Page 23 of Almost Ravaged (Men of Evercrisp Orchard #1)

I wince internally, a niggle of guilt for keeping him out so late working its way through me.

“I have no idea where to go, what to order, or what’s good around here,” I say to Cam, forcing myself to focus on someone other than Ty.

She claps and bounces in her seat. “Challenge accepted. Kai, hand me a pen and paper.”

Kai glances up from their device and scoffs. “What makes you think I have a pen and paper on me?”

Cam tilts her head, her expression deadpan, and stares at them until they fish out the requested items from their backpack.

“Love you, mean it,” Cam gushes as Kai holds out the supplies.

“Consider this your first lesson in Holt 101.” With a scribble on one side of the paper, she ensures the pen works.

“We’ll make a cheat sheet for you. All the best places to eat and drink, as well as the best places to pick up—” She raises one brow.

“People,” I offer. I identify as bisexual, though I lean more pan by textbook definition. I’ve never talked to my brother about any of my partners, though, and I’d rather not come out to him in a crowded bar.

“ People .” She breaks into a knowing smile. “And which drinks you should be ordering at every location.”

The lesson becomes a loud, chaotic ordeal once the others around the table start sharing their opinions and expertise.

After an hour of information overload, plus another Molson and a Long Island that’s as good as promised, I’m ready for a break.

“Where’s the bathroom?” I yell. Cam is no longer sitting beside me. Instead, she’s floating around the table, chatting like the social butterfly she is.

As she sashays over to me, she grins, her eyes glassy. “Are you having a good time?”

“The best time,” I reply breezily. I just really need to pee. “Bathroom?” I ask again.

She grimaces. “Ugh. Sorry in advance.”

“Why?”

“There’s only a single stall up here, and there’s always a line. But it’s quicker than fighting the crowds downstairs. ”

I shrug. I’d rather wait in line now than walk home with a full bladder an hour from now when the place closes down. “Where is it?”

“Your funeral,” Cam quips. “It’s on the other side of the main room, to the right of the bar. You’ll see the line.”

I stand and only wobble slightly before finding my footing.

Before I can walk away, Cam grabs my wrist. “Get me another drink while you’re going up. The tab is under Bryant’s name.”

“Hey now,” Bryant calls from the end of the table. His low, sexy baritone voice makes my stomach swoop. “Pace yourself, pretty girl.” He lobs a flirtatious smile at Cam.

I turn to my friend, both brows high on my forehead, I’m sure.

She dismisses me with a wave of her hand. “He’s always a flirt when he drinks.”

“So nothing there?” I press.

Kai snorts. They haven’t engaged much at all over the last hour, but they don’t seem to be anxious to leave, either.

“Not nothing .” Cam toys with the bracelets on her wrist, avoiding my gaze. “But nothing faithful or repeatable. I learn my lessons the first time.”

I press my lips together, mentally stashing away that comment so I can get the full story later, and head toward the bathroom.

As I round the table, I pull out my phone and check the time.

It’s almost one, which means I need to decide whether I’m done for the night or going for one more drink for myself as well.

I make it all of four steps from the far side of the table when I sense him.

Despite the way my heart picks up its pace, I don’t wait for him. I navigate around the bar like Cam instructed without looking back, then join the line that I assume leads to the restroom.

When a warm presence appears behind me, I say, “I’m a big girl, Ty. I can go to the bathroom by myself.”

I glance over my shoulder then, wearing a saucy smile, going for playful. His response is anything but. The look he gives me is intense, causing my lungs to seize and my heart to stutter.

His eyes are glassy, like Cam’s, but instead of the joyful lightness she exuded, Ty is broody and serious.

“Did you hear me?” I give him a sassy smirk .

In answer, he crowds my back, clutching my hips the way he did earlier. On the stairs, it made sense. I was at risk of falling. There’s no risk now. No legitimate reason for Ty to be touching me.

Awareness buzzes through my body as he inches closer, eliminating the space between us.

He flexes his fingers, the move making me acutely aware of each digit as it presses into the curve of my waist. My breathing quickens.

My brain feels floaty in a way that can’t fully be blamed on the alcohol in my system.

It takes every iota of restraint I possess not to roll my hips or lean back and let him take my weight completely.

The tension between us is palpable. Poignant.

Just when I think I’ll combust, he rests his chin on my shoulder.

“Hanging on your every word, mon ange,” he murmurs, his breath warm and enticing against my exposed collarbone.

He trails his hands over my stomach and captures my wrists. Then he lifts our joined hands and interlaces our fingers.

I stop breathing altogether.

Why here? Why now?

It takes a moment to work up the nerve to lift my head and meet his gaze. When I do, he’s staring back, the intensity in his onyx eyes leaving no room for question about the intention of his actions.

Shit .

The longer he looks at me, the more intense the tingling down my spine becomes. It’s not the first time he’s looked at me this way, though it’s rare that he lets his desire show in public.

This is the look he gives me when no one is watching. It’s the look I conjure when I’m alone in my bed at night—

“Sawyer.”

I blink, disoriented and downright frustrated that we’re standing in a crowded bar, surrounded by people.

It’s been years since I was drunk in his presence. And damn, does he look good tonight. His black V-neck T-shirt is tight, showing off the corded muscles of his neck and throat. His hair’s a mess, like he’s been running his hands through it for hours.

Maybe he has.

Maybe he’s as pent up and frustrated as I am .

Maybe tonight could be different.

I study the way his strong, thick fingers eclipse mine, the way he keeps me locked up against his body, then guide his hands lower, dragging them down my fitted green tank top until our fingertips come into contact with the exposed skin above my waistband.

His breath hitches.

Mine has escaped me. A cyclone of emotion swirls in my belly. Yes, he’s touching me. Yes, he’s really holding me. But more than that, he’s just as deeply affected by me as I am by him.

Our chemistry is so potent I can taste it. Nothing I’ve ever experienced in my life feels like this. The way I desperately want to melt into him. How he can’t seem to get close enough.

I want this. I want him .

I will my mind to settle, urge my invisible armor to lower so I can go lax in his arms.

He feels so good. He smells so good. He’s holding me, out in the open, right here where everyone can see.

This is it.

On an exhale, I tip my head back, giving him access. Making it easy for him to bend low and kiss me.

I close my eyes, wet my lips, and exhale.

A solid clunk shatters the moment. A bar stool tipping over, or perhaps an employee dropping a tub of glassware.

My eyes fly open and we both go rigid.

Time stands still as a shared fear overtakes our bodies and we freeze up.

Alarm flares inside me, misplaced panic coursing through me in undulating waves.

The cruel reality is that no matter how much time passes or how okay I think I am, all it takes is a loud noise or a jolt of surprise to cause my brain to short-circuit and to send adrenaline flooding into my veins.

It was just a noise.

I’m in a crowded bar on a busy night.

It’s nothing.

I’m fine.

Ty’s here. We’re okay .

But we’re not fine. We’re really good at pretending most of the time, but our shared trauma is insidious. It’s instinct, as if our nervous systems are connected. We’re so complexly rooted together that I can sense the moment Ty will drop his hands a second before he does it.

The loss of him is all-consuming, triggering tears to flood my eyes.

Grateful to have my back to him, I blink them away before they can fall.

Sighing, Ty stands straighter and lifts his chin from my shoulder.

“Line’s moving.” The words are simple, but his tone is despondent.

The moment has passed, just like it always does.

It’s always almost between us.

That’s the way it’ll always be.

Ty’s been by my side through every up and down, through disappointment and pain and even my happiest times.

He’s the safe place I crave when I lose track of where the nightmares end and my reality begins.

We endured the same heartache; we survived the same trauma.

But the energy it took to keep it together, to pull ourselves out of the darkness, left nothing but dregs in its wake.

We were almost everything to each other once.

Almost.

But we aren’t meant to be.

We got out, and we’re okay. I wouldn’t trade being here at Holt with Atty and Ty for anything. But that doesn’t mean I don’t mourn what we were on the verge of having, or every other almost encounter we’ve shared.

I swallow past the lump in my throat and shuffle forward in line. “Thanks.”

We almost had it all.

I swipe away a stray tear.

That word—almost—signifies that once, there was potential. Hope. There was effort and intention. There was longing and sparks and desire.

But then we pulled that trigger. Then there was trauma, and isolation, and a loneliness I don’t think I’ll ever be over.

Almost means it didn’t happen, and it never will.

Almost is the antithesis of hope.

We almost had it all.

But almost will never be enough.