Page 8 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

I raise my cup at him in a toast. “Cheers, Jack.”

We knock back another drink and he fills our cups again. “I’ve never seen you around, is this your first time?”

“Yeah,” I drawl. “First time. Parties aren’t really my thing.”

“I will drink to that.”

I blush, taking another sip. There’s something about him. He has that edge to him.

“What is your thing then?” he asks.

“Hmm,” I hum, pretending to think as I sip my drink, savoring the taste of the alcohol as it warms me from the inside. “I guess I prefer quieter gatherings—more meaningful conversations, you know? Less… chaos.”

Jack leans in closer, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. “So, you’re telling me you’re not here for the wild parties and the endless shots?” He smirks, the corner of his mouth lifting in a teasing grin.

“Exactly,” I say, my voice playful, but inside, I feel a rush of excitement. His proximity feels electric, the heat radiating off him making my cheeks flush. “I’m more of a homebody than a party girl. I’d rather take a good nap than do this.”

He chuckles, clearly entertained. “A homebody, huh? That’s not what I expected. But I think you might be more adventurous than you let on.”

“Adventurous? Me?” I laugh, rolling my eyes, but his gaze holds a challenge, a spark of intrigue that pulls me in deeper. “I mean, I am here, aren’t I? So maybe I’m feeling a little reckless tonight.”

“See?” He points at me with a knowing look.

I shrug, my heart racing as I take another swig from my cup. “Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t,” he says, his voice low and teasing, as he leans in even closer, the space between us electrified with unspoken tension. I can feel my pulse quicken, the world around us fading into a blur as I focus solely on him, caught in this intoxicating moment where nothing else matters but the thrill of the unknown. I notice the light bruise on his neck, the tiny cuts on his face, and the certainty in his eyes.

The space between us lessens as I lean in, my heart thumping wildly in my chest, echoing in my ear. I can feel the warmth radiating off him, the intoxicating mix of cologne and faint sweat filling my senses. Our breaths mingle and I glance at his full lips, slightly parted as if he’s waiting for me to make the first move and close the gap between us. The noise of the party fades to a distant hum leaving only my heartbeat pounding in my ears and the flickering lights above us.

Just as I am about to throw caution to the wind, the sound of breaking glass cuts through the haze and I jerk back from him, my gaze darting to the other side of the kitchen.

A shirtless guy stands impossibly still in the door frame, a black mask covers his face. I can’t see his eyes, but I can feel them on me, staring, taking me in…

He takes a step into the room, that single step more menacing than his appearance. Subconsciously, I find myself backtracking, an involuntary shiver winding its way down my spine.

Who is this guy?

Jack stands up straight, finishing off his drink, staring at the guy. I can’t tell if they know each other.

The masked guy remains silent, his presence suffocating like a predator sizing us up. His head tilts, as if he’s considering what to do with Jack. I fucking hate Halloween. The tension in the room thickens and the air grows colder. My heart pounds louder in my chest, the alcohol haze beginning to fade as reality sharpens around me.

Jack shifts beside me, his friendly façade fading into something sinister.

The guy in the mask finally moves, but it’s slow, deliberate, like he has all the time in the world. His hand rises, a long finger pointing directly at me and my breath freezes in my lungs. My instinct screams at me to run but my feet are rooted to the spot, frozen under the weight of his gaze.

The guy still doesn’t speak, instead his hands lowers and steps towards me again. I back up as he approaches, Jack in tow. My heart is in my mouth as I watch him approach.

Is this how I die? In a Frat party surrounded by horny douches?

Every true crime documentary I have watched comes flashing in my mind as I try my best to put some distance between me and my supposed killer, but I fail as the space diminishes, and I feel the lip of the back counter at my back.

Shit!

The slowly advancing masked stranger stops. He tilts his head again, as if confused before reaching out and grabbing the half empty bottle of vodka at the end of the island.

He turns and gives us a sidelong look before stalking to the door and disappearing back into the party outside.

“What the fuck was that?” I shout over the music, my voice shaky with leftover adrenaline.

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