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

lips stretched over her perfectly white teeth. Small specks of freckles I knew by heart covered the bridge of her nose. The only thing missing was her grass-green eyes hidden behind her lids squeezed tight. Strands of her hair hung from the messy bun piled on top of her head. My fingers twitched around the phone, wanting to reach out and brush them back behind her ears.

God, she was stunning, and each second of not being able to actually see her only served to make me want her more—to touch her and be with her more than just through a speaker.

I tapped her name and hit the camera.

On the third ring, she finally picked up. The same girl in the photo smiling back through the phone.

“Aww, you took a selfie just for me.”

“I don’t have a ton of photos of myself on my phone,” she explained, a perfect blush staining her cheeks.

“What kind of tea are you drinking?”

“How do you know it’s not coffee?”

I gave her a deadpanned stare. “Because you’d never sleep if you drank coffee this late.”

“Peppermint,” she admitted softly.

“Your favorite.”

Silence filled the line, and I hoped she was remembering how much I knew her, remembering how close we’d been. Maybe if she remembered that enough, she’d forget the worst part and give in to seeing me.

“Guess where I’m going to be next month?” I asked, my excitement bringing me to the edge of my seat.

“Where?” she asked equally excited. “London? Paris? Timbuktu?”

I laughed at her suggestions. “No. New York,” I exclaimed. “We’re playing the last two songs of the year on New Year’s Eve.”

“Holy shit,” she breathed, her hand covering her mouth.

“Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“Parker, that’s amazing.” Her face split into the smile I knew better than my own, her dimples digging deep. The green of her eyes sparked with the same joy that shot its way through me every time I thought about playing at Times Square.

“Right? We’re so fucking pumped.”

“It’s not even me, and I’m pumped for you.”

Something shifted in my chest, a piece sliding into place I hadn’t known was missing. The band had a lot of success, and we’d always shared it with each other, but I couldn’t deny how my mind had always gone to Nova, how I’d already reached for the phone to call her. I missed sharing our wins with someone outside of the band who supported me wholeheartedly. That need immediately got followed by the crashing reminder of how she cut me out of her life.

So, I’d taught myself to block out that need to reach for her. Apparently, blocking it wasn’t the same as getting rid of it completely because, like it’d been lying in wait, the joy of sharing with her filled me to bursting.

“I miss you,” I whispered, scared that if I said it too loud, it would scare her off.

She dropped her face, hiding like always, but I still said it. I missed her more and more with each day. Hell, I’d been missing her each day and not even realizing it until I saw her again. So fucking much that it grew like a drop of blood in water, changing something in me I hadn’t known could be changed.

Every day I still looked for her. Every show, I wondered if she’d surprise me and be out in the crowd. Every redhead sent a spark of electricity through me, only to be doused out before the fire could begin.

I’d told her before I missed her in passing—as a joke—and she’d shut down. But this time, when she looked up, something else happened.

Maybe something was changing in her too.

“I miss you, too.”

Maybe this was my chance to get her to agree to see me. Maybe…

I opened my mouth.

“Don’t ask,” she said, cutting me off before I could get the words out.

“Nova, I—”

“Sing for me,” she demanded.

The words I wanted to say fell on an exhale rather than floating through the lines to convince her.

“Please.”

How could I say no?

I couldn’t.

I sat up and propped my phone against the lamp on the nightstand, grabbing the acoustic I always had with me.

“Any requests, my lady?”

She pretended to think on it, tapping her pursed lips before shrugging. “Surprise me.”

Part of me wanted to pick a song I knew held meaning for us, but instead, I opted for a tune that had been whispering in the back of my mind since I saw her again. Unfortunately, no lyrics came with it. Maybe part of me hoped she would hear it and, just like before, she’d come up with the words I needed.

I strummed the chords, occasionally closing my eyes, searching for the words that lingered just beyond the fog. But as soon as I looked for them, they faded. So, I opened my eyes again and watched her watch me with her cup of tea clutched between her palms. She sat back against her couch, a small kitchen behind her. The green eyes I missed in the photo shining bright with a smile.

When one song ended, she demanded another until I played her her own private mini-concert. I played a rendition of Baby Got Back, which she danced to while still sitting on her couch, laughing at me dancing with her.

The night was perfect.

Just like we’d once been.

But just like before—we never got quite far enough to keep it perfect.

I should have known better.

Eight

Nova

“Nervous?” Vera asked.

“Yeah,” I answered honestly. Nervous didn’t even begin to cover the jittery edge I barely balanced on. I took another sip of champagne, looking over the crowd of people mingling throughout the room.

Rae got us into an elaborate party in the heart of Times Square—a perfect place to enjoy the night minus all the crazy crowds.

Everyone sparkled in their New Year’s Eve regalia, laughing and drinking, ready to start a new year with a clean slate. Platters of champagne and hors d’oeuvres made circles around the room as everyone talked about resolutions and future plans.

And I was one of them.

I didn’t usually