Page 4 of Almost Ravaged (Men of Evercrisp Orchard #1)

Chapter four

Sawyer

“ W e lost by half a million, you guys. What the actual fuck?”

Atty’s outrage would be comical if I wasn’t partially to blame. Still out of sorts after the moment Tytus and I shared, I slouch against the seat behind the guys and avoid catching my brother’s eye in the rearview mirror.

“The equipment had to be the problem. Some of those kids didn’t even look old enough to play U8. There’s no fucking way we lost by that much.”

I roll my lips to stifle a nervous laugh.

He turns to Tytus, who’s been sitting quietly in the passenger seat since we left the laser tag arena. If his quietness has anything to do with our almost-kiss, it’s hard to tell, since the silence is pretty typical for him.

“You sure your gun was working?” Atty asks.

Tytus offers a noncommittal grunt.

My brother cranes his neck so he can look at me through the rearview mirror. “What about you, Sawy? You could see the laser when you pulled the trigger, right? And the gun vibrated when you hit a target?”

Ugh. I hate when he calls me ‘Sawy’ like some sort of non-dairy alternative.

“Yep,” I squeak out, cheeks blazing. “I definitely felt the recoil. ”

I swear Ty’s shoulders hitch in silent laughter.

I’m mortified.

And deeply unsatisfied.

Atty continues his grumbling as I use every brain cell that’s come back online since our moment in the dark to keep my cool. It takes effort, since I’m still out of sorts. And because the guy who scrambled my mind is sitting just half a meter away.

My body still hums with desire, despite the way we both acted as if nothing happened the second the lights flicked on.

What was that? And what does it mean now?

We’ll continue living under the same roof for the next few months, and I don’t have a clue about how we’ll navigate that. Am I supposed to pretend as if today never happened?

In August I’ll move into a residence hall at McMaster University. My parents are both on the faculty there, and the school offers one of the best communications programs in the provence.

The boys will move to Verchamp, a small town north of here, where they’ll play for the Scorpions. It’s one of the most elite teams in the junior A league and a final steppingstone on their path to playing at a collegiate level and then, hopefully, on a professional team.

They’ve been working toward this for years, and two players remaining together like this, on the same team, is almost unheard of.

But this move means they’ll be partnered with billet families.

They’ll have to follow house rules and get special permission from the family and their team if I want to visit.

These plans have been set for well over a year.

Yet suddenly I’m desperate for time to slow down. Yearning to hit pause and repeat. To savor this moment, to relish the sensation. Since Tytus touched me, I feel like I’m standing on a cliff with my toes dangling over the edge.

Tytus Tremblay is my brother’s best friend.

My parents’ surrogate son.

My roommate, friend, and frequent companion.

Despite the quiet hope that’s been buried deep inside me for years, I’ve never allowed myself to give energy to my longing.

Until today.

Now that we’ve started down this path, now that I know my attraction isn’t one-sided, it’s like no other thoughts exist in my head. All I can think of is Tytus. His hand caressing my hip, then cupping the back of my head. His lips ghosting over mine, offering an almost-kiss.

If only this day could go on forever. I want to live out my own Groundhog Day and experience the magic of being pressed up against a stinky carpet wall over and over again.

With the addition of an actual kiss, of course.

And maybe an orgasm.

Atty throws the driver’s door open, pulling me from my obsessive thoughts. He huffs as he heaves himself out and slams the door shut harder than necessary.

I wince. With any luck, ice cream will improve his mood. Who knew that losing a game of laser tag would be so upsetting? Though I suppose losing by more than 500,000 points is pathetic.

I’m fighting back a smile at my brother’s grumpiness when the energy shifts.

Tytus and I are alone.

And once we get home, we’ll have very little opportunity to talk without an audience.

We’re alone, and we won’t get another chance like this.

I toy with the strap of my seat belt, apprehension swirling in my belly. We don’t have long, but I’m afraid to make the first move, and I’m terrified I’ll say the wrong thing.

What now? The words play on repeat in my mind.

After another charged second, he twists in his seat. Dark eyes meet mine, his expression even, giving nothing away.

I swallow, unnerved by the silent stare. He looks at me like he can see right into the depths of my soul. He looks at me like I’m a craving, or something he wants to consume but won’t allow himself to have.

As ridiculous as the sentiment may be, I want him to give up the fight. To give in to this, to us , to allow himself to take, if I’m truly what he wants.

This in between space, where we almost crossed a line, where I’m too far gone to pretend I’m not deeply changed, is my personal purgatory.

The apprehension turns into pure anxiety.

Anxiety and the first hints of embarrassment.

Because what if this is all in my head? What if it’s just a game to him? And if it’s not, then how the hell is it supposed to work?

With a quiet hum, Tytus pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts. Deadpan, he tips his chin toward me. “You’re sure you felt that recoil, mon ange? ”

Mon ange.

My angel.

He’s never called me that until tonight. He’s never called me anything other than Sawyer.

Relief washes over me, quelling my racing thoughts.

This isn’t nothing. He feels it, too.

Grinning, I swat at his arm. “You know I felt it.”

He holds my gaze, his eyes brimming with unspoken desire and so much potential.

“He’s going to wonder what’s taking us so long,” I whisper.

With an apologetic smile, he runs his hand through his hair and shoves his door open. “I know. We better get in there.”

I unbuckle my seat belt and slide across the bench seat. As I reach for the handle, the door opens and Tytus reaches down and offers his hand.

He rests an arm on the top of the frame and leans in so it holds some of his weight. To anyone nearby, it should look like a casual stance, like he’s waiting for me to get out so he can close the door.

Yet the intimacy of the moment goes so much deeper.

He helps me out of the car, and instead of releasing me once I’m steady, he laces our fingers, tilts closer, and brushes his thumb back and forth over my index finger.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispers, his eyes flitting between mine. A strand of dark hair falls forward.

It takes all my willpower not to brush it away.

“I can’t betray your brother or disrespect your parents. Not after everything they’ve done for me.”

My heart plummets, free-falling into a bottomless abyss.

Tytus squeezes my hand, as if he knows exactly where my mind has gone.

“Hey. No. I’m not saying this can’t happen. It is happening.” His tone is deep, serious. “We just have to be careful. Be patient with me. Once you’re moved into the dorms and Atty and I are up north, it’ll be different.”

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip and let his words sink in. It’ll be different. In a matter of months, our realities will change in almost every way.

He grips my chin and uses his thumb to ease my mouth open, his hooded eyes locked on me .

My brain short-circuits, and I forget how to breathe. I’m suspended. Paralyzed by the intensity radiating from him.

I lick my lips, tracing the memory of our almost-kiss.

His eyes track the movement, hungry and possessive.

As if I’ve been dropped several stories, my insides flip.

But this is so much more than falling.

There’s a weight to it. A heft. It’s longing doused in need. It’s desire drenched in delayed gratification.

He wants me to be patient.

Yet I don’t know how I’ll survive the rest of this day, let alone the next few months, tightly wound like this, desperate to feel his hands on my body again.

“I’m going to spend the rest of the summer regretting not kissing you,” he murmurs.

The tension is unbearable, yet a hint of relief threads through me. There’s solace in knowing that the ache inside me also resides within him.

He slips his hand to the back of my neck in the most intimate, possessive hold and inches closer, the movement indiscernible to anyone but me.

Instinctively, I push up on my toes.

And then…

Nothing.

We hold back, silently recognizing the impasse we’ve reached.

We can’t. We’re in public. Atty’s already across the street, probably wondering what’s taking us so long.

Even so, the pull is all-consuming and overwhelming.

If the tension coiled between us is this potent already, how the hell are we going to resist while we live under the same roof?

Worry sweeps over me, and I sink, my feet flat on the concrete again.

“Ty…”

He huffs an aggravated sound. It’s followed by the saddest smile across his usual stoic face. “I know. I fucking know.”

He squeezes my neck, then lifts my hand to his lips. With a quick kiss on my knuckles, he releases me, moving out of the way so I can close the car door.

“Patience, mon ange.”

Patience . I can do this. Just a few more months. Then it’ll all be different.