Page 42 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

Connor’s fists clench at his sides, and I can feel the tension radiating off him. “Alright, that’s enough, guys,” he says, his voice low but edged with warning. “She’s not here to play your games.”

Brody raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this way too much. “Relax, Connor. Just making her feel welcome. It’s what we do, isn’t it?” He chuckles, looking back at me with that insufferable smirk. “So, good luck with Thatcher. Just don’t get your heart set on anything too…permanent, alright?”

A muscle in Connor’s jaw twitches. “Come on,” he says, nodding toward the stairs, his voice tight. We turn to leave, but not before the guy adds with a parting laugh, “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

I shake my head as we ignore the group, their laughter still ringing in my ears as they move off deeper down the hallway.

Connor leads the way up the staircase, his posture tense, and I can sense the frustration radiating off him.

“Sorry about that,” he mutters as we ascend, his voice barely above a whisper. “They’re just…drunk.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” I reply, trying to downplay my discomfort.

As we reach the landing, I take a deep breath, the lingering smell of stale beer and sweat adding to the pit in my stomach making me feel queasy. Connor stops in front of a door at the end of the hallway, glancing back at me. “This is it”

I glance up at the door with a tacky sign that readspresident’s roomin bold, graffiti-like letters across the smooth carved surface. I take a step closer and my heart races, a mix of anticipation and dread coursing through me.

“Are you sure he’s in there?” I ask, my voice basically a whisper.

Connor nods, his expression hardening again. “Yeah, he usually is. Just be prepared for anything. Thatcher can be a real piece of work when he wants to be.” His tone carries an edge of concern, and it makes me hesitate.

“Thanks for the warning,” I say, forcing a lightness into my tone to mask the tension bubbling beneath the surface.

I watch as Connor rolls his shoulders as if trying to work out an ache before raising his hand and rapping on the door. “Hey!Prez! You in there?” he calls out, his voice cutting through the thick atmosphere. There’s a moment of silence before he turns to me, his brow furrowing slightly. “Sometimes he doesn’t hear you over the music. Just wait a second.”

I nod, my heart racing as the seconds stretch. I can feel the tension radiating from Connor, like he’s preparing for something volatile. His hand drops to his side, and he shifts his weight, glancing back at me.

“So, uh…” he starts, clearly searching for something to say. “How’s working with Jennings? You’re his TA right?”

I try to muster a casual smile. “Yeah” I shrug. “It’s fine. He gives me a lot of work, grading papers, research for readings…but it’s helping. I’m learning a lot.”

“That’s great, Maybe you can tutor me later. I need it,” he replies, a small smile on his face but his gaze flickers back to the door, impatience creeping into his tone. “You really should have just called him. I can’t believe you came all the way over here for—”

Before he can finish, the door swings open, and a familiar face peers out. I know him.

It is kind of difficult to recognize him without the hockey jersey and him zipping across the ice, but I think I know his name.

Ezra.

He grins at us, his unruly dark hair falling into his eyes.

“What’s up, Connor? And who’s this?” A mischievous glint in his eye as he studies me.

Before I can open my mouth to respond, the door swings open wider and Thatcher appears, shirtless, his brown hair drenched in sweat. The sight is jarring—his toned body glistening under the dim light, and the playful smirk he wears only adds to the confusion.

I try my hardest not to stare at his chiseled torso, the dark band of foreign words around his bicep and rather keep my gaze on his smug face but it was hard.

I swallow, momentarily speechless as I take in his appearance. The memories of the last time we were together—intense and charged—flood back, making it hard to focus.

His smirk widens and I get the feeling that he knows the effect his current state has on me. His gaze shifts from me to Connor, who stands silent beside me. Thatcher’s brow furrows for a split second as if he’s trying to decipher something before he makes a shooing motion with his hand. “Thanks for escorting my guest. You can fuck off now.”

“Hey!” I snap at him. “Don’t talk to him like that! Have some fucking manners.” I feel my face heat up at his attitude.

Thatcher raises an eyebrow, the cockiness in his smirk rising. “Oh, look at you, standing up for your knight in shining armor. How sweet.”

His condescending tone just adds more fuel to the fire, and I feel my heart pounding against my ribs.

This motherfucking asshole…

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