Page 6 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

“How we’re going to spend this gloriously spooky evening.”

“We?”

Her baby blue eyes twinkle with that familiar mischief I’ve come to both love and dread. “There’s a party tonight.”

“Nope!” I cut her off before she can finish.

“Rhea!” she knocks my feet down from the couch’s armrest and sits opposite me. “It’s a huge party.”

When I don’t respond, she goes on, “It’s Halloween. There’s gonna be alcohol, hot shirtless guys.” Pausing to think, she flicks her bottle cap at me. “Certified mindless grinding on the dancefloor.”

“All I’m hearing is I’ll be groped by drunk, horny frat guys.”

She rolls her eyes. “You won’t get groped, Rhea and don’t be such a judgmental killjoy.” Her expression softens as she scoots closer and pleads her case. “Look, it’s Halloween. Everyone is going to be dressed up, it’ll be fun. And we can stay together the whole time, and believe me, I won’t let any meat head touch you.”

I groan, knowing I’ll be going.

We’ve been friends since we were freshmen in high school, and ever since we met in that badly lit hallway of that crappy school, we’ve basically been joined at the hip. She was the first person to break through my shell, the one who dragged me into trouble and laughed about it after. She’s been there for almost every major event in my life—the good and the bad. From my first heartbreak to late-night study sessions, from my horrendous family drama to college acceptance letters, Cassidy has always been by my side, her endless optimism balancing out my cautiousness.

Even now, as she flashes that signature grin, I know I’ll probably end up at this frat party, no matter how much I want to avoid it.

But I could at least put up a good fight before.

“I would love to, but you know Professor Jennings asked me to help record the grades from his Psych 101 class.”

“I already know you’re done with that. No excuses this time, babe. It’s Halloween. You can be anyone you want to be, as longas it’s not Miss Overachieving TA.” She nudges my thigh, her grin growing. “You might even enjoy yourself.”

I frown and cross my arms, and her grin evolves into a triumphant smirk like she knows she knows she’s wearing me down.

“I’ll think about it.”

“I already have the perfect costume for you!” she squeals and jumps up from her seat, shimmying her hips as she dances away.

“I didn’t say yes and excuse me, a costume?”

Fraternities are fascinating from a psychological point of view—the way they operate like their own little kingdoms, with unspoken rules, power hierarchies, and the intoxicating allure of belonging.

It draws people in, those who crave to belong to a collective to feel like they’re part of something larger, something exclusive. It’s not just the parties or the reputation—it’s the sense of identity, the validation that comes from fitting in, from being chosen.

But in truth, they’re all just a bunch of horny douchebags.

Case in point; The first thing I see when Cassidy and I arrive at the party is a group of shirtless guys shot gunning beers on the lawn, surrounded by cheering onlookers. The air reeks of sweat and stale alcohol, and the blaring music vibrates through the ground to the sidewalk where we stand.

The Delta Sigma Rho house looms overhead, a towering mansion that’s seen better days, but still holds onto its glory with the kind of arrogance only a frat house could. Ivy crawls up the brick walls, its dark tendrils lit by gaudy string lights that are haphazardly strung around the porch. The windows glow with warm, flickering multicolored lights, but the inside is anything but cozy. From where I stand, I can hear the pounding bassvibrating through the walls, mingling with the roar of laughter and shouting voices.

The lawn is littered with red Solo cups and beer cans, some of which have spilled their contents into the grass, leaving wet patches that no one seems to notice. Another group of frat boys sit on the porch steps, clearly drunk, swaying as they debate something only they care about. The front door is wide open, inviting anyone and everyone inside, where the real chaos unfolds.

One of the douches winks at me as we approach, his gaze slides up and down my frame before settling on my bare legs, his cocky grin wide as he blows me a kiss. Typical.

I stop myself from flipping him off and instead roll my eyes before glancing at Cassidy who’s already buzzing with excitement.

“Welcome to frat paradise,” she says with a smirk, dragging me toward the door.

“Is it too late to go back?” I shout over the music, trying to tug the hem of the white pleated skirt lower over my thighs. It keeps riding up when I walk.

My fault for letting Cassidy dress me up as a sexy tennis player.

Fits my aesthetic, my ass!

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