Page 36 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

Cassidy grins, that mischievous glint in her eyes growing brighter. “Oh, you know, maybe someone who’s been…paying attention to you. And maybe, just maybe, he’s more than capable of handling whatever crazy comes your way.”

I roll my eyes. “Please tell me you’re not talking about one of your hockey boys. The last thing I need is a sport obsessed jock fucker that has an ego bigger than his cock.”

As the words leave my mouth, Thatcher’s smirking face flashes in my mind, uninvited and completely unwelcome. I shake my head, trying to banish the image, but it’s stuck like a splinter.

His words…his offer echoes in my head, making my stomach churn.

‘‘Then you’re mine. You’ll be my...property. You’ll do what I say, when I say it.’’

His voice, calm but with a razor-sharp edge, keeps replaying in my head, and I can feel the bile rise in my throat. The wordpropertylingers, suffocating me. Like I’m nothing more than a possession to him, something he can control, bend to his will.

I bite my lip, the weight of it all crashing down on me again. Cassidy keeps rambling about hockey boys, but I’m barely listening. Thatcher’s offer wasn’t just about hooking up or some casual flirtation. It was more—a deal. A way out of one mess, but straight into another.

He made it sound like a choice, but was it really? My freedom, my reputation, everything hangs by a thread, and Thatcher holds the scissors. If I refuse him, there’s no knowing what he will do. And if I accept, what happens to me then? Either way, I lose.

“So, what do you think?” I hear Cassidy ask, her question breaking me out of my thoughts.

“Huh?” I blink, forcing myself to refocus.

She tosses me a look, half-amused, half-exasperated. “Seriously? I’ve been talking about you needing another rebound and me already having the perfect candidate and you’ve been zoning out this whole time,” she scoffs. “You really need to get out of your head, girl.”

I force out a small laugh. “Sorry, I’ve just got a lot on my mind. What were you saying?”

She rolls her eyes but shifts closer, a conspiratory look on her face as she unlocks her phone and starts aggressively scrolling.

“His name is Connor, and he’s also a psychology major and…” she pushes her phone towards me and I lean forward to glance at her screen “He’s totally hot and plus, he has a massive crush on you.”

I glance at the phone screen, my eyes catching on the photo Cassidy is showing me. It’s not just Connor in the photo–it’s a group photo of him and several other guys, all dressed in preppy frat boy fashion, standing in front of a familiar mansion. They’re all grinning like they’ve just won some sort of victory, arms slung over each other’s shoulders.

And then my stomach drops.

Because there, standing dead center at the front of the group, is Thatcher.

He’s wearing the same smirk I’ve come to loathe—confident, smug, like he owns everything around him. His hair is shorter, curling around his face like a curtain. His tall, muscled frame, which towered over the rest of his frat brothers, is clad in a dark colored letterman jacket. Thatcher’s presence dominates the photo, even though it’s supposed to be a group shot. He’s the tallest, the broadest, and the one everyone else seems to be gravitating toward.

My eyes zero in on the title stitched onto his jacket—”Fraternity President”. Of course, he’s in charge.

My heart sinks, and a wave of nausea sweeps over me as I stare at the image. Even in a candid frat photo, Thatcher exudes control and dominance, his undeniably handsome features and that effortlessly charming smile that could disarm anyone, even me.

I feel Cassidy’s expectant eyes on me, completely oblivious to the turmoil churning inside. She’s still rambling about Connor, pointing out how cute and sweet he is, but her words are just background noise.

My entire focus is locked on Thatcher, and I can’t shake the unease creeping up my spine. His chiseled jawline, piercing bottle green eyes, perfectly tousled brown hair and that infuriatingly flawless smile—it’s a combination that would be impossible to ignore even if I wanted to. His looks are almost too good to be true, the kind of look that makes people forgive his arrogance, the kind that makes you second-guess whether you hate him or if part of you is drawn to him against your better judgment.

I swallow hard, trying to push away the weight settling on my shoulders but it’s no use. Thatcher’s image burns into my mind, his presence more powerful than just pixels on a screen.

“Rhea?” Cassidy’s voice breaks through my haze. “What do you think? Connor’s cute, right?”

I force myself to look away from Thatcher’s face, fighting against the tension building in my chest. “Yeah,” I murmur, trying to sound normal. “He seems…nice.”

But my words are hollow, barely cutting through the storm swirling in my mind. Thatcher’s image is burned into my thoughts, his smug expression and ridiculously good looks wrapping around me like a vice. His eyes seem to see right through me, even through the phone screen. It’s maddening how someone so infuriatingly arrogant could be this captivating at the same time.

Cassidy prattles on, oblivious to my internal struggle, her phone now back in her hands as she starts texting someone.

“You should totally meet Connor,” she says, grinning. “He’s cute, sweet and totally not a weirdo, I promise.”

I manage a weak smile, turn back to my vanity and grab my mascara.

“I’ll think about it,” I finally say, my voice distant, but the truth is I’m not sure I can think about anyone else right now.

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