Page 120 of Almost Ravaged

Because I can.

Because I want to.

Because I’ve only just gotten a taste, and I’m already prepared to stake my claim.

Only when she’s completely disappeared from view do I turn to Noah. “You like her,” I say, the accusation burning between us like heat lightning before a summer storm.

With a scoff, he takes a step back, once again fiddling with his damn ball cap. “No. I can’t. She’s too young for me. And then there’s Meg—”

I shoot him a glare. “Meg’s been dead for a year and a half.”

He gawks, and I suppose I can’t blame him. I’ve never talked about her death so flippantly before. I loved Meg like a sister. Their relationship was effortless, and it was a privilege to watch it develop and grow over the years.

But he’s been stewing in grief and guilt for too long. I was starting to fear he didn’t remember how to feel anything other than the pain caused by the gaping hole that’s been carved out of his chest.

In an effort to keep myself from saying something I regret, I relax my hands at my sides and roll out my neck. “I know you, Noah. I know what I just saw.”

He scoffs and doubles down. “That? Saying hi and trying to make small talk with the girl you assigned to work here all semester?”

A girl.First, we both know she’s a fucking woman. But if he wants to be an obstinate prick about this…

I let out a humorless laugh. He can’t think he’s fooling me. Maybe he’s trying to fool himself. “You reached out to hug her.”

His body goes rigid and his nostrils flare. “I did not.” Like a petulant child, he shoulders past me and jogs down the stairs.

Without hesitation, I follow.

He’s got a few inches on me, so it’s a challenge to keep up with him, but I give it my best effort. Each long stride brings me closer to unlocking the truth. He ducks into the open barn before I’m even halfway down the path Sawyer and I just traversed, going the other way.

“Noah.” Like hell am I letting him off the hook. There’s too much at stake for him to pretend that exchange meant nothing.

By the time I round the corner and enter the barn, he’s set about his task with his back turned. His broad shoulders flex and contract as he heaves an armful of small pumpkins from one carton and carries them over to another.

Once he’s dropped them and straightened, I say, “She asked about the bees.”

He plants his hands on his hips and hangs his head, his chest rising and falling quickly.

Heavy silence hangs between us.

I know what I saw. I know I’m right. But does he realize just how far he’s already fallen?

In high school, Noah could have had just about any girl he wanted. He was charming and athletic, with a good boy vibe that’s stuck with him to this day. He’s the kind of guy a person would want to take home and introduce to their parents. He’s kind and well-liked, decent and truthful to the core.

Meanwhile, I was the scrawny kid wearing pants and long sleeves in the summer, uncertain about who he was, who he liked, or what he was feeling at any given time.

From a young age, Noah seemed to have his shit figured out, his self-assuredness inimitable. I know he’s just trying to fool himself now. There’s no way my call-out is catching him unaware.

He likes her. He fucking likes her.

How didn’t I see it coming? The worst part is that this scenario is of my own making. I picked the orchard for the class. I made it abundantly clear Sawyer needed to put concentrated effort into this project.

He fucking likes her.

He’s my best friend. He deserves to be happy. He’s lost so much…

But I won’t give her up that easily. Especially if he’s going to play games or not be forthright with her.

Changing tack, I square my shoulders and level him with a scowl. “I fucked her tits on Monday.”