Tequila & Tailgates (A Country Road Novel - Book 2)

by Andrea Johnston

  I should have known better than to think of it as a simple game of Truth or Dare. There is nothing simple when it comes to Ashton Marie Sullivan. Sitting on either side of the fire from each other, taking shots of tequila, the game started innocently enough. No dares have been taken, which is probably for the best considering how much tequila we’ve been drinking. Thankfully we didn’t start with a full bottle and Ashton has spilled what is equivalent to about six shots without even realizing.

  She’s so fucking beautiful. Why does she have to be my best friend’s sister? Her laugh is obnoxious and her jokes are awful but she sings like an angel and her smile is contagious. She has no idea how amazing she is and her self-doubt is something only a few of us ever see. I knew she was disappointed that Ben was missing her twentieth birthday so I’ve tried to take his place. Teasing her when appropriate and showing her attention like I think Ben would. I’ve even referred to her still being a teenager a few times which has only fueled her little spitfire attitude.

  Everyone else bailed on her celebration and went to bed a few hours ago, leaving Ashton and I alone to party. Then, somehow, between a truth about our favorite toy growing up and our favorite Jo Bros song, I’ve found myself in an internal battle.

  Knowing that it’s likely neither of us will ever talk about this night again, I decide to give myself one moment. Just one. I stand and take the final shot from the bottle of tequila before setting the bottle to the side. Stalking toward her, I squat so I’m in Ashton’s personal space. Her breath quickens as she whispers, “Truth or Dare?”

  Her words are quiet and her breaths shallow. My gaze goes to her chest. I note the fullness of her breasts, and can see by the glow of the fire that her breathing is labored. Hands gripping the armrest of the chair, she knows something is happening. Something between us. I pull my eyes from her chest, letting them linger on her lips. Her tongue darts out, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. I’m hard in an instant.

  “Dare, Sunshine.” My voice is deep and my tone raspy. I know she hates that nickname. But she is; she’s like sunshine.

  “I hate that name.”

  “I know.”

  Each of our words is a quiet whisper barely audible over the crackle of the fire. My left hand rests on her right, willing her to relax. I feel the grip she has on the chair loosen as she speaks, daring me.

  “I dare you to kiss me.”

  I don’t have to be told twice. Naturally meeting halfway, I gently lay my lips to hers. The tension in her lips doesn’t deter me. If anything, it ignites something in me. Something primal and raw. My left hand remains on Ashton’s as my right reaches for her waist, tugging her forward in her chair. The movement pushes her off balance, forcing her to grip my biceps. That simple gesture encourages me and I gently lick her bottom lip, which seems to be all she needs to relax and kiss me back.

  I need more. More of her. More of this kiss. Pulling her up so that she’s standing, I bring both hands around her waist, her back slightly arching as she sinks into me with her legs. Fuck, she feels amazing in my arms. A swipe of my tongue and she opens for me. Our tongues connect and the world around me spins.

  The kiss intensifies to an almost frantic state before I move my lips to her neck. The soft moans she releases have my dick so fucking hard right now I can barely stand it. I know she feels it and the hell if she doesn’t move her hands down to my belt.

  I can’t let this happen. I place my hand on hers, stopping her before she can do more or pull away. Our breaths are both labored, as if we’ve just run a marathon.

  “Ash,” I whisper.

  “Please don’t ruin it, Jameson.” I hear a catch in her voice, as if she’s going to cry.

  “Baby,” I begin, but she places her fingers to my lips.

  “Don’t. Let me have this as my gift. It’s okay, only a kiss. We’ll blame the tequila in the morning and it’ll be okay.”

  My phone signals a text message, pulling me from my memories.

  Ashton: I feel like cooking tonight; will you be home for dinner?

  Ashton: Unless you have plans.

  Me: No plans.

  Ashton: You sure about that? No … lady friend time? By lady you know I mean ho-bag.

  This woman is going to drive me to an early grave. Digs and snarky comments are like her first language.

  Me: Ignoring you. No plans. I’ll be home about 6 or 7. Is that too late?

  Ashton: Ignore all you want, I’m awesome so it won’t last.

  Me: Whatever. 6 or 7?

  Ashton: That’ll work. You like squid, right?

  Me: SQUID?

  Ashton: Just kidding. I was going to make a roast. What kind of hoity-toity wine do you need for that?

  Me: It’s not hoity-toity. I’ll get my wine; you just cook the meal, woman.

  Ashton: Don’t woman me. Are you using semi colons in a text message?

  Me: So?

  Ashton: Nothing. I mean it, no woman business. I’m making a friendly gesture here, don’t ruin it with name calling.

  Me: Woman is name calling? What should I be calling you? Wench?

  Ashton: Hmmm…you should really think about who is cooking your dinner before the name calling.

  Me: Fine. I apologize. I will get the wine, dear friend, if you will kindly make the dinner. Better?

  Ashton: Much. See ya tonight. Have a good day.

  Me: Thanks. You, too.

  I’m not surprised the memories are flooding my daily life. They’re great, even if they make me feel like more of an asshole than I already do. Memories are just reminders of what’s already happened, not a determination of what’s to come.

  Growing up, my favorite place to be other than in front the mirror impersonating my idol, Dolly Parton, was in the kitchen with my mom. Patty Sullivan is our own version of June Cleaver. Each day after school Ben and I would come home, with Jameson and Piper in tow, to a batch of cookies or a freshly baked pie. I learned the appreciation of expressing love and gratitude through food at an early age.

  Since the day I moved into … err, decided to stay at … Jameson’s, I’ve realized exactly how awful I’ve been to him these last few years. To say I’ve been a bitch would be putting it mildly. The worst part is I just look like a psychotic hormonal nutcase because I’ve never told anyone about Jameson and me. Nope, locked that shit up and tossed away the key.

  This morning I woke up thinking about the first night I was here and the olive branch he extended by way of my favorite pizza. Oh, and the cupcakes I found the next day. Who puts cupcakes on top of the refrigerator anyway? This is especially confusing when the person you bought them for is a good foot shorter than you.

  Jameson does that.

  Tonight is my way of taking a step toward making amends. My own olive branch. Mostly, it’s my passive aggressive way of apologizing for being a rotten bitch for four years and hopefully establishing a truce. Or, at the very least, a way for me to establish my own closure without ever really addressing our history.

  I took a chance in texting Jameson this morning and offering to cook dinner. Expecting a much-deserved snarky response, I was a little surprised when he didn’t hesitate to accept my invitation. Shortly after I made the offer to cook, I realized I have none of my pots and pans or my spices here. Since my house is basically condemned for now and an inventory of Jameson’s kitchen confirmed what I knew, I’d need help. So, I texted Piper.

  My drive to my brother and Piper’s house is calming and I understand why they enjoy living so far out of town. If I had a job that didn’t require me to work late nights, I would probably consider the same move. Of course, I’d much prefer to live on Jameson’s property on the lake, but that’s wishful thinking since that would make any commute impossible.

  Turning onto the driveway to Ben and Piper’s property, I prepare myself for not only the domestic bliss my best friend is oozing these days, but also for the third degree on my treatment of Jameson. Piper has made her opinion of my less-than-stellar b
ehavior toward Jameson, okay and the women he spends his time with, very clear. She does not like it. In fact, I’m quite certain the one thing about me that Piper would change is my bitchiness toward Jameson. And his manwhoretourage. Like an entourage but for a manwhore. It’s a thing.

  Piper is a wonderful person. She is kind, supportive, encouraging, and loving. Clearly, I am not very good at all those things. That’s not true. I am all those things to everyone in my life, except Jameson. It’s not that I don’t like him, I do. That is the problem. Plus, it’s hard to be kind when no one knows how much I have in common with the aforementioned manwhoretourage.

  Before I can put my car in park, Piper is flying down the front steps toward my car, squealing like a mad woman.

  “Yay! You’re here! I’m so excited!” she exclaims while bouncing on her feet.

  “Whoa there. I’m right here, no need to shout,” I sigh as I close the driver’s door while bracing myself for the assault she’s about to unleash on me. Yep, for a little thing my best friend is an aggressive hugger.

  “Sorry! I’m just so excited. I want you to see how much we’ve done to the house since you were here last. Come on,” she demands, grabbing my hand and dragging me toward the house.

  “I don’t have all afternoon, ya know. I do have to get home. I mean to J’s.”

  “Mmhmm, I heard that. Home. You called it home. We are going to talk about this living situation sooner than later. You know that, right?”

  “Again, there’s nothing to talk about. Can you just show me whatever ridiculous thing my brother has done now so I can get those pots and pans and get back to the house?”

  “You have plenty of time, so hush. You’re making a pot roast, not a Thanksgiving dinner.”

  I let Piper drag me up the steps to their large wrap-around porch. I notice that the front door is painted. “When did you paint the door?”

  “Oh, last week. Isn’t it great? Your brother hates it, but I love it. And, well, he loves me, and my abilities to get him to say yes to anything I like.”

  I stop, putting my hands over my ears. “I don’t want to hear about your sexual powers over my brother.”

  Piper pulls my hands down. “I wasn’t talking about sex, silly. These long eyelashes are great for puppy dog eyes. Hence, the blue door.”

  “Okaaayyy,” I reluctantly concede as I follow her into the foyer. “So, is that what you wanted to show me?”

  “What? No, silly. I want to show you this,” she says while rotating her hand like she’s the new letter turning co-host on Wheel of Fortune.

  I gasp immediately as I take in what she’s presenting. Flanking either side of the fireplace are floor-to-ceiling bookcases, the bottom half of each being closed storage, and the shelves full of books and photos. Photos of her mom, our parents, and our group of friends. New-to-me photos are those of Ben and Piper as a couple. For some reason, those hit me the hardest and I find myself tearing up.

  I suck back the tears and take in the rest of the living room. The couch is new, as is the rug below the table. The corner of the room has a beautiful chair and end table that I can tell from the blanket thrown over the back of the chair is now Piper’s reading corner.

  “Wow, Pipe, it looks great. You guys have done a great job.”

  “Thanks! I’m so excited. I love it so much. We’re still not on the same page about what to put above the fireplace. Ben wants to put a television but I vetoed that. So, instead it sits empty.”

  “No TV?” I ask. I can’t imagine not having a television.

  “Oh, there’ll be one in the media room. I told you we don’t plan on using the formal dining room for dining so we decided to turn that into a media room and leave this more for hanging out and relaxing. We had a fire in here last night and it was amazing. You know this is the room where I first put the moves on your brother.”

  “Yeah, I’ve explained that as much as we’ve shared details about our relationships in the past, I’m going to have to pass on the details of this one. It’s kind of gross. And now I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to just hang out in this room.”

  “Oh stop, we’re all adults. You know, one day we’re going to have babies and that means your brother and I…”

  “Stop. I beg you!” I manage to cut her off before she can finish that sentence and make it so I will never bond with my future nieces and nephews.

  Laughing, Piper walks out of the room toward the kitchen, but I stay back just a minute to look at this room. Piper and I are the same age and Ben is only four years older, but at this moment I feel like a child compared to them. They are living together, planning a future that includes children, and living in a home that they’ll raise those children in. Meanwhile, I am staying in a room at my brother’s best friend’s house because my room, at my parents’ house, is under construction. I should really consider adulting better.

  I can hear Piper in the kitchen banging around pots and pans. Making my way toward the noise, I hear the gravel outside signal my brother’s arrival.

  “Why are you making so much noise, Piper?”

  “Sorry, one of the lids was stuck. I have the roasting pan and the skillet you wanted. Anything else? Some herbs, right? Let me grab those from the pantry.”

  “Hey, babe, where are you?” I hear Ben shouting as he comes in the back door.

  “Well, babe, I’m right here,” I sarcastically respond.

  “Please never say that again. That’s gross, Ashton.”

  Rolling my eyes, I hug my big brother and relax as he returns the hug.

  “How are you holding up, Ash?”

  “I’m fine, but I miss my stuff.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe this is what you needed to make sure you aren’t too comfortable at Mom and Dad’s.”

  Sighing, I pull away from our hug, placing my hands on my hips in defiance. “Whatever, it wasn’t too long ago that you were also at Mom and Dad’s, so maybe you shouldn’t be so judgmental, brother of mine.”

  “Are you two arguing? It’s been all of thirty seconds since I went in the pantry. Hey, honey,” Piper says, offering my brother a kiss.

  I snag the herbs from Piper’s hand while she’s distracted and toss them in the roasting pan before gathering everything to leave.

  “We aren’t arguing; I was just asking Ashton how things were going.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you weren’t ‘just asking’ me anything, Ben. Look, I’ve got to go. I’m making J dinner tonight and if I don’t get a move on, it’ll be more like a midnight snack.”

  “Is that going okay? You and Jameson under one roof?” Ben asks, and I see his genuine concern.

  “Yeah, it’s cool. No biggie. We’ve kind of agreed to a truce, which is why I’m making dinner. I’ll see you guys later, okay?”

  “I’ll walk out with you,” Piper says, following me out of the house. “You know your brother means well, right? He’s just worried about you.”

  “Why? I’m fine.” I hear my curt tone and use my keys to open the trunk of my car. Once I’ve placed the pans in the back, I close the trunk and turn to Piper, who is standing with her toe tapping and arms crossed. Ugh, the raised brow.

  “I’m sorry. Look, I appreciate everyone being worried about me and all, but I’m fine. I’ve been saving money and Jameson letting me stay with him is allowing me to continue doing so. I know I’m not doing what everyone wants me to be doing in life but I’m twenty-five. Just because you all have your acts together doesn’t mean I need to be on your timetable too. So, can we just let this go? Please.”

  “Ash, I don’t know about everyone else or why you’re being so defensive. I just want you to be happy and I know you like working at Country Road, but is bartending what you want to be doing? What about singing? That’s what you should be doing.”

  Here we go. Everyone and their damn opinions on my singing.

  “I’m not having this discussion today. It pisses me off and I don’t want to take that out on Jameson. I’m trying to
be nice. I love to sing. At home. Alone. You know I can’t sing in front of other people, we’ve gone through this. Just because you have a skill doesn’t mean it’s your destiny.” I take a deep breath because I can feel my pulse racing. I don’t want to argue or fight. “I’ve gotta run. I love you. Now go do things we’ll never talk about with my brother and let me be,” I tease as I hug her and hop in my car. Before I can put the car in gear, Piper knocks on the window.

  As I lower the window, she leans in. “You have an amazing voice, Ashton. I hate that you don’t believe in yourself like we all do. Please just think about it. I know having a skill doesn’t always mean anything, but this isn’t a skill. Singing is your passion, your first love, and what you were meant to do. I love you too, now go so I can jump your brother’s bones!”

  “You’re evil. Love you!” I shout as I drive away.

  She’s right, singing is my first love and my passion, but it is also the one thing in this life that truly petrifies me. I’m also a liar. Not like an “I lie to myself” kind of lie. Nope, more like a “liar-liar, pants on fire” type of liar. Singing doesn’t petrify me, nor does singing in public. That’s the lie. Sure, when I first started having panic attacks, the natural conclusion was that I suffered from your run-of-the-mill stage fright. I simply stopped singing publicly and what had once been debilitating panic attacks became something I was able to control and chalk up to anxiety.

  Anxiety that I masked with indifference and attitude.

  That is, until I happened upon a bar with karaoke on a very long road trip. After a horrific and semi-traumatizing girl’s trip with my former roommate and a group of her friends, I opted for a long drive home, alone, instead of flying with the wannabe Pink Ladies. Starving and in need of a break from the mundane, I stopped in a little town and secured a hotel room before finding a local watering hole.

  The sign outside of the bar promised the best burger in town and the drink special was margaritas. While tequila has notoriously created a little bit of chaos in my life, margaritas themselves have never steered me wrong.

  Sometime between the third and fourth margarita, I discovered a microphone in my hand. With the help of liquid courage, I chose a childhood favorite of mine by my idol, Dolly Parton. After only a few seconds, I realized that strangers weren’t going to be disappointed if I completely sucked and bombed.