Page 40 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

I don’t want to go to jail. I can’t go to jail.

Taking a deep breath, I shove my hands into my pockets and start towards the door, mentally steeling myself for whatever comes next. Slowly I climb the porch steps and press the doorbell, scraping the tip of my boot against the aged wood as I wait.

A few seconds later, the door flies open and a familiar face greets me.

“Rhea?”

Wait. I know this guy.

Recognition courses through me and heat floods my cheeks despite myself.

Connor.

I immediately recognize him from the picture Cassidy showed me. Despite fixating on Thatcher at that time, I vaguely remember him standing at the edge of the group, flashing that same easy smile as he’s giving me now.

I swallow, taking him in properly this time–slightly long, dark brown hair that curls around his face, framing his sharp jawline and giving him a laid-back charm that’s hard to ignore. His eyes are a striking hazel that glints with something unreadable as he studies me, one brow raised.

Cassidy was right. He is a looker.

“Didn’t see you in class today. Did something happen?” he asks, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the doorframe, slight curiosity in his gaze.

Right. I skipped class today because I didn’t feel like listening to Professor Jennings drone on about social influence when I was this riled up.

I shrug, the seemingly nonchalant gesture jolting the thousand-pound weight on my shoulders. I try to keep my expression neutral as I answer. “Just…wasn’t feeling it today.”

Connor raises an eyebrow, that curious glint deepening as he watches me. “Really? Not like you to miss a lecture.” His tone is light, but there’s something behind it, like he’s trying to piece something together. I shift under his gaze, hoping he doesn’t see through me.

“Yeah, well,” I say, attempting a half-hearted smile, “guess there’s a first time for everything.”

He smiles too, a soft lift of lips that brightens his face, and straightens. “So, what are you doing here? Here to borrow my notes? I know Cassidy didn’t write shit during class.”

Typical Cassidy.

I laugh despite the tension in my chest, shaking my head. “No, I’m not here for notes. I actually came to find someone.” The words slip out before I can think better of it, and Connor’s expression shifts, his easy grin falling.

“Oh? Okay. Who?” he asks, his hazel eyes narrowing.

I hesitate, balling my hands into fists in my pockets “Uh, just a friend,” I say, trying to sound casual. “I thought he might be here.”

“I’m sure your friend has a name, right?”

“Thatcher,” I swallow and glance away, embarrassment flooding my cheeks.

Connor’s jaw clenches, his expression hardening as he repeats, “Thatcher Van Doren?” The warmth that had softened his features a moment ago vanishes, replaced by a flicker of something darker.

Cassidy’s words echo in my mind,“Plus, he has a massive crush on you…”

I shift uncomfortably, forcing myself to meet his gaze, but the disappointment in his hazel eyes makes my throat tighten. “Yeah,” I manage, the word feeling oddly heavy.

He lets out a small, humorless laugh, glancing off to the side as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Figures,” he mutters, almost to himself. His voice is strained, and the bitterness lacing his words stings more than I’d expected.

I shift on my feet, feeling the weight of the awkward silence stretch between us. “I…I…um didn’t–” I start but stop when he flashes me a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

He shrugs as if it doesn’t matter. “You don’t need to explain.” His gaze flicks back to me, but the warmth and easygoing charm are nowhere to be found. “Just… be careful with him, alright? Thatcher’s not really an upstanding guy.”

His words linger and I feel an urge to correct him.

He thinks Thatcher and I are involved…

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