The Graham Effect (Campus Diaries, #1)

Well…shit. I need to watch myself.

A brief silence falls. Well, not quite. The symphony of Dan Grebbs’s field recorder fills the therapy room. The timer should be going off any second.

“So, this thing we’re doing,” Gigi starts.

A chuckle slips out.

“What?” she says defensively.

“Nothing, I was just waiting for it. I called you baby. This was bound to happen.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For the what-are-we talk. I swear it’s encoded into chick DNA. Always need to know where they stand.”

“Is that such a bad thing, knowing where we stand? I mean, I know we only had sex once—”

“Does it count as once when the first night involved about a hundred rounds?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“You’re right. It’s like a dog years thing. One night was the equivalent of two years of dating.”

I snort like one of the hippos in the African bushveld.

“But…there’s no feelings involved, right? It’s just a physical release.” She waves a hand between us, then winces when the water laps over her chest. “Another tool in our training arsenal to keep ourselves loose. Right?”

When I don’t respond, she pushes the issue.

“Well?”

“You want to know if there’s feelings involved?” I offer a shrug. “I mean, it felt really good when I was inside you.”

“That’s not what I mean.” But I succeed in bringing a blush to her cheeks.

“It felt really good when you were coming on my face,” I continue.

She’s squirming in the tub now. It’s cute.

“Oh, stop that,” she grumbles. “We’re in an ice bath.”

“So?” I reach my hand beneath the water and rest it on my groin.

Her gaze doesn’t miss that. “Don’t tell me you’re capable of having an erection while submerged in ice water. Is your dick actually hard right now?”

“No,” I answer with a chuckle. Then I get serious again because I know she’ll take us right back here if I don’t. “Look. I don’t do feelings.”

“Ohhh. He doesn’t do feelings,” she says sarcastically. “Gosh, Ryder. You’re so cool and tough.”

“I’m baring my soul and you’re making fun of me?”

“Baring your soul, my ass. All I’m saying is, you can’t ‘do’ feelings or not do feelings. Sometimes feelings just sneak up on you.”

“Not on me.” Although lately I’ve been wondering.

She’s quiet for a beat before heaving a sigh. “I guess it doesn’t matter either way. I can’t see feelings developing either.”

There is no conceivable explanation for the disappointment that hits me.

I should be thrilled to hear those words.

So why the hell does it feel like a switchblade to the gut?

“We’re too different. For example, my favorite thing to listen to is this—” She gestures to the speaker on the ledge. “These beautiful, soothing nature sounds. Meanwhile, you probably listen to death metal songs.”

The timer goes off.

“Thank God,” she cries, shooting to her feet a nanosecond later. A full-body shiver visibly rolls through her as she races to grab her towel.

I get out of the tub and find my own towel.

“I usually do five minutes in the sauna now,” Gigi tells me.

Her gaze meets mine, and I can’t control my lips from tugging upward.

“Lead the way,” I say.

We go two doors down to the dry sauna. The heat feels like pure heaven on my face when we step inside. Gigi sets the timer for five minutes, then gives me a curious look.

“Have you ever had sex in a sauna?”

Damned if my dick doesn’t jump at the idea.

I play it cool, though. “Very presumptuous of you to think I’m going to have sex with you in here.”

Her jaw drops.

With a mocking grin, I walk past her and sit on the top bench. This heat is perfect after the cold tub. My pores burst open and it’s a fantastic feeling. I’m still sore from last night’s hits, but not as much as before. The body is an incredible machine.

As if to punish me, Gigi sits on the other bench. We face each other in the small space. My gaze focuses on the firm thighs emerging from the sides of her black one-piece.

“I like that suit,” I say.

“Bullshit. It’s downright Puritan.”

“That’s what I like about it. It completely covers you up. Makes me imagine everything underneath.”

“You’ve seen everything underneath.”

I smirk. “Damn right I have.”

“What are you doing after this?” She pauses. “Wait, let me guess. I bet you’re going home to write sad poetry and then listen to your death metal.”

I bark out a laugh. “I’m working on a paper for British history and that’s about it. I’d ask you to come over, but the guys will be home.” One eyebrow quirks up. “I could come to your dorm if you want.”

“Maybe later tonight? I have plans after this.”

“Yeah, what are you up to?”

She looks at me for a second. And then, “I don’t want to say.”

Which, of course, piques every shred of curiosity in my body.

“Well, now you have to tell me.”

“Nope. Because you’re going to make some kind of snarky comment about it, and it’s one of my favorite things in the world, and I will not have you besmirch it.”

“Look at you, using fancy words.”

“You think besmirch is a fancy word? Do you need help with your vocabulary? If so, I’ll make you a list of words. I can lend you some non-picture books too, assuming you can read.”

I snort. “I read a ton.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I do. You came over to my place. There were books on my desk.”

“Those all looked like textbooks.”

“Some of them were. The others were nonfiction books. History stuff.”

“History! Okay,” she says, nodding in encouragement. “There you go. That’s how you get in with my dad.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s such a history buff. He makes us watch these boring-ass documentaries all the time. Like this summer in Tahoe he forced everyone, even the guests, to watch a two-part series on old aircraft carriers.”

I sit up straighter. “Holy shit. That was such a good—”

“Oh my God,” she interrupts. “See? You two would be best friends.”

“I’m not talking to Garrett Graham about history. Only hockey.”

“That’s your problem. Next time you see him, I want you to be like, Hey, so about those female ambulance drivers in World War One.”

I can’t control a sharp bark of laughter. I don’t think I ever laughed this much with anybody else.

“I’m not doing that,” I inform her.

“Just throwing it out there.”

Our timer goes off and we both get up. When she turns toward the door, I admire her ass, unable to stop myself from stepping up behind her.

I cup those perky cheeks, resting my chin on her shoulder. “I love your ass.”

She twists her head to smile at me. I can’t help but kiss the perfect curve of her mouth while I cup the sweet curve of her ass.

Gigi tries to face me, but I keep her in place. “No. Stay just like that.”

I hear her breath shudder when I inch even closer. My groin presses against her ass now, and she squirms against it. I slip a finger under the strip of fabric covering her, stroking it along one plump ass cheek. So smooth. Perfect.

I guide her back toward to the benches. Grab my towel and stretch it over the wood-slatted seat.

“Bend over,” I whisper. “Hands on the towel.”

“What if someone…?” Her gaze darts to the door.

“Then we’ll have to be very, very fast, won’t we?”

Which likely won’t be a problem for my throbbing cock.

I’m raring to go, and I know she feels it straining against her ass. An erection I couldn’t hide even if I tried. I thrust forward, a gentle push against the barrier of her swimsuit. She tries to turn again, and I expect her to tell me to stop. To say it’s too dangerous. Yes, it’s Sunday and the building is mostly empty. But it’s not completely empty. There are people here, and any one of them could walk in at any moment.

But she surprises me. When she twists around, her eyes are on fire.

She licks a bead of sweat off her lips and says, “Use me.”

A smile spreads across my face, because it’s the same thing I said to her before we had sex. And then again during it.

There’s something so primal about hearing those two words escape her lips.