The Graham Effect (Campus Diaries Book 1)
The Graham Effect: Chapter 43

Owen McKay

IT’S NICE HAVING RYDER HERE FOR THE HOLIDAYS. I CAN’T SAY MY dad and Wyatt have fully warmed up to him, but Mom certainly has, and it’s kind of adorable to see the two of them together. They walk the dogs in the snow. He carries her groceries into the house. Listens in rapt attention when she talks about the new singer she’s producing. It’s really sweet.

I wonder if he longs for a maternal figure. He lost his when he was six, and it couldn’t have been easy growing up without his mother. Even worse that his replacement for her was a series of foster moms who never stuck around long enough to care.

On our last night of the break, we hang out alone in my bedroom…with the door open because Ryder wears a chastity belt now. I only managed to convince him to have sex with me twice this week, and that’s after he received multiple assurances that my family would be gone for an ample amount of time. He required a two-hour buffer on either end of the fornication period. His words, not mine.

I’m dating a crazy person.

Now, he’s sprawled on my bed reading a book he grabbed from my father’s study. I know Dad begrudgingly approved of his choice, but he’s being stubborn and doesn’t want to admit he and Ryder might have something in common, so he didn’t comment on it.

My legs are stretched across Ryder’s lap while I design a custom-made T-shirt on my MacBook. Tomorrow is my dad’s birthday and I already got him a present, but I’m adding another item thanks to his behavior during the Boxing Day Beatdown. Beau Di Laurentis and AJ Connelly were named team captains that morning, and Dad was so outraged about getting picked fifth that he glared at the teenage boys and growled, “Is this a joke? Do you realize I’m Garrett Graham?”

“Do you think the I’m Garrett Graham line should be black or silver?” I ask, angling the laptop.

Ryder looks at it. “Black.” Then he chuckles at what I’m working on.

My phone buzzes again, as it’s been doing all day. I’ve been fielding texts from friends asking what I’m doing tonight. It happens to be New Year’s Eve, but we decided to stay in.

I check the screen. It’s Diana, who’s spending New Year’s with her older lover, Sir Percival.

DIANA:

I kind of love how mature he is. I didn’t feel like partying tonight and he was perfectly cool with staying in. NYE = wine, a movie, and very adult lovemaking. I think I’m getting swept away by the allure of the older man…

ME:

I’m glad! But don’t completely lose your head. It’s early yet.

I’m as tactful as I can be. Truthfully, I’ve always thought there’s something a bit off about a man who wants to date someone so much younger. Granted, six years isn’t a huge age difference. But Diana mentioned that Percival had a serious relationship with another younger woman before her. When he was twenty-four, he dated an eighteen-year-old. I replace that icky. But he and Diana are both adults, and so long as she’s happy, I’ll reserve my judgment.

Another text pops up, this one from my cousin.

ALEX TUCKER:

What do you mean you’re staying in tonight?? NOT ALLOWED. You’re coming to Manhattan.

In her last message, she mentioned she’s making a paid appearance at a new nightclub in Manhattan tonight.

ME:

This last minute? No way. It’s too late for the train and any available flights will cost a gazillion dollars.

She disappears for a while, and I assume the subject’s been dropped. But then she texts again.

ALEX:

My friend will send his jet.

I cough out a laugh. Jesus. I thought I had friends in high places. Meanwhile, Alex is over here just hanging out with private jet owners.

ME:

I can’t.

ALEX:

Yes you can. Come on, I miss you. And it’ll be fun.

I think it over for a moment. It’s rare I’m able to be impulsive with such a rigid hockey schedule, and I realize this might be my last chance to go a little wild. We’re going back to school, where a new semester will commence, the season will resume, and playoffs will start soon. When will I ever have the chance to fly on a private plane to New York?

“Hey,” I say to Ryder. “We’ve been invited to a New Year’s party. You in?”

He looks up from his book. “Who invited us?” He’s absently stroking my knee.

“My cousin Alex. She’s going to a nightclub in Manhattan. One of those nauseating events where all the celebrities are paid to show their pretty faces.”

“Is this the supermodel cousin?”

I nod. “Do you wanna go? She said she can send us a plane.”

Ryder blinks. Then he snorts out a laugh. “Oh fuck off.”

“I know.” I sigh. “I can’t help it, though. She’s got serious connections. Uncle Tucker thinks it’s pretty cool.”

Another message from Alex pops up with a link to the event.

“Oh, these are the details.” I pull it up and scan the information. Some hot DJ is headlining, and there’s a list of the celebrities that are scheduled to show up. The name at the top of my list makes me hoot in laughter. “Dude. Guess who’ll be there.”

“Who?”

“Vizza Billity.”

“The worst-named rapper of all time?”

“Yup. Oh man, if Mya wasn’t in Malta right now, she would totally come with us.” I keep scanning names. “Hey, look. Your buddy Owen McKay is supposed to make an appearance too.”

There are a few athletes on the list, but McKay’s name is the only one that jumps out at me.

“Okay, now we have to go,” I tell Ryder.

He shifts, looking uncomfortable.

“Or we can stay here. Whatever you want.”

His blue eyes fix on me. “You want to go, huh?”

“Kind of.”

“Then I’ll go.” He cocks a brow. “But I will not be dancing.”

“Yes, you will.”

“And I’ll also pretend I don’t know you when you ask for Vizza Billity’s autograph.”

“You’ll miss out then. I was planning on getting him to sign my tits.”

Ryder grins.

And that’s how later that evening, we board an actual private jet bound for Manhattan. The plane’s interior is all white, from the leather seats to the plush carpets to the spacious bathroom. As much as I want to joke about it, it’s kind of absurd.

Alex is Uncle Tucker and Aunt Sabrina’s youngest daughter. She’s twenty, so a year younger than me, while her sister is a lawyer and a few years older. It’s so crazy to me that one daughter is toiling away to make partner, while the other is worth a hundred million dollars and rides on private jets.

“What, she’s too rich and famous to pick us up?” Ryder growls in mock outrage when we step onto the snowy tarmac after descending the metal steps. It was only a forty-five-minute flight, and over much too fast. I would have liked to continue devouring that charcuterie spread the flight attendant brought out.

“Unacceptable,” I agree.

Alex did send a car, though—a sleek black Escalade that whisks us away into the heart of the city. Luckily, we manage to avoid Times Square, because all the roads around it are cordoned off. You’ll never make me understand it, the suffocating throng of bodies shivering in the cold waiting for a dumb ball to drop.

Ryder holds my hand in the back seat, but he’s visibly distracted. He’d pulled out his phone on the plane a few times to check the screen, as if waiting for a message. But when I asked about it, he said he was checking the time.

Alex told me to give my name at the door of the venue. There’s a line at least three blocks long. I feel like an ass for skipping to the front, where I receive mutinous glares from the young partygoers waiting in the endless line.

It’s total chaos inside. Strobe lights, air humid with sweat and perfume, and deafening electronic music. Scantily clad women and thirsty men constantly flit in our path as we venture deeper into the club. I will say, it’s kind of exhilarating. There isn’t much of a nightlife in Hastings, and I’m usually too exhausted from practice and games to drive to Boston during the season.

When I text Alex to say we’re here, she tells me to come to the VIP lounge.

“Come on. This way.” I tug Ryder’s hand.

I notice him looking around at the crowd, a bit uneasy. Something still feels off about him, but I chalk it up to him being antisocial because, well, he’s antisocial.

As we weave our way across the crowded main floor, the music begins to seep into my blood, making my hips move. Ryder’s eyes focus on that.

He lifts the corner of his mouth.

“What?” I say.

“You look good.”

We both ditched our coats in the Escalade after the driver said he’d be back for us later, so there’s no hiding my skimpy dress. It’s a shimmery silver with fringe at the bottom. Old-timey modern. I’m not wearing a bra, but the neckline is modest. Only a hint of cleavage. The dress does most of its work down below, showing off my legs.

The VIP area requires an elevator to get up to it. It’s manned by two bouncers with earpieces and radios. I’m ready to drop Alex’s name again when the elevator doors swing open and she appears herself.

It always startles me how beautiful she is. Growing up, I remember constantly thinking how pretty she was. Even as a ten-year-old, she made people take a second look. She started modeling officially when she was seventeen, and in three years, she’s become one of the most recognizable models and influencers in the world.

She’s stunning, with thick dark hair, big brown eyes, a perfect body. I notice Ryder checking her out and I don’t even care because I’m checking her out too. A slinky red dress is glued to her tall willowy frame, showing off her huge tits, tiny waist, and perky ass. She has the kind of body that makes you cry in envy. I’m too muscular to ever look like Alex. Hockey does that to you.

“G!” She throws her arms around me. “They’re with me,” she tells the VIP guards.

The three of us step into the elevator. Everyone who’s been lurking nearby, hoping to sneak their way up to the promised land, shoots us envious looks. Several women glare murder at me. I offer a rueful shrug as the doors close.

“Oh my God, you look incredible,” Alex gushes. “That dress.”

“Me? Look at what you’re wearing. It’s insane.”

I introduce her to Ryder, who she checks out not at all discreetly. At nearly six feet, Alex has an easier time looking him in the eye. I realize they look good together, and although I know it’s irrational of me, I experience a jolt of jealousy.

The VIP lounge is a whole other world. A long railing stretches across the entire space, overlooking the dance floor far below. There are a few mini dance floors up here too, but mostly it’s plush black velvet booths, sensual lighting, and bottle service. In one corner is a raised platform offering another large booth cordoned off by velvet ropes. The Super VIP area of the VIP lounge. Holding court there is a tall guy wearing a white hoodie, white parachute pants, and white designer sneakers. I recognize the rapper instantly. For some reason I expected a lot more bling, but he boasts only a diamond-studded watch. Well, and the mohawk on his head is dyed gold, so I guess the bling factor is all in the hair.

When he notices me staring, he flashes a cocky smile and flicks his hand in a casual wave.

Alex follows my gaze. “You should go thank him,” she says with a grin.

“For what?”

“You flew here on his plane.”

My jaw drops. “Oh my God.” I turn to Ryder. “We flew on Vizza Billity’s plane.” Although now it makes sense why everything was white.

“He’s actually pretty cool,” Alex says. “I’ll introduce you in a bit. First I want to hear everything you’re up to.”

We haven’t seen each other since Tahoe, but it’s hard to catch up over the pounding music and we spend most of the time screaming in each other’s ears. Meanwhile, Ryder stands there sipping a whiskey the server just delivered to him. I ordered my trusty scotch and soda, which made him grin.

“So, this is a thing,” Alex remarks, her manicured finger dancing between Ryder and me.

“Yes,” I answer, rolling my eyes.

“You’re tall,” she tells him.

“Thanks?”

“It’s an observation, not a compliment.”

Ryder chokes out a laugh.

“And you’re both hockey players,” she continues, giggling at me. “You and your hockey player fetish.”

“It’s not a fetish,” I say with a loud snort.

“Wasn’t the last one a hockey player too?”

Ryder narrows his eyes.

She flips her hair and touches his arm. “Don’t worry, you’re cuter. And taller.”

My attention suddenly focuses on a familiar face in one of the other booths. I gasp when recognition dawns.

“That’s Mac from Fling or Forever!” I exclaim. “And he’s not with Samantha! Oh my God, I need to text Diana. And my dad.” I grab my phone out of my purse.

ME:

Spoiler alert for Fling or Forever finale. Text unsubscribe if you don’t want to know.

DIANA:

Tell me!

DAD:

Subscribe.

ME:

Even if Mac and Samantha end up together in the finale next week, they sure as hell aren’t together now.

I punctuate that with the grainy photo I manage to snap of Mac with his tongue down some girl’s throat.

Eventually Alex drags me to the small dance floor. I feel bad abandoning Ryder, but he just waves us off. When I glance over at some point, he’s chatting with Vizza Billity. I wish I had my phone so I could commemorate the moment, but it’s in my purse, which is slung over Ryder’s muscular forearm.

I have successfully managed to turn Briar’s grumpy, bad-boy hockey cocaptain into a hold-my-purse boyfriend.

I’ve won the world.

We take a dancing break, and a waitress comes to take our order for another round. This time Alex requests champagne, and we toast and drink until she drags Ryder to dance while he pleads at me with his eyes to make it stop. But despite his pained look, there’s no way he’s not enjoying having her body rubbing all over him. This time I don’t feel jealous, though. Maybe because his heated gaze remains on me the entire time.

When he returns, he checks his phone and frowns before shoving it back in his pocket.

“Stop checking the time,” I chide.

It’s nearing midnight when a loud burst of noise echoes from the elevator and new arrivals stream in.

Alex glances over and laughs. “Your people are here.”

I grin. “Our people?”

“Hockey crowd.”

The group rolls in, ushered by the staff toward one of the roped-off booths, while half-naked bottle girls race over to serve the newcomers and stroke their egos.

Someone shouts, “Ryder!”

The next thing I know, Owen McKay strides toward us. He and Ryder are exactly the same height, so it’s sort of intimidating when they’re both standing there looming over us.

“Hey.” Owen throws his arms around Ryder in an enthusiastic hug. He pulls back, arching a brow when he notices my cousin. “Hi, aren’t you…?”

Alex bestows him her dazzling smile, and his eyes glaze over.

“Jesus Christ.” He looks back at Ryder. “This is the company you’re keeping now that you’re on the East Coast? Supermodels?” He groans out loud, appreciation heating his eyes as he glances from me to Alex.

Call me a superficial bitch, but I enjoy being included in the category of “supermodel.”

“What’s going on?” Ryder says gruffly. “Didn’t even know you were in town.”

“I didn’t know you were in town,” Owen counters. “What are you doing in Manhattan? You said you were spending the holidays with a friend in Boston.”

Ryder reaches for my hand. Tugs me toward him. “Yeah, this is the friend.” He pauses. “Girlfriend, actually.”

“Nice save,” I tell him.

Chuckling, Owen stares at our joined hands. “Jesus, Luke, there’s a lot you’ve been keeping from me. We have a girlfriend now?”

Ryder shrugs.

“I’m Gigi,” I say, extending my free hand. “It’s nice to meet you. And you already know Alex, apparently.”

“Owen,” he says.

He’s still scrutinizing me, as if my presence in Ryder’s life mystifies him. And when those blue eyes lock on my face, a strange feeling travels through me because I realize they’re the exact shade as Ryder’s. I don’t think I’ve ever been in the same vicinity as two guys with the same dark sapphire eyes.

The suspicion that tickles at my brain is confirmed when Owen lifts a brow and says, “How long have you been dating my brother?”