Page 38 of Almost Ravaged

Okay. I guess? At least someone here has a plan.

“Keep up and don’t let go.” He slips his hand in mine and guides me forward.

I follow him across the hall, and when he pauses in front of the doors, I hold my breath. Just as the one on the left creaks open, he gives it a solid tug, bypasses the person in front of him, and strides into the room.

I cling to him as instructed, sidestepping the sea of people coming toward us, and when we make it inside the lecture hall without being trampled, I breathe a sigh of relief.

Tytus squeezes my hand once. “Let’s get you settled.”

Circumventing the growing crowd, we make our way closer to the front.

Ty comes to a halt beside a now empty row, his hand still locked around mine. “Let me guess.” He smirks. “We’re sitting in the T?”

A mix of emotions pummels me. Delight, but also unexpected grief.

My dad always drilled into us the importance of “sitting in the T,” the T being any seat in the front row, or the seats near the center of subsequent rows.

“You know he’d be proud,” I quip. The attempt at humor is thwarted when my throat clogs and I choke on the last word.

Looking away, I take a deep breath. Then I drop Ty’s hand.

“Here is good,” I murmur, selecting seats in the first row, near the projector and podium.

He sets my bag on the desk in front of one seat, then slides into the chair beside it. I take my time unpacking my laptop and a fresh notebook, focusing on my breath to temper the pain I wasn’t prepared for as well as the anxiety that’s plagued me all morning. Then I hover, unsure of what, if anything, I should be doing.

“That must be him,” Ty murmurs, his focus drifting to the back of the room.

I follow his gaze and immediately note the man pressing through the sea of people. He’s easy to find as the crowd parts for him. Students scatter to get outof his way, either because they know who he is or because of the self-important vibe he’s giving off.

Professor Mercer Eden is as tall as Atty, so at least six feet, although much leaner through the arms and chest. His thick, wavy black hair borders on the edge of unkempt. The overgrown scruff on his face only adds to his broody vibe. He’s wearing pressed, tailored pants, and his white Oxford is rolled up to his elbows and unbuttoned at the top. His tan complexion is even more pronounced thanks to the visible dark chest and arm hair.

He stops near the podium and scans the room impatiently, the intensity in his dark eyes enough to make my heart stumble.

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, worrying my bottom lip. Should I go up and introduce myself to him now? Or should I wait until—

Professor Eden clears his throat, and the room falls silent.

“Right,” he grits out, planting his hands on his hips. “Will the graduate assistant for this class please step forward and present herself?”

My stomach drops.

Oh shit.

That’s me.

Beside me, Ty mutters under his breath, but I’m too busy smoothing out my cardigan to pay him any attention.

Dutifully, I approach the podium. I place one foot in front of the other, praying I won’t trip, and do my best to ignore the dozens of students watching me.

Professor Eden scowls, tracking my movements in an almost predatory way.

His watchfulness sets my nerves on edge. That, or I’m just really anxious about making a good impression.

“Ms. Davvies, I presume?”

I hold out my hand to make introductions. “Yes. You can call me Sawyer. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Professor Eden. I look forward to working together.”

He zeroes in on my outstretched hand for an instant, but rather than accept it, he slips his own into his pocket and pulls out a glasses case. He slips the frames on. Then, still ignoring the greeting, he stuffs both hands into his pockets and cocks a brow.