The Graham Effect: Chapter 10

International Eat an Apple Day

“I’M JUST SAYING, YOU CAN’T KEEP CALLING YOURSELF A PRINCE when Malta abolished the monarchy in the seventies. Like, bro, your family sells doors and windows now. I don’t care that once upon a time you were distantly related to the fucking queen—” Mya stops talking when she notices Ryder. Then she spies the little bouquet of white and yellow flowers. “Oh, wow. Okay. I’m here for this.”

At our approach, Ryder straightens his broad shoulders and takes a step forward. He’s sporting the same outfit combo as yesterday, jeans and a black T-shirt, but no baseball cap this time. His dark hair is tousled, and he shoves his free hand through it.

“Hi,” he says brusquely.

“Hi,” I answer. My tone has a chill to it.

Silence falls. We eye each other. I’m suspicious. He’s expressionless.

“Hi!” Mya chirps.

I totally forgot she was here.

“Ryder, this is Mya,” I say hastily. “My roommate.”

He nods in greeting.

She looks him up and down, and from the slight curve to her full Cupid’s bow lips, I can tell she likes what she sees.

He’s still holding the daisies but makes no move to give them to me. For a moment I wonder if maybe they’re for somebody else.

“Can we talk?” he asks.

“Oh, for sure,” Mya answers. Then she clocks his expression and realizes, “Oh, you mean you and Gigi alone. Damn it, I really wanted to know what this was about.”

“I’ll fill you in,” I promise.

She grins and walks past us toward the dorm, where she scans her key card to get inside.

“I have one question,” I tell Ryder once we’re alone.

“What is it?”

“Did you actually bring me flowers?”

“Yes,” he mutters.

I have to bite my lip to stop from laughing. I’ve never seen anyone look more disgusted with their own behavior.

“Look, we both know you’re a dick, but that’s just your personality, kiddo. You didn’t have to degrade yourself by bringing me apology flowers.”

He gives me a slight smirk. “Who says they’re apology flowers? Maybe they’re celebration flowers.”

“Uh-huh. Really. What are we celebrating?”

He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and unlocks it. He scans the screen for a moment, and from my vantage point, it looks like he’s consulting a calendar app.

“It’s International Eat an Apple Day.” He lifts his gaze. “Seemed like something we should celebrate.”

I stare at him. “You’re making that up.”

He turns the screen toward me. Sure enough, on the list of international holidays, International Eat an Apple Day is actually a thing.

“I really like apples,” he says, carelessly smug.

“You know, I think I like this Ryder. I had no idea you were so quirky.”

“I am not quirky,” he growls.

“Then why are we celebrating your love of apples?”

He thrusts the bouquet at me. “Just take the fucking things.”

An unwitting smile springs free. I put him out of his misery and accept the daisies.

“I do love flowers,” I inform him. “Not as much as I love butterflies, but pretty close.”

Ryder sighs.

“What?” My tone is defensive.

“You like flowers and butterflies? Just when I was starting to think you were cool.”

“Well, what do you like?” I challenge.

“Not those things.”

“Funny, coming from the guy who spent his whole morning picking I’m-sorry flowers for a girl.”

“I didn’t spend the whole morning. It took like one minute. I stole them out of my neighbor’s planter.”

“Oh my God.”

“And they’re not I’m-sorry flowers,” he grumbles.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Because I’m not sorry.” He flicks up one eyebrow. “I spoke the truth.”

I glower at him. “How would you feel if I ambushed you after one of your games and then stood there and listed everything you’re bad at?”

“That’s not what I did. You asked for my thoughts.”

“You didn’t have to answer.”

“Don’t ask things you don’t want the answer to,” he counters.

“You know, I liked it better when you didn’t talk at all.”

That actually gets me a smile.

Damn it. It’s my fault. I’m the one who made him smile. And now I’m graced with that stupid smile, and it’s a killer one. I remember what Camila said about how he stands against the wall at parties and women flock to him, and now I get why he has no shortage of options.

“Look, if this were an apology, hypothetically speaking, I guess I might acknowledge that I can be too blunt sometimes.”

“No!” I say in shock.

“Not that anyone’s ever complained about that.”

“Oh no, I’m sure everyone loves it.”

He narrows his eyes. “This was a bad idea.”

“No,” I push. “I’m enjoying your hypothetical apology. So, let’s say, hypothetically, you were too blunt and made someone feel like shit by saying they were only playing hockey for Briar because of nepotism…go on.”

His expression sobers. “I didn’t mean that. The nepotism comment was out of line.”

I think he’s being sincere. He might be a jerk, but I’m not sure he’s cruel.

Then again, I hardly know him.

“It wasn’t my intention to make you feel like shit. When it comes to hockey, I’m honest. I’m always refining my own game, working on my weaknesses. Guess I forgot not everyone wants that kind of advice.” He pauses, features pained. “And I’m sorry for implying that your dad is the reason you are where you are. I watched that game. You were phenomenal.”

Despite the rush of warmth his compliment elicits, I can’t stop a flicker of doubt. “Are you just saying that so I don’t feel shitty again?”

“I don’t just say things.”

I’m starting to suspect how true that is.

“Well, thanks. I guess I appreciate that.” Grudgingly, I add, “You’re a very good player too.”

“I didn’t say you were very good. I said you were phenomenal.”

“And I said you’re very good.”

He snickers under his breath. “Anyway.” He gestures to the bouquet in my hand. “That’s my peace offering. Shane said chicks like daisies and they don’t give the wrong idea.”

“What’s the wrong idea? That you’re trying to get with me? Or that you’re sucking up to me so I’ll put in a good word for you with my dad? That’s why you showed up at the game yesterday, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he says honestly. “But you made your stance clear on that, so I’m not going to ask again. That’s not who I am.” He shrugs. “All right. I’ll get out of your hair now.”

He starts to walk away.

“I want the advice,” I blurt out.

Ryder turns to give me a wry look. “I’m not falling for that one again, Gisele.”

“No, I mean it. I was in a trash mood yesterday, and that’s the only reason I snapped at you. Usually, I’m like you. Always perfecting my game.” I meet those intense blue eyes. “If you were to give me any advice, what would it be?”

He hesitates, scraping his hand through his hair again.

“Please. What do I need to do behind the net?”

“Stop being so eager to get out of there,” he finally answers. “If you learn how to master that space and make effective use of it, the scoring opportunities are endless.”

“High-risk, high reward?”

He nods. “Gain an offensive position behind the net, and you force both the goalie and opposing defense to focus on that space. And when their focus is there, they can’t keep track of who’s out front.”

I gulp down my frustration. “I lose control of the puck back there, though. The space is too tight.”

“Like I said, learn to master it. Sometimes you get lucky and draw both their d-men to you. If they have shit communication, they both might try to cover you, and now you’ve got one or more of your teammates wide open in prime position to score.” He shrugs. “Do with that what you will.”

He takes off walking again, leaving me in front of my dorm holding the bouquet.

I gaze down at the daisies and rub my thumb over one silky white petal. They really are pretty. I don’t even care if he stole them. Then I look at Ryder’s retreating back, those defined arms, the confidence of his stride.

“Ryder,” I find myself calling out.

He turns. “Yeah?”

An idea forms in the back of my mind. Burrowing and wiggling forward until it’s at the forefront and I’m walking toward him.

He slides his hands in his pockets, waiting for me to reach him.

“I have an offer to make you,” I announce.

Amusement flickers through his eyes. “What kind of offer?”

“Well, maybe more of a quid pro quo. You help me; I help you.”

The glimmer of humor sharpens into a glint of interest.

“My dad’s hockey camp… He’s super picky about who he picks for assistant coach. And I’m not going to lie—his impression of you isn’t the greatest. I don’t know if that’s a recent thing or what. I do know he’s been watching you for years, though. He follows all the good college players.”

His expression clouds over. “So you’re saying he’s for sure not giving me the coaching slot.”

“I’m not saying that. But he did mention he thinks you have a bad attitude. So, yeah, I could probably put in a good word for you. About your leadership or whatever. He and I speak on the phone all the time, and I’m going home next weekend for a visit. If you want, I’ll talk you up every time. Well, maybe not every time or he’ll get suspicious. But I’ll tell him we’re friends and make sure he knows you’d be a solid choice.” I offer a shrug. “My opinion means a lot to him.”

Ryder eyes me expectantly. “What do you want in return?”

“Help me iron out some of those issues behind the net. Maybe we can have a few sessions together. One-on-one.” I grin at him. “Hey, I could probably teach you a thing or two as well.”

“I don’t doubt it. You got moves.”

“See? This would be beneficial for both of us then. You work with me, I work for you. Win-win.” I meet his gaze. “You interested?”

He contemplates it for so long, I wonder if he’s going to turn me down. Which would be stupid and make utterly no sense because—

“I’m down,” he says gruffly. “Text me the time and place for our first session, and I’ll be there.”

He strides off for real this time, leaving me staring after him. And wondering what I’ve signed myself up for.

BRIAR UNIVERSITY MEN’S ICE HOCKEY

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