The Graham Effect (Campus Diaries, #1)

GRAHAM: He is.

CONNELLY: So quick with the puck. Kid possesses the keen ability to throw defenders off with these cool deceptive moves, setting up passes they don’t even see coming. Which is astounding considering his size. For such a big guy, with that kind of reach—and he uses a tall stick too—he shouldn’t be able to stickhandle the way he does.

GRAHAM: All the stickhandling in the world won’t help Briar if they don’t start to gel.

CONNELLY: Three consecutive losses can’t be good for morale either.

GRAHAM: Well, like we said back in the summer, this is a superteam on paper. Which only goes to show that it takes a lot more than individually great players to make a great team.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN


RYDER



Baby


GISELE:

How are you doing after that hit you took last night? All bruised up?

ME:

Black and blue.

GISELE:

Yeah, it looked nasty. They should’ve thrown that guy out of the game instead of giving him a 5-minute major.

GISELE:

On the bright side, that penalty got you guys your first win of the season. Is it my turn to bring you flowers?

UNLIKE OUR LAST SEXUAL ENCOUNTER, GIGI AND I REMAIN IN constant contact after our library hookup. We haven’t seen each other all week because our schedules have been hectic, and midterms are in full swing. But she’s a constant presence in my phone. We’re always texting. To the point that if I don’t wake up and see a message from her, I’m genuinely disappointed. And my dick aches to be inside her again. Hopefully we manage to make something work tonight.

Beckett and I walk into the training facility, our gym bags slung over our shoulders. He taps his key card at the scanner by the front doors, which automatically buzz open for us. All the athletes have access to the facility, and every off-hour visit is logged in. Someone told me the precautions started after a drunken incident in the weight room a couple of years ago.

We’re both engrossed with our phones as we enter the building.

ME:

I’ll take a blowjob instead. I mean, as long you’re offering a reward.

GISELE:

Maybe later. Right now I have a date with an ice bath. Just pulled up to the arena.

I laugh out loud when I read her message. Great minds think alike, it appears. Or rather, dedicated hockey players do. The doors buzz behind us, and then Gigi strides into the lobby.

She stops in her tracks at the sight of us, but recovers quickly, eyeing us in humor. “Is this really how you’re spending your Sunday morning? You losers.”

I snort. “You’re literally doing the same thing.”

“Morning, Graham.” Beckett lifts his head to smile at her before his attention returns to his phone. He keeps snickering to himself.

“What’s that all about?” I ask suspiciously.

He clicks his lock screen on. “What?”

“You dating someone?”

“Of course not. I’m a free bird, mate. Can’t be caged.” He winks at Gigi.

“Are you guys lifting today?” she asks.

“That’ll be me, solo,” Beckett answers. “This brave fucker is all about the cold immersion.”

The three of us head down the wide hallway toward the locker rooms. Halfway there, I say, “Hold on,” and duck into the team kitchen to grab an apple. I usually carbo load the day after a game, and I’m already hungry again despite the huge breakfast we ate at the house and the two muffins I scarfed down in the Jeep on the way here. My stomach is insatiable this morning. Since the facility doesn’t stock any junk, I have to settle for fruit.

“Nice wins this weekend,” Beckett is telling Gigi when I return.

“Thanks. We’re killing it so far. Got our second shutout in two weeks.” She pats him on the arm. “And look at you guys, squeaking out your first win! How adorable.”

He snickers, while I roll my eyes. Though I must say, that win did feel nice. It wasn’t pretty. It sure wasn’t anything I’d want on a highlight reel. But the fact that I was able to score on net…after two and a half periods of dropped passes, lousy communication, and festering animosity between my own teammates…well, it was not only a much-needed ego boost, but a bona fide miracle.

The win didn’t come without a price. The bruise on my right side sends pain skittering through me any time so much as a breeze hits it. Nothing a good ice bath won’t fix, though.

“So, you’re crashing my tub time?” Gigi says to me, eyes narrowed. “Because I’ll have you know, ice baths are my thing.”

“That so? Are you sure you can handle it?” I look her up and down. “Because there’s not a lot of meat on those bones. The chill will go right to them.”

“I do this after every game.” She plants one hand on her slender hip. “I might even do twenty minutes today.”

“You rebel,” I drawl.

“You think I won’t? Because I could stay in there for an hour if I wanted to,” she declares, but I think she’s only playing.

“Hypothermia is hot.” Beckett gives her another wink.

“I highly advise you don’t stay in there for an hour, Gisele,” I say politely.

“Stop trying to curb my dreams, prom king.”

“Look at you two, with your cute little nicknames.” Beckett grins at us. “You should hook up.”

Gigi coughs into her hand. “Yeah, not going to happen,” she replies, and I smirk at her when Beck’s not looking.

“Seriously, why not?” he insists. “Now that you’ve decided not to ride the Dunne train—”

“Don’t refer to yourself as that,” she orders.

“—this guy’s the next best thing. Plus you’d have good-looking children.” Beckett pauses in thought. “Colson would shit a brick, though, so… Probably a good call not to drink from that well.”

He wanders into the men’s locker room, oblivious to Gigi’s troubled face.

“Does he know?” she hisses when he’s gone.

“I don’t think so. It’s just Beckett being Beckett,” I assure her.

“Whatever. I’m going to change.”

I do the same, changing into a pair of swim trunks while devouring my apple in five bites. I toss the core into the trash can, then slide my feet into flip-flops and head for the tub room. I’m all about cold-water immersion therapy, although it’s not for the fainthearted. The first time you sink into the chilled water, you almost stop breathing. But eventually you build up a tolerance for it. They’re still not pleasant, but a short ice bath works miracles on aching postgame muscles and speeds up recovery times.

Gigi’s already in the therapy room, wearing a one-piece black Speedo that’s modest and shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. The way my body reacts, you’d think she was naked.

Approval flares in her gray eyes as they sweep over my bare chest. But when I turn to set my sports drink on the ledge across the room, she gasps.

“What?” I glance over my shoulder and realize her attention is on my bruise. “Yeah, it’s not great,” I agree.

She sips her water before setting down her own bottle down.

“How does fifteen minutes sound?” I suggest, drifting toward the timer at the door. “I know you’d prefer an hour, but I think fifteen is a solid start.”

“Good call.” Her voice is distracted.

I turn to see her fussing with her phone and a small external speaker.

“Just setting up my playlist,” she tells me.

Dread rises inside me. “No,” I say instantly.

“Yes,” she confirms with a broad smile. “Horizons. Trust me, it’s the best thing to listen to when you’re shivering your ass off in that tub.”

“I don’t trust you and I believe that to be a lie.”

“I’ve narrowed it down to two tracks. I’ll even be nice and let you choose. What’ll it be? The African bushveld or the reeds of North Carolina?”

“I fucking hate North Carolina.”

“Africa, it is.”

A moment later, we’re both sliding into our respective cold tubs. Gigi lets out a shriek of despair the moment her body is submerged.

“Confession,” she wheezes out.

I look over in amusement, resting my arms on the edges of the tub.