Campus Diaries Series by Elle Kennedy – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Campus Diaries Series by Elle Kennedy – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Mon, 10 Mar 2025 19:25:13 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Campus Diaries Series by Elle Kennedy – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 The Charlie Method (Campus Diaries #3) Read Online Elle Kennedy http://www.books2020.com/the-charlie-method-campus-diaries-3-read-online-elle-kennedy Mon, 10 Mar 2025 19:25:13 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/the-charlie-method-campus-diaries-3-read-online-elle-kennedy Genre: Alpha Male, College, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Elle Kennedy Series: Campus Diaries Series by Elle Kennedy
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Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)

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The third in the steamy, hilarious Campus Diaries series by New York Times bestselling author Elle Kennedy, set in the same world as Off Campus and Briar U.

College senior Charlotte Kingston is living two lives―and she's nailing both of them. By day, she's the perfect sorority girl, a STEM student in biomedical engineering, and the adopted daughter of an overachiever family. At night, she's Charlie: a risk-taking daredevil looking for fun who finds herself chatting on a dating app with two anonymous hotties.

Will Larsen may seem like the breezy boy next door, but his congressman father is a constant thorn in his side. After a scandal hits another Division 1 hockey program, Will's dad is determined to distance his son from it, hiring a journalist to prove how squeaky-clean Will and his team are. Which means the last thing Will wants is for anyone to find out he and his best friend Beckett Dunne―a laidback Aussie shielding secret heartache―sometimes share girls in the bedroom.

When Charlie finally meets them in person and realizes she's been chatting with two gorgeous Briar U hockey players, things get steamy―fast. But all their messy secrets are piling up, and real life soon threatens to shatter the fantasy. With Charlie, Will, and Beckett all coming to terms with what they want and what others want for them, difficult decisions will need to be made.

Especially when lust starts to look a lot like love

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER ONE

CHARLOTTE

Some might say I lead a double life

NEVER HOOK UP IN CARS WITH FOOTBALL PLAYERS.

That’s what my mother always told me.

Fine, I’m lying. Mom never said that. But I can say with absolute certainty that my mother would not approve of what I’m doing right now.

Or rather who I’m about to do.

Isaac Grant is six foot six, muscular, and barely fits in the front seat of his own car. It’s a sports car, of course. A silver Porsche 911 coupe that made me lick my lips when I pulled into the lot behind the Hastings seniors’ center and saw it parked there. This car is so sexy it makes me shiver.

Or maybe it’s Isaac who’s making me shiver, on account of his tongue exploring my mouth, teasing mine with slow, skillful strokes. He’s a good kisser. Meanwhile, his fingers are moving inside me. He’s good at that too. He curls those two fingers to find my sweet spot, and the resulting torrent of pleasure has me clenching around his hand.

“Mmm, baby,” he groans against my lips. “I can’t wait to feel you squeezing my cock.”

A bolt of desire shoots through me. Dirty talk is such a turn-on. My inner muscles do indeed squeeze at his wicked words, as if trying to capture his fingers inside me. Isaac releases another strangled sound of need. I’m shameless as I grind against him, but he doesn’t seem to mind my total lack of control.

He starts kissing my neck. Goose bumps rise along my flesh, transforming into a flurry of shivers when I feel him against my thigh. A long, hard ridge that seems to never end, confirming my best friend Faith’s theory that the size of a man’s hands correlates to the size of the D.

Speaking of Faith, I’m about ten seconds from a raging orgasm when her ringtone slices through the fog of heavy breathing in the front seat.

“Shit,” I mumble, the movements of my hips stilling.

“Don’t answer it,” Isaac mumbles back.

“I have to.”

With great regret, I lean toward the passenger side, where I left my phone.

Faith Grierson is the only person aware of my current location. The only person privy to the clandestine hookups I occasionally like to engage in. Sure, I could’ve met Isaac tonight without alerting a single soul and saved myself the good-natured jabs I’ll receive later, but on the off chance that the star wide receiver of the football team also masquerades as a murderer, it’s better to let Faith know where I’m going to be. She won’t judge me.

“Nooo,” Isaac complains when my fingers close around my phone.

“I’m sorry. Could be an emergency.” I lift the phone to my ear. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Sorry to interrupt, but apparently we’ve got a Presidents’ Gala meeting tonight.”

“No, we don’t. It’s tomorrow.”

“Well, you see, Charlotte,” Faith answers in her trademark dry inflection, “I know it’s tomorrow, and you know it’s tomorrow, but you know who doesn’t know it’s tomorrow and has decided to gaslight the entire house into believing we’re in the wrong?”

“Fuckin’ Agatha,” I grumble.

“Fuckin’ Agatha,” she confirms. Her laughter tickles my ear. “I told her you’re on your way, so you’d better book it over here if you don’t want a two-hour scolding session tomorrow.”

“Ugh. I’ll be there soon. Thanks for the heads-up.”

I end the call and curse under my breath. Agatha Buckley-Ellis does this shit on a regular basis. The president of Delta Pi, Briar University chapter, is incapable of admitting when she’s wrong or if she’s made a mistake. Instead, she’ll dig herself into a hole so deep, it’s a wonder she doesn’t wind up in another state.

The meeting was 100 percent, unequivocally, tomorrow. My calendar is not the Wild West—not a single item makes it on there without proper confirmation. It’s probably not something I should brag about, but I’m a straight up anal-retentive psycho when it comes to my calendar.

Besides, we never hold meetings on Friday nights. Everyone knows Agatha’s right-hand woman, Sherise, has a standing Friday night appointment at the salon in Hastings to touch up her grays. Sherise claims she started going gray at the temples in the tenth grade—supposedly early female graying runs in her family—but Faith and I like to think it’s on account of Agatha. Our sorority president is capable of inflicting a staggering amount of stress.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell Isaac. “I totally forgot about an important meeting.”

“What are you, some high-powered businesswoman?”

“No, but I’m on the Delta Pi exec board, so I need to be there.”

He stares at me. A glance south reveals that his erection is deflating, though even in its semisolid state of matter, it remains impressive.

“Are you okay?” I ask as I climb off his lap. The passenger seat doesn’t provide much room either, but I manage to wiggle back into my lacy white underwear and smooth my pleated skirt over my thighs.

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Advertisement The Graham Effect (Campus Diaries #1) Read Online Elle Kennedy http://www.books2020.com/the-graham-effect-campus-diaries-1-read-online-elle-kennedy Thu, 02 Nov 2023 21:56:15 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-graham-effect-campus-diaries-1-read-online-elle-kennedy Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, New Adult, Sports Authors: Elle Kennedy Series: Campus Diaries Series by Elle Kennedy
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Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 155203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 776(@200wpm)___ 621(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)

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Gigi Graham has exactly three goals: qualify for the women’s national hockey team, win Olympic gold, and step out of her famous father’s shadow. So far, so good, except for two little things. Fine–a little thing and a big, grumpy thing. She needs to improve her game behind the net, and she needs help from Luke Ryder.

Ryder is six-foot five, built, opinionated, rude…and sexy as hell. But he’s still the enemy.

Briar’s new hockey co-captain has his reasons, though. The men’s team just merged with a rival program, leaving Ryder with an angry roster where everyone hates one another’s guts. To make matters worse, the summer coaching spot he’s angling for with the legendary Garrett Graham is out of reach after he makes the worst possible first impression on his hero. So, really, this compromise with Gigi is win-win. He helps her make the national team, she puts in a good word
with her dad.

The only potential snag? This bone-deep, body-numbing, mind-spinning chemistry they’re trying to ignore. It’s a dangerous game they’re playing, but the risks just might be worth it.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

PROLOGUE

GIGI

Is he famous or something?

SIX YEARS AGO

WHEN I WAS LITTLE, ONE OF MY DAD’S FRIENDS ASKED ME WHAT I wanted to be when I grew up.

I proudly replied, “Stanley Cup.”

My four-year-old self thought the Cup was a person. In fact, what I gleaned from all those adult conversations going on around me is that my dad personally knew Stanley Cup (met him several times, actually), an honor bestowed to only the most elite group. Which meant Stanley, whoever this great man was, had to be some kind of legend. A phenom. A person one must aspire to be.

Forget turning out like my dad, a measly professional athlete. Or my mother, a mere award-winning songwriter.

I was going to be Stanley Cup and rule the fucking world.

I can’t remember who burst my bubble. Probably my twin brother, Wyatt. He’s an unrepentant bubble burster.

The damage was done, though. While Wyatt got a normal nickname from our dad when we were kids—the tried and true “champ”—I was dubbed Stanley. Or Stan, when they’re feeling lazy. Even Mom, who pretends to be annoyed with all the obnoxious nicknames spawned in the hockey sphere, slips up sometimes. She asked Stanley to pass her the potatoes last week at dinner. Because she’s a traitor.

This morning, another traitor is added to the list.

“Stan!” a voice calls from the other end of the corridor. “I’m popping out to pick up coffee for your dad and the other coaches. Want anything?”

I turn to glare at my father’s assistant. “You promised you’d never call me that.”

Tommy gives me the courtesy of appearing contrite. Then he throws that courtesy out the window. “Okay. Don’t shoot the messenger, but it might be time to accept you’re fighting a losing battle. You want my advice?”

“I do not.”

“I say you embrace the nickname, my beautiful darling.”

“Never,” I grumble. “But I will embrace ‘my beautiful darling.’ Keep calling me that. It makes me feel dainty but powerful.”

“You got it, Stan.” Laughing at my outraged face, he prompts, “Coffee?”

“No, I’m good. But thanks.”

Tommy bounds off, a bundle of unceasing energy. During the three years he’s been my dad’s personal assistant, I’ve never seen the man take so much as a five-minute break. His dreams probably all take place on a treadmill.

I continue down the hall toward the ladies’ change rooms, where I quickly kick off my sneakers and throw on my skates. It’s 7:30 a.m., which gives me plenty of time to get in a morning warm-up. Once camp gets underway, chaos will ensue. Until then, I have the rink all to myself. Just me and a fresh sheet of beautiful, clean ice, unmarred by all the blades that are about to scratch it up.

The Zamboni is wrapping up its final lap when I walk out. I inhale my favorite smells in the world: The cool bite of the air and the sharp odor of rubber-coated floors. The metallic scent of my freshly sharpened skates. It’s hard to describe how good it feels breathing it all in.

I hit the ice and do a couple of slow, lazy laps. I’m not even participating in this juniors camp, but my body never lets me veer from my routine. For as long as I can remember I’ve woken up early for my own private practice. Sometimes I assign myself simple drills. Sometimes I just glide aimlessly. During the hockey season, when I have to attend actual practices, I take care not to overexert myself with these little solo skates. But this week I’m not here to play, only to help my dad. So there’s nothing stopping me from doing a full sprint down the wall.

I skate hard and fast, then fly behind the net, make that tight turn, and accelerate hard toward the blue line. By the time I slow down, my heart is pounding so noisily that for a moment it drowns out the voice from the home bench.

“…to be here!”

I turn to see a guy about my age standing there.

The first thing I notice about him is the scowl.

The second thing I notice is that he’s still astoundingly good-looking despite the scowl.

He has one of those attractive faces that can sport a scowl without a single aesthetic consequence. Like, it only makes him hotter. Gives him that rugged, bad-boy edge.

“Hey, did you hear me?” His voice is deeper than I expect. He sounds like he should be singing country ballads on a Tennessee porch.

He hops out the short door, his skates hitting the ice. He’s tall, I realize. He towers over me. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes that shade of blue. They’re impossibly dark. Steely sapphire.

“Sorry, what?” I ask, trying not to stare. How is it possible for someone to be this attractive?

His black hockey pants and gray jersey suit his tall frame. He’s kind of lanky, but even at fifteen or sixteen, he’s already built like a hockey player.

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