Page 15 of Almost Ravaged (Men of Evercrisp Orchard #1)

Chapter fourteen

Tytus

I pull my shoulders back roughly and jerk my neck to the side, relishing the satisfying crack.

Coach Connors has been grinding us to the point of exhaustion since our first day of practice. He’s a six-time Frozen Four contender with three championships to his name, so it’s an honor to be playing for him.

Even so, the man’s a masochist.

He canceled this morning’s early skate in honor of the first day of classes, but he extended our afternoon skate time to make up for it.

As I take the stairs two at a time to the second floor of Downy Hall, I’m once again reminded that Sawyer and I live in completely different buildings.

It makes sense that while Atty and I share a room in the athletic dorms, she’s in a residence hall for graduate students, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Her place is only six and a half minutes from ours, and that’s while walking at an average pace. I could be here in five if needed.

Atty looked at me like I was crazy when I told him I timed it. He’s never been all that diligent about his sister’s safety, though. Not the way I have .

Relief I didn’t even know I needed washed over me last week when Sawyer mentioned that she’d be working at the ice arena. I just feel better when she’s close by.

Once I hit the top step, I stride to room 1D and rap my knuckles on the door three times.

Immediately, a rustling sound comes from inside. “One sec.”

I rest my forearm on the jamb and settle in to wait. A full minute later, the door swings open with so much force that it rebounds off the wall.

“Good grief.” Sawyer cranes back to check the wall, laughing to herself, then straightens and smiles. “Hi.”

Fuck. Me.

Instantly, my heart goes haywire.

She’s a fucking sight to behold.

One would think I’d be used to the visceral way my body reacts to her, but it still takes me by surprise sometimes.

The connection between us is a fucking lifeline, and I’ve craved it nonstop for the last three years.

Now that we’re together again, I refuse to take one second of her proximity for granted.

She’s all dressed up, glowing and gorgeous, looking at me like there’s no one else in the entire fucking world.

“Ty. You okay?” she asks, concern etched on her face.

Shit . I glitched.

“Hi,” I croak out. “Ready—” I clear my throat. “Ready to go?”

“Almost. Don’t laugh…” Sawyer bites down on her bottom lip, her big brown eyes searching my face. “But I need your help.”

“Anything,” I reply, well and truly meaning it.

“Come in.” She holds out an arm and backs up, welcoming me into her space. “I texted Keira, but she hasn’t seen the message yet.”

Good. I hate Keira. She was a horrible influence when we were teenagers. Her boyfriend was a punk and low-level drug dealer, and any time anything went poorly for Sawyer, Keira was involved.

“Cameron and Kai have opposing opinions.” She flits over to her desk where her bag sits on her chair, packed and ready, and turns back to me, toying with the buttons on her sweater. “So, I guess you’re my tiebreaker.”

Brows raised, I slip my hands into my pockets and wait for her to explain.

“Cardigan,” she says, smoothing her hands down the thin cream fabric .

Right before my eyes, she peels the garment off her body, revealing expanses of smooth, pale skin covered in freckles, and I swear my heart stops.

“Or,” she continues, as if she has no idea how she affects me, “no cardigan?”

She props one hand on her hip, striking a pose.

Fuckin’ A.

Like this, her tits are pushed together, putting her ample cleavage on display.

The dark green base layer is barely big enough to be considered a real shirt.

It’s like a tank top and a crop top had a baby.

Though the color goes well with the high-waisted dark brown skirt she’s paired it with.

A skirt, I’m realizing, that’s perfectly molded to her body.

The stitches along the slit in the middle strain as she continues to stand like that, with one hip cocked. I can’t even fathom the danger they’ll be in once she sits down.

She’s a smoke show. On a scale of one to ten, she’s a fucking twenty. My hands physically ache with the desire to caress her hips and thighs, to wank open the stitches of the fucking slit that are already hanging on for dear life.

“Sawyer…” I’m at a loss for fucking words. There’s not a single appropriate thought in my head.

“I’m sorry,” she moans. “I wouldn’t ask you for fashion advice, but I’m so nervous and can’t decide. It’s my first official day as a graduate assistant. Please, Ty.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck.

I scrub my hand down my face, forcing my eyes closed. I can’t look away otherwise.

That’s how transfixed I am by the woman in front of me.

I’m torn. I want to tell her to wear the sweater and add a hoodie for good measure just as badly as I want to demand she take it all off right here, right now, and let me see what’s always been mine.

Neither of those answers is suitable for this situation.

Unfortunately, I’ve never been known for being rational.

“The sweater is very ‘future librarian,’” I finally say, “which I know is your usual vibe.”

She rolls her eyes, though her lips twitch like she’s fighting back a smile.

“And it might be cold in the lecture hall,” I reason.

She nods, pressing her lips together, and picks up the garment. “That’s what I thought, too, but it’s only nine, and I already had to turn the AC on. ”

Fair point. It’s the first week of September, but the weather isn’t anything like what I expected to find in Northeast Ohio in the fall.

“Just bring the sweater with you.”

Her eyes flit up to meet mine and my heart skips a beat. “And force myself to make a decision on the spot, in the lecture hall, on the day I meet my supervisor for the first time? While simultaneously trying to make a good first impression?”

I bring a fist to my mouth, stifling a laugh.

She notices, and her worried expression turns to one of panic.

Desperate to console her—and still thrown off by her proximity—I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear and caress her cheek with the backs of my knuckles.

Softly, I tell her, “You always look good, Sawyer. Everything you do impresses me. You don’t have anything to worry about today.”

She blinks, her eyes suddenly glassy.

A charged energy thrums between us.

I want to lean into it.

I ache for her to lean into me.

But we don’t have time for that now. So I take a step back and shove my hands into my pockets.

“Carry the cardigan to class, then put it on once we get to the building. If you change your mind, there’s no reason you can’t take it off again,” I say, keeping my tone casual in hopes of diluting the moment.

She blinks, then offers me a timid smile. “You’re pretty smart, ya know that?”

Ducking, I shake my head. “We better get going.”

Class doesn’t start until ten, but she wants to arrive early so she can introduce herself to the professor.

Apparently, the guy’s been on sabbatical and has been unreachable all summer.

Makes sense now, why Sawyer didn’t have to interview for this position.

Truth be told, I’ve been skeptical about this arrangement from the beginning and chose to major in marketing so I could keep an eye on her and make sure this professor and assistantship are legitimate.

She doesn’t know that, of course.

Although there’s a good chance Atty is on to me.

Sawyer turns and rifles through her bag, and I try my damnedest not to check out her ass in that skirt.

It’s physics-defying, really. How is it possible the fabric looks like it’s been painted onto her body ?

“Okay. I’ve got my laptop, charger, battery pack, notebooks, sticky notes, good pens, back-up pens, and my phone. Oh.” She picks up the sweater with a flourish, then turns back to face me. “Can’t forget this.”

She lifts her crossbody bag, but before she can sling it over her shoulder, I take it from her hand.

“I’ve got it,” I insist, looping the strap over my shoulder along with that of my own school bag.

“You don’t—”

I stride toward the door and pull it open. “I said I’ve got it. Let’s go.”

She gives up quickly, thank fuck, and steps out into the hall. I breathe a little easier once I follow her out of her personal space. She’s only lived here a week, and yet her room already smells distinctly like her: warm vanilla, sweet apples, and spicy notes of cinnamon.

Sawyer drapes her sweater over one arm, then pulls the door shut behind her and confirms that it’s locked before turning on her heel to face me.

“Do you need sunscreen?” I ask. It’s early, but it’s a ten-minute walk to the business building, and with that much skin exposed…

The way her eyes go wide confirms that my concern is over the top.

I shrug, playing it off like I don’t actually care. “I’ve spent every summer for the last decade rubbing gross green goo all over Atty after hockey camp because, without fail, he steps into the sun and instantly burns.”

It’s true, but the driving force here is my concern for her. I can’t stand the idea of her discomfort. Or the thought of her perfect pale skin marred by the sun. Of her in any semblance of pain.

Sawyer snickers. “He loves to pretend we aren’t the palest humans on the planet.”

As she brushes past me, I can’t help but inhale a little deeper, eager for a fix of her warm, honeyed scent.

“Unlike my brother,” she says, “I apply SPF every morning. Let’s go.”

I let her start down the hall without me, and when she’s several feet away, I check her doorknob.

Once I’ve confirmed that it’s locked, I follow. I give myself a moment to savor the view of her ass in that skirt before I lengthen my stride to catch up and fall into step at her side.