Page 55 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

Hell, I even enjoyed it. I screamed his name. I have never heard my voice go that high before. I squeeze my eyes shut, hating that he’s still here, still lingering in my mind, on my skin.

I sit up, hugging my knees to my chest, as if that can somehow shield me from the truth. He’s in my head now, an unwanted presence lingering just beneath the surface. Every time I replay those moments, I feel like I’m tethered to him, whether I want to be or not. It’s a mindfuck because I’m starting to think that it can’t be that bad if he wants to please me.

My fingers dig into the blankets. No. I can’t let him have this power over me. Whatever happened in that car—it was amistake. A momentary lapse in judgment, nothing more. And when morning comes, I’ll push it out of my head and pretend it never happened.

When my alarm finally goes off, it feels like I haven’t slept at all. I drag myself out of bed, bleary-eyed, and shuffle to the bathroom. As I brush my teeth, my reflection looks back at me, tired and haunted. I can’t stop replaying every moment from last night, and part of me hates it—hates that he’s occupying space in my head like this.

When I head into the kitchen, Cassidy is already there, sipping her coffee and scrolling through her phone. Her eyes light up as soon as she spots me, and I know that look all too well.

“Well, well,” she drawls, setting her coffee down. “Good morning to you too.”

I groan inwardly, reaching for the coffee pot. “Please don’t start,” I mumble, trying to keep my voice casual.

“Oh, come on, Rhea,” she presses, leaning forward with a knowing grin. “I was just about to ask why The Thatcher Van Doren, grand nepo baby of nepo baby island, decided to sit right next to you in class. Which is kind of strange, considering that he’s not even in our class, so tell me.”

I can feel her eyes boring into me, eagerly waiting for some kind of explanation.

“I…I don’t really know what you want me to say,” I say, keeping my tone as casual as possible.

Cassidy raises an eyebrow. “What? It’s not about what I want you to say. I want you to tell me what’s going on. I think I have the right to know. He was sitting practically on top of you.”

I let out a sigh, pouring myself a cup and hoping she’ll let it go. “I don’t know, Cass. Maybe he just wanted to make a scene.”

But Cassidy’s too sharp for that. “Yeah, but of all people to make a scene with, why you?” she shuffles to my side and grabs myfree arm. “Are you embarrassed to admit you’re hooking up with him?”

I take a sip of coffee to hide my face, feeling my cheeks warm under her scrutiny. “There’s nothing going on, Cass,” I insist, trying to sound convincing.

She narrows her eyes, clearly savoring this little mystery. “Well, if that’s true, then someone forgot to tell him. Because the way he was looking at you? People noticed, Rhea. And the rumor mill’s already spinning. You might as well spill the truth now before I hear it from someone else.”

I roll my eyes, trying to brush it off, but I can feel my stomach twist. I’m not sure what the truth even is anymore—or how much of it I want to admit, even to myself.

Cassidy’s gaze doesn’t waver, and I can tell she’s waiting for some kind of confession. I shift uncomfortably, gripping my mug tighter, as if the warmth can ground me. “Seriously, Cass. Nothing is going on. Hand to God.”

Finally, she gets the message that I’m not spilling any tea and mercifully decides to drop the subject. “Fine, fine. But just so you know, if Mr. Intense decides to make a move, I expect to hear about it. Details, Rhea. All the fine details about these hockey boys.”

“Does that mean you’re not still setting me up with Connor?” I ask, raising my brow at her.

She grins. “That was before I knew Mr. grand Nepo baby also wants a slice of the Rhea cake.”

I cringe inwardly, that analogy is definitely unsettling. He definitely got a slice yesterday.

“Please don’t call it that,” I mutter, taking another sip of my coffee to mask my discomfort.

Cassidy just laughs, undeterred. “I’m still Team Connor, but if you like Thatcher more, then I’m all for it.”

“Not happening,” I reply firmly, though I can’t help but crack a small smile at her persistence.

Cassidy smirks, taking another sip of her coffee. “I don’t know, Rhea. With all that tension between you two, anything could happen. Just… be careful, okay?”

I nod, managing a faint smile. “Promise. Now, can we please talk about literally anything else?”

She laughs, launching into a story about a class she had yesterday, and I let myself relax, sinking into the rhythm of her chatter. But even as she talks, a part of me can’t help but feel a tug of dread and curiosity.

What will happen the next time I see Thatcher?

I can feel Cassidy’s scrutiny, even though she’s keeping quiet, just watching as I apply mascara at my vanity.

I try to ignore it and finish up my makeup, but her gaze is so heavy that it doesn’t help the constant anxiety swirling in my chest.

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