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

hum of the heater kicking on. I didn’t mind because, like a total cliché, I loved to sing in the shower.

Rubbing the loofa across my chest, I was about a minute and a half into belting out the best part of my favorite Adele song when the door banged against the cabinet drawers I always kept open for just this purpose of alerting me if a serial killer was breaking in to kill me. My vocal cords seized up, choking off all sound.

My heart thudded faster and faster. Adrenaline flooded every ounce of my body. In those point two seconds, my mind whirled with possibilities, and I slapped a hand to my chest as if to hold my heart inside and scanned the shower for a weapon. Why didn’t I put a weapon in the shower?

“You can fucking sing,” Parker crowed from beyond the curtain.

Just Parker. Not a serial killer. Not someone I would have to throw shampoo bottles at and try to shave to death as I stood there naked and wet.

My legs almost gave out when the adrenaline ebbed.

Only to come roaring back because Parker fucking Callahan was just on the other side of the shower as I stood there naked.

“What the fuck, Parker,” I screeched.

“You can fucking sing,” he repeated, this time the words slowly processing.

Except, it didn’t change my response because Parker was still there while I was still naked. “What the fuck are you doing in here, Parker?”

“I came back in and heard you singing and kind of just acted.”

“What if I had been naked and not in the shower?”

“I have my eyes closed,” he explained like that made everything all right.

“Jesus Christ,” I screeched again. It was about the only pitch I could make with that kind of shock zinging through my body. “How would you feel if I barged in on you in the shower?”

“Uhhh…” he dragged out. “Not sad.”

Wait. What?

“What?”

For an answer, I got a cleared throat and change of subject. “Nova, your voice is amazing. I had no fucking clue, and it’s so fucking good.”

“Parker!” I shouted.

I stood there with my arm across my chest and the other blocking the apex of my thighs just in case the shower curtain collapsed or something, and he wanted to talk about my voice. I couldn’t even fathom dwelling on the comment he made about not being sad if I barged in on him.

“Fine, fine,” he said, exasperated. “But we’re not done with this. I’ll be outside, and we can talk then.”

“What about Ash?”

“He’s on his way up. I was halfway down the stairs when he said his parents were home, and we decided to meet here.”

Keeping my arm across my chest, I abandoned my groin and held the curtain back just enough to peer out and narrow my eyes at him. Hearing the rustle of the rings against metal, he cracked one eye open, and I gave him my most deadly glare. “We will not talk about this with him around.”

As if I yanked the curtain back to bare my whole body, he stared, taking in every minuscule inch bared of my shoulder and face. Heat burned where his eyes touched, but I couldn’t tell if it was from his look or embarrassment.

“Parker,” I snapped.

His eyes shot to mine before slamming closed again. With his hands up, he backed away. “Fine. But we will talk about it.” Before the door closed behind him, with his lids still squeezed shut, he brought two fingers to his eyes and then pointed at me. He looked so ridiculous that even though images from my possible death by serial killer in the shower still played, I laughed.

Not making another peep, I quickly finished up my shower and took the time to blow-dry my hair and put on makeup. My plan was to take so much time in the bathroom that they forgot about me, and then I’d dash to my room and lock the door.

I held my breath and turned the knob, pulling it open just enough to slip past and tiptoe down the hall. I was halfway there when they beckoned.

“Nova,” Parker called. “Come hang out.”

“Yeah, Nova.”

“Come on, Nova.”

Accepting defeat, I pivoted on my heel and tried to hide the fear that Parker would blurt out that I could sing and then I’d get harassed forever and ever. As soon as I rounded the corner, I met his smile with a glare.

“Damn, Nova. Looking good,” Ash complimented, looking me up and down. His dark perusal wasn’t completely hated.

I’d grown comfortable with the guys—at least a little bit as I stuck to the periphery of their group, but they did their best to pull me in. Oren did it with playful jabs and jokes. He acted the most brotherly to me. Ash won me over with flirtatious comments I put down to his own version of joking. Because even considering Ash wanted to seriously flirt with me was a joke.

I stepped into the semi-circle of chairs and couches, and Ash patted the minuscule amount of cushion next to him. “Come sit with me.”

“I’m small, but not that small,” I laughed.

“Then my lap it is,” he said, now patting his thigh.

Oren snorted, and I think Parker may have growled. Before I could dwell more than a second on why he’d growl, his hand slid around mine, tugging me to the space beside him and nowhere near Ash. Not that Ash seemed to care. He met Parker’s glare with a devious smirk.

“All right, ladies,” Oren interrupted. “Are we going to work or just stare longingly into each other’s eyes? I mean, I get it, Parker has those baby blues you could get lost in, and Ash yours are dark like the pits of hell, so anyone could take a wrong turn there, but I thought we were in a band, writing songs and not a circle jerk.”

“Tell them how you really feel, Oren,” I laughed.

“What?” He shrugged. “They have pretty eyes, but we also need to stay focused. We