“You didn’t drive?” I’m confused. She only drank one beer tonight, and that was when the sun was still out. We’ve only had water since then, keeping ourselves hydrated between crazy sex.

“No. I…” She guiltily avoids my questioning gaze. “I didn’t want Case to see my car on your street.”

Something jolts through me. Not quite jealousy. But annoying all the same.

“Right. Because this is our dirty little secret,” I drawl.

Although to be fair, keeping this on the down low is probably a good idea. Our first game is this weekend. Everyone’s heads need to be on it, and that includes Colson.

“No,” she corrects, “because the last time he did, he stormed into your house uninvited.”

“True.”

I shove a pair of boxers up my hips while Gigi quietly gathers her clothes and gets dressed. After she snaps the button of her denim skirt, she turns to me in dismay. “Damn it. I have to pee again.”

In that moment, I silently curse Shane, who won the three-way rock, papers, scissors match this summer to earn himself the master bedroom and its ensuite bath.

I open my door a crack and peer out into the shadow hallway. Beckett and Shane’s bedroom doors are closed.

“The coast is clear,” I tell her.

Gigi ducks into the hall and uses the bathroom. I continue to eye their doors while the toilet flushes and the sink faucet turns on. They remain closed.

Afterward, we sneak downstairs and creep toward the front hall. And just when I think I’ve successfully dodged a bullet, Shane steps out of the kitchen.

Fuck.

His dark eyes take in Gigi’s disheveled hair. My boxers. The scratch marks on my chest.

And his lips twitch in humor.

“Late night?” he inquires.

Her cheeks are visibly red even in the darkness of the hall. “You didn’t see this,” she begs softly. “Please.”

Shane appears as if he’s about to make a joke, but I give him a hard look, and he offers an assurance instead.

“I saw nothing.”

I walk her outside to the waiting Uber. We don’t kiss good night. She’s rattled now from getting caught by Shane and barely glances at me as she slides into the back seat. Red taillights wink in the dark night, the car whisking her away from me.

I return to the house, where Shane, of course, is waiting for me.

“There are so many reasons this is bad idea,” he tells me.

“I know.”

“Colson will murder you.”

“He can try.”

“Beck seemed into her too.”

“Nah. He backed off that.”

“Got it. So you swept right in and scooped her up.” Shane rolls his eyes.