Blame it on the Tequila

by Fiona Cole

  I pulled my hand away, closing my eyes when his jaw flexed in frustration, wanting to block out the flash of hurt and disbelief.

  “Seriously?” he asked.

  The step back away from him physically hurt, but it was nothing compared to when he stood and towered over me until his will forced my eyes open. His glare flamed a hot blue, and I hated it.

  “You’ll make out with everyone here, but you’re too fucking stubborn to just fucking kiss me. Even when you have the lame-ass excuse of it being a game,” he snapped. “Jesus, Nova.”

  With that, he stormed past me, and after less than a second, my fight kicked in, and I turned to follow him. Just as he tried to slam the door to the back, I slapped my hand out to push it back open, only to slam it behind me.

  “I am not stubborn,” I shouted.

  He laughed without humor. “You’re one of the most stubborn people I know. The fact that you can’t even accept it proves how stubborn you are.”

  “You have no idea who I am. It’s been five years.”

  I toed the line, not wanting to talk about the past but also having a damn good reason to be cautious.

  “I know. I fucking know, Nova. And if I didn’t realize how deep your resentment went, I do after tonight.”

  “Tonight wasn’t about resentment, Parker.”

  “Then what the fuck was it?” he asked, tossing his arms wide. “Please enlighten me. Tell me why you can kiss everyone but me. Huh?”

  “Because you’re you. Because with them, it’s a game, and with you, it’s not.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Tell me about it, because I would love nothing more than to just fucking kiss you.”

  “Then do it.” He said it like a challenge and plea all mixed together.

  I froze, my muscles contracting for fight or flight, and I had no idea which one my mind would choose until everything snapped into action—and he met me halfway.

  My lips crashed to his and our arms wrapped around each other. His hands slid to my ass, and he lifted me up to wrap my legs around his waist as he walked us until my back hit the door.

  With my arms around his shoulders, I held him close, holding on tight as tidal wave after tidal wave of emotion crashed over me, almost like I was caught in a riptide. I needed him to cling to, to survive. His fingers dug in, and I knew I’d have bruises on my pale skin, and I relished in them. I wanted them to remember every second.

  His tongue pressed into my mouth, and my tongue played with his, remembering his taste like it was yesterday and not years ago.

  We ravaged each other like desperate wild animals trying to cram the last five years into one minute—or ten minutes. However long it was. I lost myself in his flavor, in the feel of his flexing muscles that hadn’t been there when we were kids, in the feel of his hard length pressing into me. I hadn’t meant to, but I rocked my hips, unable to help myself, loving his groan of pleasure at the small movement.

  His thumbs reached around the front of my ribs, barely brushing the underside of my breasts, and I gasped, thrusting forward hard to ease the shot of electricity to my clit. He took the moment to move his kisses across my jaw and down my neck.

  “God, Nova. I missed you,” he whispered for only me to hear. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you. How much I’ve dreamed of this—of you.”

  His confession added another tidal wave, and this one hit too hard. Fire burned up the back of my throat, and I tried to blink away the tears but failed. Before I could wipe it away, his lips moved back across my cheek, stalling when he tasted the wet salt.

  Slowly, he pulled back, his own eyes cloudy with the same emotions raging through me. One of his hands abandoned my ribs and came up to wipe away my tears. When another slipped free, he kissed it away. He delivered soft, soothing kisses, bringing us both back to shore, where we could finally breathe.

  Because I could.

  In his arms, finally cracking through the band of tension that squeezed tighter and tighter each day, I could breathe again. Maybe for the first time since I last felt his lips on mine.

  “I missed you too,” I admitted.

  A loud knock against the door jolted me so hard I almost jumped out of his arms.

  “All right, party poopers. We’re heading to bed,” Oren called through the door.

  Holding Parker’s stare, the intense moment was broken, but a softness lingered around the edges. With a protesting growl of frustration, he set me down, and we opened the door.

  “Sorry, guys. I guess I can’t party like a rock star.”

  “We’ve got another month. We’ll train you,” Brogan promised, wrapping his beefy arm around my shoulders in a side hug.

  “Can’t wait,” I deadpanned.

  By the time we all got ready for bed, I could barely crawl into my bunk. Exhaustion clung to every muscle, making me feel both heavier and lighter from the emotional release. I closed my eyes and didn’t even hear the guys shuffling around in their bunks or their usual jokes before bed. All I heard was the hum of the tires on the blacktop soothing me to sleep.

  What felt like two seconds later, my curtain being pushed back woke me up, and I jerked at the shadowy figure hovering on the edge.

  “It’s just me,” Parker whispered.

  I stared, wide-eyed, watching his shadow climb into my tiny space. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I was sure he’d hear it in the quiet, but if he did, he didn’t mention it.

  He moved slow enough that I’d be able to tell him to get out if I wanted—but I didn’t. Instead, I scooted closer to the wall and made room for him just like I had when we were teens, and he snuck into my room at night.

  And just like then, his hand found mine, and the worries from before slipped away.

  For the first time in years, on a bus in the middle of nowhere, I knew.

  With Parker Callahan, I was home.

  Eighteen

  Nova

  Vera: What is up?

  Rae: OMG! It’s been ages since we heard from you. Spill the tea!

  Me: We talked three days ago.

  Rae: Sooooo long ago.

  Vera: Anyone got time for a FaceTime?

  Rae: I wish, I have a gala to go to.

  Vera: Someone is busy.

  Rae: All. The. Time.

  Me: I can’t. The guys are taking me out somewhere. It’s a surprise.

  Rae: They know you hate surprises, right?

  Me: I don’t *hate* them.

  Vera: Yes, you do. Remember the birthday surprise we tried to throw, and you hid in the bathroom for the first thirty minutes.

  Me: It was very overwhelming.

  Vera: Because you hate surprises.

  Me: I’m sure it will be nice.

  Rae: Is it a sex club?

  Me: I hope not …

  Rae: God, I hope so. I would be so jealous.

  Vera: How’s that boyfriend?

  Rae: Side eye …

  Me: LOL!!

  Vera: Hahaha!

  Rae: Keep us updated and make sure you memorize everything. I want to know it all. Every ridge, vein, and length.

  Me: OMG! It’s not a sex club!

  Rae: But if it is …

  Me: Then every ridge and length.

  Rae: You’re the best.

  Me: Kisses. And we’ll FaceTime soon. I have stories.

  Rae: Ugh. How you gonna leave us hanging like that.

  Me: Byeeee.

  Vera: Bye bitch. I hate you for that cliffhanger … but have fun!

  “Ready to go?” Parker asked.

  I looked up from my spot at the table, transfixed by the way his white T-shirt pulled tight across his chest as he shrugged on his navy flannel button-up.

  “Is that drool?” Oren swiped my chin, and I jerked back, slapping his hand and delivering a death glare.

  “Yes, I’m ready whenever you are,” I answered Parker like I hadn’t been caught ogling him.

  His smile was full of arrogance, and I r
olled my eyes, stuffing my phone into my purse and shoving Oren out of the booth so we could stand.

  “Damn, Nova. I may start drooling over you. And that ink? Nnng.” Oren grunted.

  I looked down at my relaxed, holey jeans rolled up for my Doc Martens, and my black Alkaline Trio concert tee. The shirt was cut off above my belly button, but the pants reached my waist, so it’s not like I bared too much skin.

  Except for the back, which had thin strips of the shirt tied to hold it together, baring the tattoo running the length of my spine.

  Parker twirled his finger, directing me to turn. I held my breath when I heard his steps get closer, pulling my hair aside to bare my back. The rough pad of his finger started between my shoulder blades, where I knew the head of the phoenix rested. My muscles contracted, sending prickles of awareness down my spine as if chasing his touch as it trailed over the letters that went all the way to the small of my back. He’d seen it before, but every time he got the chance, he stroked his finger along the words.

  “I am the storm,” he whispered.

  It had always been one of my favorite quotes about the devil telling the warrior she wasn’t strong enough to handle the storm. I imagined being a bloodied and beaten down person struggling to stand, finding their footing only to take an aggressive step forward and baring their teeth, growling the quote back.

  “Did you design it?” Oren asked.

  “Of course.”

  I’d been camping in the desert with stretches of red rocks looking more and more like fire as the sun set. It’d been the anniversary of the day the court case closed on my trauma, and I’d stood on the cliff, looking out at the vast world—alone—but strong. I’d felt like a phoenix rising from the ashes, daring the devil to question me again.

  I’d sketched it up and found a tattoo shop the next day.

  “You’ll have to design my first tattoo,” Oren declared.

  “You don’t have any?”

  “Have you seen any?” he asked like it was obvious.

  Which I guessed it should have been, considering he strolled around the bus in the least amount of clothes. Sometimes even just a hand when he ran from the shower to his bunk.

  “It’s baby fresh skin, baby. Just waiting for your artwork.”

  “Maybe. My art is expensive,” I taunted.

  “I’m wounded,” he pouted, holding a hand to his heart. “Would you like another kiss as payment?”

  “I’ll design one if you never lick my face again.”

  “Score.”

  “You ladies ready to go or what?” Ash asked from the bus door. “Car’s waiting.”

  We piled into a black SUV with another one behind us for security. The guys assured they would be discreet and were going off the beaten path, but we got into Nashville this afternoon, and the fans could be crazy. I sat sandwiched between Oren and Parker with Brogan driving and Ash in the passenger seat.

  “You look good,” Parker said, leaning over close enough for his words to brush hot against my ear.

  I turned enough to take him in from the corner of my eye, giving a sly smirk. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

  He huffed on his nails and buffed them on his shirt, puffing his chest out.

  I couldn’t help but laugh, and butterflies took off in my stomach. The other night caused a shift between us. We’d been on this knife’s edge, balancing precariously between confronting all the issues that lay between us and all the desire threatening to bubble over. That kiss tipped us a little closer to the simmering fire.

  It was like we went through a cycle of steps in our relationship. Friendship, desire we did our best to not admit to, desire we only showed in the darkness of night when he crawled into my bed, and then…and then we fell apart. We’d never actually made it past step three—or maybe we had, and that was step four—falling apart.

  The realization that we’d moved to step three recently sunk the butterflies to the pit of my stomach. What if we were moments away from falling apart?

  He bumped me with his shoulder. “You okay?”

  I took a moment to really look at him. He was only twenty-four, but I could see the lines forming. A wrinkle between his brow when he scrunched them in concentration. The fine lines around his mouth and eyes that would only grow deeper with the way he inevitably enjoyed life. Would I be there to see it?

  I didn’t know, but I was there now, and if it was all I had, then so be it.

  “Yeah,” I said with a smile. “I’m good. Although, I’d be better if I knew where we were going.”

  His pinky stretched out from where his hand rested on his thigh beside mine and stroked my leg. The smallest touch and fire spread like ripples in a pond. “Almost there,” he promised.

  With a dramatic huff, I rested my hand on my thigh, meeting his pinky halfway, where we linked them for the rest of the drive. Our desire wasn’t forbidden anymore, but it was like we didn’t know how to actually show it.

  “All right, Supernova,” Ash called from the front. “Close your eyes.”

  “What? No.”

  When all he did was smile and nod at my objection, I pursed my lips but complied.

  Parker’s fingers linked with mine, and I held on tight. I could get used to closing my eyes and surprises if this was the payoff. The car rocked to a stop, and I squeezed my eyes tighter, fighting off the urge to peek.

  “We have arrived,” Brogan announced excitedly.

  “Open your eyes,” Ash ordered.

  Four smiling faces scooting in close greeted me first, and I had to laugh at their hopeful looks. “You guys look like little boys showing off their rock collection.”

  “You mean cock collection,” Oren snickered.

  “Ew,” I cringed. “Sooo, can we get out? Or is sitting in the car with you smiling at me the surprise?”

  They all hustled, and I followed behind. As soon as they exited, they donned various hats to try and blend in. Parker tipped his black cowboy hat that clashed with his band T-shirt and flannel but still looked good.

  Finally looking past them, I took in the glowing sign outside the purple building with green trim.

  My smile slipped.

  Karaoke All Night, Every Night.

  Somehow, I managed to scavenge a slight tip to my lips, if not a little forced. I didn’t sing anymore in front of people. I mostly only sang in the shower or in the car. Very few times, I sang with the guys in the last month while writing. They’d jokingly brought up how I should join them on stage at their next show, but I’d shut it down hard enough that they never pressed again.

  The only other time we’d been to a karaoke bar had been for my birthday and marked the beginning of singing for me. It marked the beginning of the road to my worst nightmare. I didn’t sing in front of anyone anymore because I couldn’t do it without associating it with what happened.

  “What are we doing?” I asked, laughing uncomfortably.

  “Karaoke night, baby,” Oren exclaimed.

  “You guys really want to sing in a karaoke bar the night before a show in the middle of a tour? Also, I don’t think we’re that far off the beaten path to keep your identity hidden if you go on stage.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Brogan agreed. “We’re not singing. We wanted you to be able to sing.”

  My smile dropped completely, and my heart thundered, pumping blood so hard it rushed through my ears, making it hard to hear. The lights swirled around me, and I took a step back, the scrape of my boots against the gravel too loud.

  “We remember how much you loved to sing,” Ash explained, still smiling and completely oblivious to my turmoil.

  “And yeah, asking you to come on stage was a bit much, so we figured a hole-in-the-wall bar would be cool,” Parker finished.

  My heart beat too hard—too fast. My lungs weren’t getting enough oxygen despite how hard I was sucking in more and more air through my dry lips.

  I didn’t know what brought on the panic more—the thought of being on stage and sin
ging in front of anyone or the realization that they didn’t get it.

  Moving from one face to the other, their smiles slowly dropped as the reality of the situation hit them.

  They didn’t get how haunted I was. I couldn’t blame them completely because I’d never actually talked about it, but even an outsider would put two and two together. I more than made it clear I didn’t want to sing. I didn’t think I needed to go into the gory details of my recovery to make them understand.

  Just because I didn’t say it, doesn’t mean it didn’t play a role in every decision I made. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t a huge part of why I fought Aiken on remaining private. I shouldn’t have to. I never thought I would have to.

  But they didn’t understand.

  They didn’t understand how I’d cut myself off from everyone after they left and stayed there until Vera and Raelynn pulled me out.

  They had no idea how much I suffered, struggled, and mourned while they flourished in their dreams.

  “Nova?” Parker called my name, but it sounded like we were on opposite sides of a tunnel. He stepped forward, and I stepped back.

  “You don’t get it,” I whispered more to myself than them.

  “What do you mean?”

  His voice was so soft and hesitant, like he didn’t want to startle the person on the verge of overreaction. Because he didn’t. Fucking. Get. It.

  “I said,” snapping my head up to glare, enunciating each word. “You don’t. Fucking. Get it. None of you do. Bringing me here? To sing on a stage? Like I’d ever fucking want to? Like you don’t know better than anyone why I don’t ever want to put myself out there again.” I glared in disbelief, watching the confusion sink away to guilt. “You. Don’t. Fucking. Get. It.”

  “Nova, we’re sorry,” Brogan said first.

  “No.” My voice cracked, and I stepped back, needing to get away from them before the lump in my throat broke free.

  I turned and stomped to the other black SUV, throwing the back door open and climbing in. Parker was almost to my door when I hit the locks. I locked eyes with the wide-eyed guard in the back seat with me. “Take me back to the bus.”