Page 66 of Almost Ravaged (Men of Evercrisp Orchard #1)
Chapter fifty-seven
Sawyer
W hen I wake up ten minutes before my alarm, I count it as a win. I’m rested enough and anxious to get on with the week.
There’s a text waiting from Noah when I unlock my phone. Just a simple good morning. He’s always up early, and waking to greetings like this has become commonplace.
I don’t expect to hear from Mercer until our regular meeting in his office.
Eight a.m. can’t come soon enough. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I last saw him, but I miss him something fierce.
He took me back to his condo on Saturday after our encounter in the locker room, where he fucked me in his shower, then again in his bed. Then he sat beside me, propped up against the headboard with his acoustic guitar, and sang me to sleep.
I drifted into a dreamless sleep, then woke up rested and sated in his arms. After a quick trip home to change, I met Atty for breakfast, though Ty never showed up.
For the rest of the day, I forced myself to study, holed up in the library.
It took enormous effort to stay focused, but I was on the brink of being behind, so I put my head down and even got work done for the coming week .
Focusing on my own schoolwork has proven to be the biggest challenge in my effort to juggle my job, my assistantship, time with Atty and Ty, and even more time with Mercer and Noah.
By some miracle, I held strong and stayed at the library despite receiving several messages from Mercer and Noah throughout the afternoon.
I’m going to have to talk to them about trying to lure me to the orchard on the weekends. It’s too damn tempting, and this two-against-one business isn’t fair.
I didn’t come to Holt only to be close to Atty and Ty. I love learning, and I’m enjoying my coursework, so it’s imperative that I carve out time to focus on my studies.
I suppose, though, that it wouldn’t hurt to see whether I could get any work done at the orchard. I could camp out in the bakery on Saturday before the boys’ game. And maybe, if I got my work done early enough, I could spend a little quality time with Noah before heading back to campus.
Arms stretched overhead, I arch my back. My shoulders pop, giving me instant relief, and when I stretch my legs out, the release I get pulls a sigh from me.
When I pick my phone back up, I click on my email.
It’s a habit left over from the days when Atty and Ty didn’t always have good cell reception but could routinely connect to Wi-Fi and send emails.
Despite the ease with which we can all text now, old habits die hard.
I like to clear out my inbox before I climb out of bed for the day.
I scan through the campus newsletters and clear out the discussion board update notifications. Routine stuff. The next email I find, though, makes my heart stop.
With trembling fingers, I tap on it.
Dean Stalworth has requested a meeting.
In person. In his office. This morning?
Good grief.
I launch myself into a sitting position and shoot off a text to Mercer.
Me: SOS. Stalworth is asking me to meet him in his office at 9 a.m. Do you know anything about this ?
If Mercer got a meeting request too, that could mean the dean knows—
My phone vibrates in my hand.
It takes me three tries to swipe and accept the call.
“Hello?” I ask, my voice hollow.
“Breathe,” Mercer says by way of greeting. “You’re all right.”
I do as he says, forcing out a long exhale. “Do you know what this is about?”
“No. There’s nothing on my end, sweetheart. I assure you, if this had anything to do with you and me, he would have come to me directly.”
My pulse steadies slightly. Right. Okay. I’m getting all worked up over nothing. I take another deep breath, then say, “He wants to see me at nine. I’m going to be late for our morning meeting.”
Mercer hums. “The dean’s office is in the same building. It stands to reason that if he doesn’t keep you too long, we’ll still have time to connect before class,” he says, his words dripping with innuendo.
I grin, picturing the salacious look on his face.
“Stop. The last thing I need to be thinking about when I’m sitting across from Dean Stalworth is connecting with you.”
Mercer is quiet for a second. Then, tone suddenly serious, he says, “It’s curious he requested such an urgent meeting. Do you want me to come with you? For moral support?”
I scoot to the edge of the mattress and swing my legs over the side. “Because that won’t look suspicious? I’ll be fine,” I assure him, false bravado behind my words.
Maybe the dean wants to ask about my schoolwork. Or maybe this is a routine check-in for graduate assistants. The semester is nearing the halfway mark. This could all be procedural.
“You’re sure?” he urges. “I could wait outside his office.”
I roll my neck and steady my breathing, willing the unexpected tension of the last few minutes to drain out of me. “Completely sure. Like you said, if you’re not involved, I have nothing to worry about.”
“Come to my office as soon as you’re through,” he instructs. “Let’s hope to god the dean leaves me with enough time to at least cop a feel before class.”
With a snort, I mosey over to my closet, intent on picking out an outfit Mercer will appreciate. “Yes, Professor. See you soon.”