novelxo The Graham Effect: Chapter 32
Butterfly mating habits
THE NEXT MORNING, WHILE ALL THE GUYS ARE FRESH AND ALERT after sleeping in their own beds—or a sorority girl’s bed, in Beckett’s case—Colson and I look like we just got stateside from a survival show. After the bus picked us up, I managed to sleep for two hours at home before catching a ride with Shane for our lifting session. I was too tired to drive.
At Eastwood, we could lift based on our own schedules, but Briar requires a training regimen where we lift together as a team. Everyone is already in the weight room when I walk in.
“He lives,” Beckett says, grinning when he spots me. He must have come here directly from the sorority house. “I was expecting to see you walk in wearing a squirrel-skin hat or something.”
“We almost did kill a cheetah,” Case says, smacking my arm good-naturedly.
More than a few sets of eyebrows soar at that.
“Double Cs,” Trager says, wandering over to fist-bump Case. “You good, bro?” He shoots me a wary look.
Colson notices and sighs. “All right, everyone. Listen up.” He claps his hands.
Guys stop what they’re doing, sitting up on their weight benches, to focus on Colson. Demaine, who was spotting Joe Kurth, returns the barbell to its position. Near the back mirror, Rand and Mason set down the dumbbells they were deadlifting.
“We wanted to apologize for what happened during the game last night,” Colson starts. “Brown shouldn’t have scored that goal. The penalty was on us, and it wasn’t captain behavior.” He glances at me, and I nod my agreement. “Going forward, we need to be a team. A real team.” His face becomes pained. “As much as I hate Nance and Sheldon, I think they have a point about this communication stuff.”
Several skeptical looks are exchanged.
“So, I’ll start.” His gaze lands on Shane. “Lindley. Your slapshots are beautiful, man. I’ve never seen that kind of power.”
Shane is startled. “Oh. Thanks.”
Case tips his head at me.
I lock my gaze on Trager because he seems like one of the better options to try to win over. “Trager. You nailed that penalty kill yesterday.”
He narrows his eyes at me. Then, noticing Case watching him, he gives a brisk nod.
Colson crosses his arms over his chest. “All right. Somebody else go. We’re going to shower each other with fucking compliments until we’re all swimming in goddamn dopamine.”
“Lindley knows all about that,” Nazzy says solemnly, and Shane flips him the bird.
After a beat of hesitation, Will Larsen addresses his secret best friend. “Beckett. You use the edges better than anyone I’ve ever seen.”
Beck nods. “Thanks, mate.” In response, he says, “Your shot is a goddamn laser beam.”
And on and on it goes, everyone complimenting one another. It’s definite progress.
Not everyone has been won over, though. Later, when I’m heading for the showers, Rand pulls me aside, speaking in a low voice.
“Is this for real? You’re friends with Colson now?”
I shrug. I wouldn’t call us friends, but I can’t deny we had a fun night, despite being marooned in the wilderness. Dude’s funny.
Really, now that we’ve called a ceasefire, the only thing hindering a true friendship between us is the girl who texts me when I leave the locker room twenty minutes later.
GISELE:
I think I left my necklace at your house. Can I come over and look for it?
I grin at the phone. This chick is the best.
ME:
Actually, I’m on campus. Want me to come to you instead?
GISELE:
Really?
ME:
Why not? Does your roommate know about us?
GISELE:
Yeah. Come over.
I park my Jeep in the lot outside Hartford House and make my way to the dorm, reaching the front entrance as a willowy Black woman steps out. It’s Gigi’s roommate, Mya. I recognize her from the day I showed up here with flowers.
Which she doesn’t let me forget.
Amusement gleams in her eyes. “Flower boy. How’s it going?”
I give her a pained look. “Let’s not make ‘flower boy’ a thing. I have a reputation to protect.”
“That’s not a promise I’m willing to make. G’s upstairs.”
Mya steps back to the door and pokes her head into the lobby.
“Hey, Spencer, he’s not a murderer,” she calls to the security guard at the desk, jabbing a finger at me. Then she gestures for me to enter. “Later, flower boy.”
Gigi’s room is on the second floor. She greets me in a pair of black booty shorts that are barely visible beneath a purple hockey jersey that’s clearly custom made because when she turns, the back reads only her initials, GG, stitched on in white.
Her bedroom is as girly as I expect from her, considering she’s a rabid fan of butterflies. There’s a patterned bedspread and colorful throw pillows. Pictures of her with friends and family tacked on a bulletin board above her desk. And a couple of framed prints featuring, of course, butterflies.
I wander over to the glass frames. “So I was looking up butterfly mating habits the other day, and I discovered—”
“I’m sorry, no,” Gigi interrupts. “You can’t just gloss over that. You were looking up butterfly mating habits?”
I shrug out of my jacket, draping it over the back of her desk chair. “Don’t read too much into it. Honestly, I was only trying to figure out how they fuck. Like what part goes where.”
She howls in laughter. “Oh my God. Did you learn anything interesting?”
“I did.” I flop down in the chair and swivel around. “There’s this one tropical species where the male mates with the female and then sprays her with this, like, antiaphrodisiac chemical so other males can’t get with her.”
“Is this leading to some weird dirty talk where you say you want to spray me with a Ryder chemical?”
“You wish.”
“Remember when you told me not to read too much into this? Well, I am. You’re totally trying to show interest in my interests,” she accuses. Still laughing, she throws herself on the bed and rests her head on a pile of decorative pillows. “So, when do I get the details of your wild night?”
I tense. “How’d you hear about that?”
“Case texted this morning.”
The resulting jealousy that surges through my blood has me clenching both fists.
Shit. That’s not good. I’m not supposed to hate the guy anymore. But the idea of him texting Gigi, maybe even winning her back, reactivates all my former acrimony.
“He said you two worked things out.”
I shrug.
“He also told me he confided in you about our breakup.”
I shrug again.
Gigi gives me a pensive look.
“What?”
“Do you think kissing is cheating?”
I don’t expect the question. “What do you mean?”
“If you’re in a serious relationship with someone and they kiss someone else—do you consider that cheating?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Really?”
“Sure. If you love and respect someone, you shouldn’t be kissing someone else. End of story.”
Gigi smiles at me.
“What?” I say awkwardly.
“Sometimes I struggle with how black and white you are. But in this instance, I love it.” She licks her lips. “It’s actually a huge turn-on.”
“Is that so?” I drawl.
“Uh-huh.”
And then she’s climbing off the bed and into my lap. She locks her fingers behind my neck and dips her head to kiss me.
When our tongues meet, it’s like a shock to my system. Desire radiates through my veins. My balls tighten and my ass cheeks clench. Then Gigi deepens the kiss and rocks her hips, summoning a strangled noise from my throat. All her squirming is pure agony. Fills me with an ache that only her tight warm heat can ease.
Noting my labored breathing and impatient hands, she laughs softly and slides off my lap, eliciting another groan, this one laced with frustration.
“You seem agitated,” she says innocently.
“I wonder why.”
“I think I can help.”
“Mmm?”
A dazzling smile lights her face.
Then she gets on her knees and takes my cock out.
“You never let me do this enough,” she says as she wraps her fingers around the hot aching shaft. “Always just want to fuck me, you terrible person.”
“Awful,” I agree.
My heartbeat becomes irregular when she lowers her head and swirls her tongue around the head of my cock. The way I get impossibly harder tells me I’m not going to last long. Especially not when she draws me into her mouth and eagerly starts to suck.
I lean back in the chair, head thrown back as I thrust my fingers through her hair and enjoy myself. The sensations she’s creating are mind-blowing. Every inch of me feels hot and tight, every muscle coiled in anticipation for the next deep suck, the next firm stroke of her soft hand.
“You’re going to make me come,” I warn.
She simply tightens the suction of her mouth as if baiting me into orgasm. It’s not long before she gets her wish. My hips move restlessly as she sucks me so fucking good. While her tongue scrapes along my length on the next upstroke, her braid falls forward and tickles my balls, and that’s all it takes to unleash the rush of pleasure.
Afterward, she grabs some tissues and cleans me up. Then she flips her braid so it’s hanging down the center of her purple jersey, looking mighty pleased with herself for destroying my dick like that.
And in that moment, I’m reminded of what Shane said weeks ago. That she’s girlfriend material. That I’m not boyfriend material.
I brushed it off because it didn’t matter then.
Now, I’m revisiting his assessment.
Maybe it’s not true. Maybe I can be a boyfriend.
I mean, why not?
Well, other than the fact that Gigi has never once expressed interest in me being her boyfriend.
As if sensing my troubled thoughts, she wrinkles her brow. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I swallow through my suddenly dry throat. “What do you think if we went out somewhere?”
The groove in her forehead deepens. “Somewhere where?”
“I don’t know. Like on a date.”
She blinks. “You’re asking me on a date?”
I shrug.
“Do you not remember that whole speech you gave—”
“Gonna interrupt right there, Gisele, because we both know I’ve never given a speech in my life.”
That gets me a grin. “Fair point. I’m talking about that day in the therapy room when you said you don’t ‘do’ feelings.” She air-quotes me.
“This isn’t about feelings,” I lie.
“Okay, then what would be the purpose of the date?”
“I don’t know. It might be nice to spend some time together when we’re not naked.”
Although now that I say it out loud, being naked is goddamn fun. Why do I want her with clothes on?
Gigi goes quiet for a moment before letting out a soft laugh. “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t want to date me. Not for real.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’m too girly for you.”
“You play hockey.”
“And I love butterflies. And flowers. And…um, opera.”
“Opera,” I repeat, and I can see what she’s trying to do. Lighten the mood again. Give me the opportunity to back out this preposterous door I tried to open. Preserve some of my dignity.
“Yep, opera,” she confirms, lips twitching with humor. “See? I can tell from your expression that it’s not your thing. Totally understandable, though. I forgive you.”
“You don’t actually like opera,” I say, because now I’m starting to wonder.
“I love it. In fact, it’s the only date I will ever consider going on.”
Now I know she’s lying, but before I can dig deeper into this, she gives me a gentle smile.
“Come on, Ryder, we don’t want to date each other. It’ll only complicate things.”
She says this as if the complication ship hadn’t sailed a long time ago.