Blame it on the Tequila by Fiona Cole (the reading strategies book txt) 📕

a time, you’d forgotten me as quickly as you’d known me.

But we weren’t talking about the past.

“So, what are you up to?” I asked instead.

“Lounging in my hotel room.”

“So, fancy.”

“Beats the bus. Don’t get me wrong, I love it—but four guys in one small space starts to smell bad. It’s good to air it out.”

“Gross,” I laughed.

“What about you? What are you doing?”

“On another trip in a van.”

“Damn. Again?”

“Yup.”

“You must love it.”

“I truly do.” The freedom. The solitude. The fresh air and exertion. Only me and wherever I landed to take pictures or set up an easel and work on a new painting or sketch to sell. I never worried about being closed into a cubicle at a big publishing company like my mom hoped. I was free.

“How does one come to love the van life?” he asked.

I heard the rustle of fabric and closed my eyes, imagining him leaned back against the pillows, his arm behind his head, a few more tattoos than last time peeking out from his short sleeve shirt. I saw the ink on his arm grow in pictures, but I never let myself study it enough to see what the new tattoos were.

“Well, I randomly rented one with my birthday money one summer between my sophomore and junior year, and it was the best experience of my life. I knew I had to go back. I did it again after my junior year, and I began saving so I could do it for longer after my senior year.”

“I bet your mom loved that,” he muttered.

“She definitely did not. At first, she hoped it was a phase, thinking I would get it out of my system. She never outright vetoed the trips until I turned down an internship after college. Then she gave me all of six months post-college to get a reputable job she approved of, or she would pull any support.”

“Shit. When is that?”

“Last week.”

“So, does that mean you’re in a van because you’re homeless?”

“Nah, I worked odd jobs over the summers in college and saved as much as I could. And now, it’s those odd jobs that are helping me establish contacts I’m using now to build something for myself.”

Just not building fast enough. Which was what I needed Aiken for. Sponsorships on Instagram and my sporadic art, articles, and music sales didn’t quite cover the tiny loft in New York. Let alone, van rentals and trips. I didn’t have to live in the city, but my family was there—Vera and Rae. My life was there. And eventually, I’d have to cave to Aiken’s ideas—like showing my face—if I wanted to stay there.

“Damn, Nova. I always knew you’d be amazing.”

“I definitely try. Wanting to eat and keep a roof over my head definitely acts as motivation.”

“That it will. It sounds a lot like our first year on the road. Brogan may have danced a night or two at a local club to get some cash.”

“He didn’t?” I gasped.

“He sure did.”

I tossed my head back into the pillow and let my laugh bellow free into the night, imagining the big blond swiveling his hips at some club. “Did you?”

“Maybe,” he muttered.

I curled to my side, laughing so hard.

“What about your friends?” he asked. “Did anyone you know have to strip or sell blood to survive? College can be expensive.”

“I went to Wharton,” I deadpanned. “Everyone came with a silver spoon.”

“Fair enough.”

“Really, though. My two friends, Vera and Rae, didn’t even need scholarships.”

“Rae. Is she the one who I talked to?” he asked.

“Yup.”

“I like her.”

“Most guys do.” I usually didn’t mind but having one of those guys be my Parker stung a little more than I wanted to admit. At least until he admitted why he liked her.

“Well, I like her for bringing me to you. “

His sincerity popped any bubble of jealousy and left behind a warm goo that eased past my defenses. I rolled to my back and looked up at the night sky, unsure what to say. In the end, I went with a topic I said I’d avoid. “Are you seeing anyone?”

I cringed as soon as the words left my lips. Stupid, stupid, Nova.

“As a matter of a fact, I’m not. Did Google not tell you that?”

His easy answer, not at all what I expected it to be, threw me for a loop, and confusion lowered my filter even more. “Google just shows you with a bunch of girls.”

“Ohhhh,” he said, laughing. “So, you’ve checked?”

My face would be permanently twisted in a wince of regret if I didn’t think before speaking. But the truth was, I checked more than I liked to admit.

Again, I thought of Sonia and how I never failed to glare at her picture like it would make her any less gorgeous. She even had good taste in shoes, which made me equally envious, and also want to ask her where she shopped.

“I mean, it’s hard to miss,” I said flippantly, trying to backtrack.

“Mmhmm,” he responded with disbelief.

I had some disbelief of my own. He didn’t even hesitate when I asked him about dating, but he seemed awfully close with Sonia when she pressed her lips to his in the photo. They looked awfully close in every photo they’d been in over the last year. It’d been on and off with others mixed in, but still. Interviewers always implied that his love songs were about her, but he never confirmed or denied it.

Had I read it wrong? Was he really single?

Did it matter?

“So, what about you? Any guys in your life?” he asked, pulling me out of my inner revelry.

Warmth bloomed in my chest at his curious tone. Part of me wanted to lie and say yes, but I resisted the petty urge. “Just me, my van, and my girls.”

“Anyone serious before? In college?”

I paused, noting this question held more weight—more than conversational curiosity.

“No. Maybe a boyfriend or two, but no one serious.” Just someone I gave my virginity to and another I wasted six months on.