Page 41 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

Well…we kind of are now, aren’t we?

I open my mouth, but no words come out. I want to say something, anything, to break the tension, but everything feels like it would come out wrong or will further fuel the misunderstanding, so I don’t. Instead, I just nod. “Thanks, Connor. I appreciate that,” I finally manage, trying to ignore the gnawing guilt creeping in.

He nods, but the disappointment in his eyes doesn’t fade. “Yeah. Just…be careful,” he repeats, his voice softer this time, as though he’s already resigned himself to my decision.

We stand there in silence for another heartbeat before he speaks again. “He’s probably upstairs in his room.” He doesn’t meet my eyes as he says it, and it’s painfully clear the conversation is over. “I can walk you over if you want.”

I nod, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “Thanks again,” I murmur, watching as he pushes off the doorframe and steps aside to let me in.

I step into the house and the door closes behind me. The smell of stale beer and cologne hits me, mingling with the muffled sound of voices and laughter drifting down the hallway. My heart hammers in my chest as I glance around, feeling a mix of dread and anticipation knotting in my stomach.

I haven’t been in this house since the night of the Halloween party.

That night still haunts me—mask-wearing strangers, blaring music, and flashes of Jack’s face illuminated by strobe lights before everything spiraled into chaos. Now, standing here in the dim light with the eerie quiet of midday hanging in the air, it’s almost unrecognizable. But the memories remain, threading a chill through my veins as I walk deeper into the hallway, following Connor’s silent steps.

The hallway stretches out in front of me, lined with photos of past frat members and faded banners from parties long since over. For a moment, I hesitate, acutely aware of the quiet tension that filled my last exchange with Connor. His warning echoes in my mind—Just…be careful.

But there’s no turning back now.

Connor turns towards the staircase, and I hesitate, memories of that night flood me, making my steps falter. Jack’s smile as he leads me upstairs, the warmth of his hand in mine—it all comes rushing back in a wave, freezing me mid-step. I can almost feel the pulse of the bass beneath my feet, hear the distant laughter and cheers from the crowd below, and catch a glimpse of his carefree expression before everything went wrong.

The familiar scene of the hallway now feels tainted, steeped in the events that unfolded, and the cold reality of what brought me back here stings.

I take a deep breath, grounding myself as Connor looks back at me, eyebrow raised. “You good?” he asks, his tone casual but his eyes still carrying that shadow of disappointment.

“Yeah,” I murmur, forcing a nod, though my legs feel like they’re wading through quicksand. Just as I climb the first step, the double doors to my left slide open, revealing a group of guys mid-laughter, all holding red plastic cups. Their voices fill the quiet hallway, the sudden noise making me jump slightly. One of them, tall with tousled hair and a backward cap, spots me and nudges the guy next to him, a grin spreading across his face.

I recognize him from the party, he was one of the drunk, horny idiots that were catcalling from the porch as Cassidy and I arrived.

Still drunk I see.

“Well, well, who do we have here?” he drawls, his eyes narrowing as he takes me in. “Didn’t know we were expecting company.”

Connor steps closer to me, his expression shifting as he cuts in before I can respond. “She’s here to see Thatcher,” he says, his tone clipped. The guys exchange a knowing look, laughter flickering between them.

Connor tenses beside me, his jaw tightening, but before he can intervene, the guy keeps going.

“So, you’re here for Thatcher, huh?” he drawls, giving me an exaggerated once-over. “You sure you can handle him, sweetheart? Thatcher’s… well, he’s not for the faint of heart.” He smirks, leaning lazily against the wall with his arms crossed, like he’s got all the time in the world. “Trust me, I’ve seen girls come and go, thinking they’re up for it, but…” He lets out a low chuckle, trailing off as if he knows something I don’t.

The rest of the guys with him chortle, shoving themselves as their playful jeers fill the hallway.

I force a polite smile, hoping they’ll take the hint and leave. “Thanks for the heads-up,” I say, trying to edge past him, but they don’t budge.

The drunk idiot speaks again. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m just being friendly,” he says with mock innocence. “You know, looking out for Thatcher’s… guests.” He draws out the last word, raising an eyebrow as he sizes me up. “Just curious, what’s your deal, anyway? Not like he lets just anyone up here.”

Connor shifts beside me, clearly trying to hold back, but the guy continues, undeterred.

“Must be something special about you,” he continues, eyes narrowing like he’s putting together a puzzle. “Or maybe you’re just…persistent?” He grins, cocking his head. “He got a nickname for you yet, or is this just one of those quick, nameless encounters?”

Dove…

“Brody,” Connor clears his throat sharply, a clear signal for the guy to back off, but the guy’s grin only widens.

“Easy there, man. Just having a little fun,” Brody says, holding up his hands in surrender but still looking me up and down. “Just trying to get to know Thatcher’s type better, you know? Doesn’t seem like he’d go for someone so…soft.”

I feel my patience thinning, but I paste on a polite smile. “Well, thanks for the concern. I’ll take it from here.”

“Oh, sure thing,” he laughs, glancing at his buddies as if he’s scored some inside joke. “You’re gonna need all the luck you can get.” His friends snicker and shove each other, clearly entertained by his antics.

---