Page 25 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth (The Blackridge Reapers #4)

The blinking red numbers on my alarm clock feel like they’re taunting me.

No matter how hard I try, my mind keeps snapping back to that stupid car, replaying every second of what happened.

That stupid Tesla…

I don’t think I’ll ever look at one the same way again.

His stupid fucking fingers, and that dirty mouth. The things he did with his tongue. I didn’t know it would feel that good.

I bury my face in my pillow, letting out a muffled groan.

I’m supposed to be forgetting this—forgetting him.

But the way he worshiped me with his tongue, the way he calls me dove and baby and sexy , the way I completely forgot that I didn’t want to take his deal—it all keeps circling back, louder and more impossible to ignore.

I can’t believe it, but he’s gotten under my skin, so deep that I’m actually losing sleep over that asshole.

Sighing, I pull my blanket over my head.

That fucking asshole…

I close my eyes, hoping the darkness will drown out the memories, but it only makes them sharper. Every detail, every sensation—it’s all right there, like my mind is hell-bent on replaying it.

The way he looked at me, intense and unrelenting, like he could see straight through my defenses.

And God, the way his hands moved, tracing up my thighs, his fingers leaving a trail of fire on my skin.

I can still feel the rough warmth of his mouth, the possessive way he held me in place, like I was something he wanted to please and wasn’t planning on letting go.

For more than a second, I lost myself in him, forgetting the warnings in my head, the part of me that knows I should be staying as far away from him as possible.

I turn over, hugging my pillow, trying to shake it off, but I can still hear his voice, that low, taunting murmur, those filthy words he whispered.

He knew exactly what he was doing, every look, every touch, pushing me closer to that edge I never wanted to reach with him. And the worst part? I’d let him. Even if just for a few moments, I’d given in.

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 a mistake. 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 my free 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.

Finally, when I can’t take it anymore, I turn to her. “What?”

She’s sprawled out on my bed, her chin in her hands, her legs in the air behind her. She gives me an innocent smile, one that says she’s been waiting for me to crack.

“Nothing,” she replies, dragging out the word with exaggerated nonchalance. But her eyes are gleaming with that telltale curiosity.

I roll my eyes, putting down my mascara. “Just tell me.”

She grins wider, swinging her legs, her socked feet a blur behind her head. “Fine, just wondering who you’re getting all dolled up for.”

“Dolled up?” I glance down at my outfit. What is she getting at now? “It’s just jeans and a shirt, Cass. I would hardly call this dolled up.”

“Yeah, but straight leg jeans that hug your ass? And a fitted shirt? That’s you basically wearing a gold sequined, low-cut dress.” Cassidy smirks as if she’s just uncovered a deep secret. “Don’t act like you’re not putting in extra effort.”

I cross my arms, her scrutiny unnerving. “Maybe I wanted to switch it up for once.”

She lets out a laugh, clearly not buying it. “Uh-huh. Sure. Because, out of the blue, you suddenly feel like ‘switching it up.’ Nothing to do with a certain someone who just happens to be popping up in your classes, right?”

I feel my cheeks heat, and I turn back to the mirror, trying to keep my face neutral. “Tease all you want,” I mutter, but Cassidy’s smirk only grows, and I know I’m not fooling her one bit.

My phone beeps with a message and I am grateful for the distraction. I grab it and read the screen.

Still up for tacos and social influence?

I stare at Connor’s message, my thumb hovering over the screen. Part of me wants to say yes, to do something normal with someone who seems genuine. He’s sweet, helpful, sane and completely drama-free, which feels like exactly what I need.

But then, there’s Thatcher, his shadow looming over even this innocent offer.

Somehow, I can already imagine his reaction if he found out I was spending time with someone else.

And as ridiculous as it is, that thought alone makes me hesitate.

I’m not sure why I’m letting him have this effect on me, but here I am, overthinking a simple invitation because of him.

“Who is it?” Cassidy’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, her curiosity obvious as she leans over, trying to sneak a peek at my phone.

I shut off my screen before she can read anything, forcing a smile. “Just…someone from class,” I say, hoping that will be enough to dodge the subject. But I can already see Cassidy’s eyes lighting up with even more curiosity.

Later…I’ll answer later.

Cassidy’s smirk deepens, and I know she’s not letting this go easily. “Oh, just someone from class?” she teases, crossing her arms. “Is this someone from class maybe tall, cute, and likes to invite you out for tacos?”