Blame it on the Tequila

by Fiona Cole

  “To have a van of my own, so I won’t have to get a rental every few weeks when I travel,” I answered in rote.

  “And how do we do that?”

  “By combining my art, travel, and writing into a single entity,” I continued the routine answer.

  She beamed. “Exactly. So, suck it up, and don’t worry about it tonight. Because tonight, Naughty Nova is coming out to play. Although, I’m sure your followers would love to meet her. You’d probably get sponsored by Patron.”

  She was right; I didn’t need to worry about it tonight. Pushing the phone aside, I snatched the shot glass and tossed it back, trying to block out the impending doom of tomorrow morning’s headache. Just as I set the glass down, Lizzo’s Tempo came on.

  “Oh, my god. I love this song.”

  “Hell yes, you do.” Rae smirked, snatching my purse, knowing damn well what was coming next. “Get it, girl.”

  I swayed my way to the dance floor, the lights flashed, spotlighting my every move.

  Looking around the large gilded room, I realized we were the only ones still lingering. Staff at the hotel moved from table to table collecting dishes, and yet here we were, enjoying the still dim lights and open bar.

  And I planned on enjoying every second of this song.

  I pushed my lips out and channeled my inner diva, shaking my ass.

  After a spin, I looked up to find Rae holding my phone. The alcohol swam through my veins, the lights swirling, and my hair sticking to the damp nape of my neck.

  “Don’t you dare record me, Raelynn,” I said, but it came out breathless and was only enforced with a half-ass arm lifted to block my face. It dropped quickly when I moved my hand to my rolling hips.

  “I would never,” she joked, her voice heavy with the lie she didn’t bother to make me believe.

  Fuck it. I weighed my options and figured the recording would be blurry at best with how much she moved around with me. I’d delete it later. There was no need to stop enjoying the music.

  My limbs tingled, and I laughed as the weightless joy carried me around the floor. I stumbled but recovered quickly, placing both hands on the floor and shaking my ass like a stripper.

  Rae catcalled, and I went with it, letting the thud of the bass fuel my movements. I loved music. It was built into my DNA. But having music as part of my life didn’t make me the best dancer. It did give me enough musicality to hit the beats and make it work. With the tequila infusing my confidence, it made up for anything I lacked.

  I didn’t drink often, but when I did, I went for the gold. That was when Naughty Nova came out, as Rae called me. I’d earned that title when we’d met in college. After a couple months of always being the designated driver for her and Vera, I cut loose and agreed to an Uber. We did shots of tequila, and I ended up dancing on a table.

  And Naughty Nova was born. Or at least named. She’d always been there before, eager to break the chains I kept her in.

  Lizzo ended, and Muse’s Pressure blasted from the speakers. I turned to face a smiling Rae next to a wide-eyed Austin. His eyes flicked to my phone screen and back to me, looking like a deer in headlights bracing for impact. Probably just holding his breath, waiting for Rae to drop the phone and start dancing around him. I focused my attention on her, planning to take the phone and shove it aside so she could dance with me.

  I rolled my shoulders and gave the camera my most seductive look. Why not? It was getting deleted tomorrow, anyway.

  “Oh, yeah. Give it to me, baby,” Rae cheered.

  Another shimmy and ass shake.

  Then Rae turned the phone to show me the screen, and although the music still played, a record scratched to a halt in my mind as I met the bluest eyes I never thought I’d see looking back at me ever again.

  “Damn,” the man on the screen said.

  And he was a man. His scruff covering his cheeks, hiding the lines I knew were there when he was clean-shaven. His arm flexed, showing off more tattoos than I remembered, when he pushed back the wavy dirty-blond locks that I knew lightened over the summer when he spent too much time at the pool.

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. He was doing an Instagram live and picking fans to go live with him. I at least had to try, and he picked me,” Rae explained, laughing. She moved to stand beside me and put us both on the screen. Her smiling face next to my shell-shocked one. “She’s like your biggest fan, and when I saw you go live, I figured, why not.” She bumped my shoulder. “Can you believe it?”

  I couldn’t tell what caused the lights to spin and twist this time, the tequila or the shock. Rae said some more words, but it barely breached the rush of blood blocking out everything—pulsing like I floated in the ocean. His lips moved, but I was too focused on his tongue chasing the words, remembering all the times I’d watched it when he sang.

  Another bump to the shoulder and all my sense crashed back at once.

  “Nova!” Rae squealed. “It’s Parker freaking Callahan. Say something.”

  Too loud, too bright, too much.

  I snatched the phone and exited the app.

  “Uhhh.” Rae’s jaw hung open, and I struggled to come up with a valid reason for ripping the phone from her hands.

  “Umm…” I forced a laugh which was more of an expulsion of air with a squeak. “That was awkward.”

  The phone vibrated in my hand, and I glanced down to see an Instagram notification.

  Fuck. Shit fuck. Fuck shit fuck.

  “Dude,” Rae said, unimpressed with my response.

  “More shots,” I shouted. Me drinking always distracted Rae.

  She shook her head and smiled. “Missed opportunity, homegirl.”

  My phone vibrated again, and I shrugged. “Let me run to the restroom, and I’ll meet you there. Grab me two.” I was going to need it.

  She snagged Austin and tugged him behind her. With a shaking hand, I swiped open the notification.

  Parker Callahan: Give me your number.

  Parker Callahan: If you don’t, I’ll figure out who your friend is and ask her. She seems eager to connect us.

  Oh, shit snacks.

  I imagined him figuring out who Rae was. It wouldn’t be hard. My profile was public even if I used an off name and never showed my face. She splashed her face all over her feed, and it wouldn’t take much to connect the pieces through our friendship. I imagined the conversation and cringed when Rae would eventually find out that I wasn’t just a fan of Parker Callahan from The Hidden Obsession but had been in love with him once upon a time when he’d not only been my biggest crush but my stepbrother, too.

  Psithursm: I don’t want to talk.

  Parker Callahan: Is she Raelynn Vos?

  Parker Callahan: I only saw her in the dark, but I’m willing to guess.

  Psithurism: Fine.

  I sent him my number and held my breath.

  Within seconds my phone vibrated with an unfamiliar number and a New York area code. Part of me half expected his name to pop up like it had all those years ago, like maybe he kept the same number.

  Taking one last deep breath, I accepted the call and lifted the phone to my ear, pinching my eyes shut, bracing for impact.

  But nothing could prepare me to hear him say my name again.

  “Nova.”

  Damn.

  Just my name and all the emotions I’d fought to block out years ago flooded back, rendering it impossible to do anything but wince at the pain and smile at the memories.

  Because Parker Callahan always came with both.

  PARKER

  “Parker.”

  I never thought I’d hear that voice again. I’d let go of that dream a long time ago. But just my name, and it stirred all the old emotions that came with it.

  The swell of heat. The rush of need.

  The resentment.

  The anger.

  The hurt.

  “Hey,” I finally responded, at a loss for words for the first time in my life.

  “Hey.”r />
  We both laughed at the one-word greetings.

  “Were we always this awkward?” I asked.

  “I was,” she admitted. “But you? Never.”

  “I was with you.”

  “Bullshit,” she crowed.

  “Please. You came in all cool and collected, and I just jumped at the chance to pull you out of your shell so I could talk to you.”

  “I think we remember things a wee bit differently, Parker Callahan.”

  “Nah, I’m always right,” I said, flopping back on the couch in yet another hotel.

  “Yeah, right.”

  I could still hear the music in the background through her phone, but it faded as if she left the room she’d been dancing in before.

  Of all the ways I imagined seeing Nova Hearst again, watching her twerk on an empty dance floor in some kind of champagne silk that clung to her soft curves on an Instagram live would have been my very last guess. It wouldn’t have even made the list.

  Accidentally running into her at a library, coffee shop, or art show sat at the top of my list of places to possibly find the girl who vanished into thin air. I didn’t even like art shows, but I’d gone to more than I’d care to admit on the off chance she’d be there.

  A tired, heavy sigh reached through the phone, and I didn’t know what time zone she was in, but my clock read eleven-fifty-two. The Nova I remembered never could stay up too late. Always an early riser looking for the best morning light for her art.

  “How are you, Nova?”

  “I’m…good.” I liked that I could hear the smile in her answer. I liked finding out she was happy because she deserved it after what she’d gone through. After what I’d failed to protect her from. “I’d ask you how you’ve been, but it seems redundant when it’s all over the internet.”

  “That’s the internet. You should know it’s not always right.”

  “True. So, I guess I’ll go ahead and ask. How are you, Parker?”

  After a long pause, leaving her hanging, I answered. “Good.”

  A giggle came through the phone and squeezed my chest, forcing my heart to pump harder. Damn. She still had the same effect even after all these years, even over the phone. I couldn’t help but laugh with her.

  “You’re on tour, right?”

  “We sure are.”

  “Where are you now? Dallas?”

  “Ahhhhh. I see how it is.” My smile grew at her slipup.

  “See how what is?”

  “You keeping up with us, Nova?”

  She scoffed—twice—before deciding she’d been caught. “Maybe. I may have seen a show or two.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” The words escaped on a gust of air like I’d been sucker-punched in the gut. I’d done a double-take on every willowy redhead in the last five years, and she’d been right there. A bobbing head and screaming fan in a sea of darkness impossible to see past the blinding lights.

  So fucking close.

  She giggled again. “Nope. Jammed out with all your fangirls.”

  “I just…” My mind struggled to process it. “I didn’t realize how close you were.”

  The shock faded enough to let another emotion take over—hurt.

  Her lighthearted giggle stopped, unable to miss the way the emotion hung from my words. “Yeah.”

  Another strained silence, and I imagined her teeth digging into her plump bottom lip. The memory of watching her do it across the dining room table one of the first times we met hit me, and I missed her all over again just as hard as the first day I realized she left.

  Jesus, I hadn’t even known I was capable of such a strong emotion after all these years. It knocked me sideways enough to slip honesty past the superficially light conversation.

  “I looked for you, Nova.”

  “Oh,” she whispered.

  “I looked for you,” I repeated, willing her to hear all the days, weeks, and months I’d held my breath in hopes of her coming back to me.

  A thud came through the line, and it was like I was there, watching her lean against a wall, the phone to her ear, her pink lips even rosier from the assault, tipping her head back to hit it against the wall. Just to jar the thoughts free, she’d explained the first time I caught her doing it.

  “Listen, Parker,” she finally said. “I’m pretty drunk right now. My friend just got married, and I’ve done more than my fair share of shots.”

  “Supernova,” I said softly, wanting to stop the exit she tried to make while simultaneously reminding her of the nickname we gave her when she let loose.

  “It was good catching up,” she said more firmly. Now I could see her stand up and pull her shoulders back, full of false bravado. I could imagine every move—saw it so clearly in my mind. “But I’m about to collapse where I stand.”

  I sat up and pulled my shoulders back too, enforcing real bravado against her fake one. I refused to let her end this as soon as it started. “I’m calling you again.”

  “I-I don’t know—”

  “I do.”

  “Parker.”

  “Go sober up, Supernova. But I’m calling again. Soon. Make sure you pick up.” She let loose a heavy sigh. “Don’t get all huffy on me. I’ll contact your friend,” I threatened playfully to lighten the mood. Maybe if we ended on a lighter note, she’d be more willing to pick up.

  “God, no. Anything but that.”

  “Is she that annoying?”

  “No, not at all. But she’d chew you up and spit you out once she got everything she needed from you.”

  “Challenge accepted.”

  She groaned but laughed.

  “Pick up, Nova.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “You fucking better.”

  “Night, Rock Star.

  “Night, Supernova.”

  The line went dead, and I fell back on the couch, an ache in my chest and a smile on my lips.

  She’d called me Rock Star.

  Just like she had the first night we’d kissed.

  Two

  Nova

  P A S T

  Most kids got a car for their sweet sixteen. I got a new life.

  Okay, maybe a little dramatic.

  My mom married her long-distance boyfriend, and we moved into a stupidly big apartment in the city like some kind of mini-Brady Bunch. The apartment also came with my new stepdad and stepbrother—Parker Callahan.

  I hadn’t met him too many times other than short trips where I kept mostly to myself. The few visits Brad made to visit my mom, Parker stayed with his mom in Chicago, not leaving us much time to get to know each other. Living together hadn’t changed that much either since he was always out.

  “Nova,” my mom called. “Time for dinner.”

  Except for tonight, when my mom was forcing a family dinner, where we would all sit around a table like a happy family.

  Dropping my charcoals on the desk, I rolled my neck and arched back, spreading my cramped fingers like if I reached hard enough, I’d be able to touch the ductwork in the ceiling of my room. My fingers matched the darkness beyond the lamp illuminating my desk, and I dabbed them on the cloth I kept. Not that it worked since I’d overused it, and it only served to smear the dark color more.

  Making a better attempt to scrub them clean in the bathroom, I looked myself over in the mirror. My hair piled messily on top of my head, my shirt had smudges, and my cut-off shorts had fraying strings. I considered changing but shrugged off the idea as soon as it came. If my mom wanted a family dinner, then we’d stick to the norm and keep it casual.

  I walked out just in time to watch Parker fall back into one of the chairs around the table. He pulled out his phone and scrolled, giving me time to take him in—something I liked to do whenever I got the chance.

  Parker Callahan was hot—really hot.

  He was only a year older than me but carried himself like he’d lived an entire life to find the confidence he exuded. His arms flexed against his black T-shirt and his legs strained against
the jeans. Not like the football players at our school, but like a swimmer.

  Every time I saw him, I cataloged something new. How he stood so much taller than my five-foot-eight frame—definitely over six-foot. The ropey muscles stretching down his arms to his agile fingers. The way his lips curled up a little higher on one side when he smiled.

  One beautiful moment stood out the most. I’d caught him coming up from the pool downstairs in shorts and a towel, displaying a light dusting of hair that perfectly matched the dirty blond waves on his head. I almost drooled when he deflected a punch from his friend, and he flexed, showcasing perfectly lined abs. God, even his strong legs leading to his feet had been drool-worthy.

  This time I noticed a small black mark—a tattoo—on the inside of his right middle finger and made a note to try and figure out what it was.

  “Nice shirt,” he said, jarring me out of my perusal.

  Blinking, I looked down at my oversized white tank with The Black Keys emblem. “You know them?”

  He pinched one corner of his shirt to show off the same band name over the left side of his chest. As if connected to the material, one side of his mouth quirked up too, rendering me speechless.

  “Cool,” I muttered.

  It was his turn for his gaze to take me in, and it dropped to my bare legs exposed beneath the edge of my tank, grazing my thighs.

  “I have shorts on,” I blurted, real smooth-like. To add insult to injury, I lifted the hem of my shirt to show the cut-off jean shorts.

  Heat bloomed across my cheeks as the other side of his mouth kicked up in a delicious smile. He lifted his hands and laughed. “It’s your house. You can wear whatever you want.”

  “Well, not really my house.”

  “Not really mine either.”

  My green eyes clashed with his blue ones, and a moment of understanding passed between us, followed by a laugh.