Page 1 of Almost Ravaged (Men of Evercrisp Orchard #1)

Chapter one

Sawyer

T his harness is doing nothing for me.

Except inducing enough underboob sweat to soak through my bra, I guess. At least my tank top is dark red and won’t glow under the black lights once we enter the arena.

The prevailing scent of stale sweat reminds me of how Atty’s hockey bag smelled before he knew about things like deodorant and body spray. It’s so putrid and thick I can taste it. Nasty.

Wrinkling my nose, I adjust the chest straps again. But I give up with a huff when they don’t budge past the curve of my hips.

It’s hopeless.

Laser tag vests were not made with women’s bodies in mind.

I wouldn’t even bother with this silly game if it weren’t for the guaranteed stop at Wild Willy’s on the way home.

That’s not true, actually. I’m here because it’s tradition.

Perhaps the last one we’ll share, Atticus, Tytus, and me.

The boys are moving north to join a new junior A team based in Verchamp this fall, while I’ll be starting my first year of university .

Which is what I’ve always wanted , I remind myself. To live on campus. To be on my own, surrounded by people who want to learn and are just as eager to soak up the university experience. Change isn’t bad, even if it doesn’t feel good right now.

I banish the somber thoughts from my mind. I can’t think about being away from the boys on a more permanent basis without getting emotional.

We have the whole summer ahead of us, and for now, all I want to focus on is today.

Ty’s birthday is tomorrow. Atticus and I will turn eighteen in twelve days. May has always been “birthday month” for the three of us. When we were younger, that meant joint parties. But over the last few years, we’ve started a tradition of our own.

We each get a day, usually on a weekend and scheduled around the boys’ practices and games. The person we’re celebrating calls the shots. No complaining from the others. No pushback. Wherever the birthday person wants to go. Whatever they want to do. It’s their day, plain and simple.

Today is Tytus’s day, and he requested laser tag and ice cream. Just like he has for the last three years.

It’s not lost on me that laser tag is actually Atty’s favorite pastime outside of hockey.

Or that Tytus doesn’t really like ice cream.

Leave it to him to figure out a way to make his day about the two of us instead of focusing on himself. He’s selfless to a fault and has been for as long as I can remember.

Ty has lived with us for nine years now. Officially half our lives.

He’s Atty’s best friend. His partner on the defensive line.

He’s my… well.

I guess that’s more complicated.

He’s my best friend, too. And sometimes, when we stand shoulder-to-shoulder against the wall in the hallway, waiting for Atty to come out of the bathroom, or when it’s my night to cook and he hangs out in the kitchen, it feels like we’re not just friends, but more.

More .

It’s a fantasy I’ve never allowed myself to fully embrace.

As much as I wish for more, it’s not an option. At least not now, while we live under one roof with my parents and my brother .

My mom and dad fought like hell to become foster parents for Ty. He may not share our last name, but they view him as a son all the same.

Next year, it won’t be like this.

Next year, it will be hard, if not impossible, to carry on our birthday month tradition.

Next year, for better or for worse, everything will be different.

So even though my boobs are squashed and the harness is pinching my sides, I’m going to enjoy this day at Quest-O-Rama, surrounded by prepubescent boys with aliases like KillaMachine69 and RizMan3000.

As I scan the list of opponents, I snort more than once. Then I add my own alias to the leaderboard.

RougeRogue.

When I’m done, I make quick work of pulling my copper hair into a messy bun and securing it with the thick elastic I always keep around my wrist.

“Ready, Rogue?”

I turn at the sound of my twin’s voice.

One of Atty’s dimples comes out to play as he breaks into a boyish grin. I love that he’s so into this. I just wish Tytus had actually picked something for himself this year.

With the tip of my chin, I grin right back. “Ready, Ace.”

He always picks the same alias. And the story behind it is beyond lame. A few years ago, while we were waiting for our game of laser tag to begin, he was flirting with an attendant, and he asked her what he should pick for a name. She blandly offered Ace, and here we are.

Whatever. At least I can count on Ty to keep it fresh.

Red lights flash overhead, signaling that the two-minute countdown has begun. The young boys around us razz each other and pretend to work on their aim.

With a shake of my head, I plant my hands on my hips and scan the roster on the overhead screens.

A massive shadow appears on my left, a bare arm brushing mine, making the little hairs there stand at attention.

I don’t even have to look to confirm who’s beside me. My body is so attuned to him, so intimately aware any time he’s in my proximity.

“What’d you pick?” I practically yell to be heard over the chaos.

Ninety seconds .

Tytus bends low, and the scent of his body spray wafts over me. It’s woodsy and masculine, though there are hints of warm vanilla and bitter lime.

I close my eyes and inhale deeply as he lingers in my space, savoring the breath like it could be my last. Hand clenched into a fist, I dig my nails into the center of my palm to stave off the urge to pull him closer.

He’s close enough.

Close enough that when I look at him, I can see the whites of his eyes glowing in the eerie purple cast of the black light.

Close enough that his exhale ghosts over my skin and stirs the hairs at my temples, the warmth of his breath in sharp contrast to the minty cool scent of his gum.

He hovers close, smirking.

I hold my breath, not daring to release the air from my lungs until I get his answer.

Sixty seconds.

“You’ll know it when you see it.” The deep timbre of his voice coats my insides like honey.

When I’ve found the willpower to look away from his face, I survey the screen overhead and finally release a breath. His eyes bore into me as I scan the list, making it nearly impossible to stay focused and process the names there.

YoureMom

UrrrrrMom

NotUrMom

YourDad

Luca6699

SharpShootSean

I gasp when I see it.

LeChasseur7

Seven is Ty’s jersey number.

And “le chasseur” means “the hunter.”

A full-body shudder works its way through me.

Thirty seconds.

“You see it, don’t you?”

I turn and peer up into the eyes of the boy who consumes more of my thoughts than I’d ever dare to admit.

The corners of his lips tip up almost imperceptibly .

“Hope you’re ready to run, Rogue. Because I’m more than ready to catch you.”

My breath hitches and my heart flutters.

He can’t mean—

We’re on the same team. We’re here to annihilate twelve-year-olds, three against ten.

He can’t expect me to—

The alarm sounds.

The lights flick out.

The double doors open, signaling pandemonium.

Preteen boys scream in surround sound. Atty calls out that he’s heading to the upper level. We’re surrounded by commotion, yet I’m frozen in place, completely transfixed, in the eye of the storm with the man I’ve never allowed myself to really look at like this before.

Dark, turbulent eyes bore into mine.

His chiseled features are set, the calmness radiating off him in juxtaposition to the predatory nature of his stare.

Without looking away, he darts his tongue out, wetting his lips.

He angles in even closer, only stopping when his lips are a hairsbreadth from the shell of my ear.

I hold my breath.

I clench my fists. And my thighs.

I wait. Wishing. Wondering what if?

Tytus brushes his lips against my ear, and after a barely there inhale, he whispers, “Run.”