Page 66 of Almost Ravaged

Noah’s expression turns forlorn. As if I hit a nerve, then pressed down hard on the spot.

His face is still screwed up in anguish when the front door bursts open.

“There you are.” Professor Eden storms into the room, huffy as usual, but halts the second he sees me. He gives me a once-over, his signature scowl coming out to play. With an annoyed grunt, he zeroes in on Noah. “Why is she wearing your shirt?”

I tilt my head and study him while he’s busy focusing on his friend, curious about how quickly he recognized this shirt as Noah’s.

“We had a bit of a run-in with Shiloh.” Noah widens his stance and crosses his arms. “It looks like I owe your graduate assistant a new sweater.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can get the stains out,” I offer.

“Maybe. Maybe not. At the very least, I’ll pay to have it dry-cleaned,” Noah asserts.

I open my mouth, gearing up to brush it off, but he holds up his hands, stopping me.

Chin lifted, he holds my gaze for maybe the first time today. “I insist.”

He’s sweet. A little awkward, or maybe a bit rusty with people, but overall, sweet.

What the hell does he see in Professor Eden, I wonder? They’re an unlikely pair, but they must be close if they go out drinking together.

“Right,” the cocky asshole who just stormed in sneers. “Now that the trouble you caused has been sorted—”

With a scoff, Noah smacks Mercer on the back of the head, shutting him up quickly. “She didn’t cause any fucking trouble,” he growls. “I told you—Shiloh got overly excited and jumped on her. You can’t go around victim-blaming, Merce.”

I lift my hand to my mouth to hide the giddy reaction no doubt plastered on my face.

Mercer rubs the back of his head, his eyes wide with either shock or anger. I don’t know him well enough to distinguish between the two emotions.

It takes effort not to laugh. Not only was he just called out, but Noah literally smacked him upside the head.

“Come on,” Noah says, striding past him. He opens the door and gestures for us to follow. “Let’s get back to the tour. You two don’t want to be here all day, do you?”

I don’t dare look at my professor as I follow the apple orchard owner out the door.

Chapter twenty-four

Sawyer

When Cam offered me this job, I couldn’t have imagined I’d be thrilled to work behind the skate rental counter, yet here I am. I appreciate the easy, monotonous work after spending the weekend poring over my assigned reading lists and coming up with thoughtful questions for the online discussion board for Mercer’s class.

When I sent him a list of ideas for this week, he replied with a single word: Approved. The message came through so quickly I’m not sure he even read the email.

This morning, we met at Evercrisp Orchard rather than in his office for what was supposed to be a quick tour of the premises. More than two hours later, I booked it back to campus, where I discovered all the parking spots near my residence hall were full. I barely made it back to the Wheeler Center before class.

When Tytus didn’t show up, I texted him, but Mercer kept me too busy to do any further investigating. Even after class, I was forced to stay behind and alphabetize the assignments I’d collected before he’d release me.

The number of hours I’ve spent on my assistantship already far exceed the time I’ve spent on my own schoolwork, and it definitely exceeds the average of twenty hours a week outlined in the graduate assistant handbook.

But I refuse to let Mercer wear me down. Just like I refuse to call him Professor Eden in my mind anymore. He doesn’t deserve that level of respect.

“Now she says these are too tight.” A white woman in her mid-thirties wearing minimal makeup sets the skates I just gave her on the counter with a huff. “Can we try the size twelves again?”

I hand back the little skates I’ve yet to sanitize and restock and smile. The kiddo who needs them has the grumpiest scowl on her face. The two smaller children cling to their mother, pulling on her coat sleeves and whining.

“Are you here for Learn to Skate?” I ask the kid as sympathy for both her and her mother washes over me. She clearly isn’t used to the way bulky hockey skates fit.

The scowl is back as she scrutinizes me. “I’m here to learn how to be afigure skater.”