Page 21 of Almost Ravaged (Men of Evercrisp Orchard #1)

Chapter nineteen

Tytus

W hat is with the multi-level bars and the narrow-ass stairwells in this town?

A group of girls slinks past me to get to the door, and when a random heel digs into the top of my foot, I let out a grunt.

Fuckin’ A.

At least I’m wearing boots. And I’ve had a few drinks. That helps dull the pain.

The first bar we hit was all on one level, but it was gross. The floor was covered in discarded peanut shells and the curved wooden booths weren’t exactly built with hockey players in mind.

The second bar had at least three levels.

Maybe four. I’ll never know for sure, because I’m never going back there.

The first two floors were run-of-the-mill, with booths and tables and a long bar on one end.

The third floor, on the other hand, could only be described as unique .

On one wall, anime played on a large screen.

The group gathered was eclectic, to say the least. Many were dressed in ren faire attire and danced without music on a mock dance floor in the middle of the space .

When a petite blonde threw a drink on a guy and got us all wet in the process, we downed our beers, closed out, and changed locations again.

Sawyer removed her cardigan once we made it outside, claiming one sleeve was soaked.

Now, as I trail behind her, I’m barely keeping it together. It takes all my fortitude to keep from staring at the freckles on her arms or the pale skin of her upper back and neck.

Our third stop, Mae’s, is supposedly iconic, though it looks like the other bars we’ve been to so far.

After they check our IDs, Atty leads us inside. I bring up the rear, keeping Sawyer sandwiched between us.

As we head to the stairs, I’m certain I won’t survive the climb. Not now that she’s removed her sweater and I know that taunting creamy band of skin between her jeans and her shirt will be at eye-level. But here we fucking go again.

I suggested we stay downstairs, but Sawyer swears the people she works with at the ice arena are here and set up on the second floor.

Halfway up, she comes to an abrupt stop and teeters back, triggering my instinct to protect her. I bracket her hips, steadying her, and crane my neck to see what the hold-up is.

Fuckin’ A.

It’s him. He’s here.

Professor Eden, a.k.a. the douche canoe who insulted and disrespected Sawyer in front of our entire class, is here in this narrow-ass stairwell.

And he’s fucking leering at my girl.

A scoff escapes me. He would be the kind of professor who drinks at a college bar.

The same fury that overtook me the day he shamed Sawyer returns. I’ve kept it at bay since Monday by not allowing myself to think about him, but now that he’s standing in front of me, my control snaps, and my vision goes hazy.

I hated him the second he stormed into the lecture hall, haughty and disgruntled. He wasn’t prepared for class, and he took it out on Sawyer.

My hands tighten on her hips automatically. I don’t fight it. I’m holding on so tightly it may leave marks. But I have to steel myself and keep my hands occupied. Otherwise, I’m liable to punch this guy in the fucking face.

He hasn’t noticed me yet. If he realized I was standing here, he wouldn’t have the fucking gall to stare at Sawyer’s chest with his mouth hanging open .

The thin fabric of her form-fitting green top is doing little to camouflage her nipple piercings.

Fuck. Those nipple piercings. My angel has a devilish streak. And I can’t wait to fully exploit and explore it.

Two summers ago, when Atty and I visited her during a ten-day break, she wore loose tops the whole time, which was out of character for her.

I didn’t ask, though I couldn’t help but wonder why.

It wasn’t until I saw the aftercare instructions on her desk and the piercing cleaner in the bathroom vanity that I pieced the clues together.

Then, for the next several days, I was fixated on obtaining visual confirmation. The first time I saw them through the fabric of her shirt, I nearly came in my pants. Even just the outline creates an optical illusion that plays a starring role in my solo-session fantasies.

I can’t fucking wait to see them up close.

Just like I can’t wait to show my angel the piercings I got for her pleasure.

“Hello, Professor,” Sawyer says.

That snaps me out of my trance. Begrudgingly, I release her hips, dropping one hand to my side but moving the other to her low back.

For several seconds, Professor Eden watches her, and I watch him. It isn’t until someone yells up the stairs to keep it moving that traffic begins to shift again.

“See you both in class,” Eden grits out as he rushes past.

I can’t help but sneer. Fuck. I don’t even want to have to think about facing him on Monday. I was fully prepared to drop his class after the shit he pulled.

But then I opened my inbox last night, searching for a message I knew contained information about the required study hours for the team, and found an email in my outgoing mail.

An email apologizing for my outburst, assuring the recipient that it wouldn’t happen again.

An email addressed to Professor Eden, and one that I did not write.

Whether Professor Eden apologized to Sawyer is a mystery. We haven’t spoken about the incident. But apparently, I apologized to him.

Initially, anger flared hot in my veins. How dare she log in and send an email on my behalf, especially one that was absolutely contradictory to how I feel? I’m not fucking sorry. My only regret is not taking a shot at him when I had the chance .

It didn’t take me long, though, to realize that she did it because she was looking out for me. Just like I do for her.

She wants me to stay in that class, and this apology ensures we’ll remain together. I appreciate her and all the little ways she shows me she cares and that she’s waiting for me, just like I’ve been waiting for her.

Hell, the only reason I chose to major in marketing is because it’ll allow me more time with her over the next few years. I don’t give a fuck about business. I only care about hockey and her.

“You all right, man?” Atty asks when we finally come to a stop near one end of the L-shaped bar.

Sawyer pops up on her toes, scanning the place for her friends, I assume.

I keep my eyes glued to her, refusing to let her out of my sight in this kind of crowd, and cross my arms. “That man on the stairs. The douche wearing the button-down?”

“What about him?”

As Sawyer drifts farther away, I jerk my head to the side and level my best friend with a glare. “That’s the professor. The one I told you about, who embarrassed her in front of the whole class on Monday.”

Atty presses his lips together, then lifts one shoulder. “Looks like they’ve worked it out, don’t you think? They said hi to each other just now.”

With a quiet groan, I drag a hand down my face. Clearly he didn’t see the way Eden looked at his sister. Nor did he witness the unwarranted berating he gave her on Monday.

Sighing, he slings an arm over my shoulders and jostles me. “Sawyer’s a big girl. We grew up in academia. I’m sure if there’s an issue, she’ll address it with the dean or whoever.”

Sawyer makes her way back to us, wearing a bright smile that hits me right in the heart.

“She’s been handling herself just fine without us for the last three years,” he reminds me.

I flinch on instinct.

Yeah, she has, but she shouldn’t have had to.

I’ll be damned if I don’t step up and protect her now that we’re together.