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

yet another reminder of our reality. I could no longer come to him and get an open smile and easy conversation.

“I didn’t realize your mom was still being a bitch,” I started.

“Fucking Oren and his big mouth.”

“I’m sorry. I know how stupid her words can be.” I infused as much sincerity in my words, making sure any snarky comment waiting to pop out without notice stayed far away. I hated how that woman made him feel small and insignificant, and I’d hoped she’d had to eat her words as he rose to worldwide fame. It pissed me off that she hadn’t.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is. It may be why you’re struggling with writer’s block.”

“I’m sure it’s part of it, but being able to understand that doesn’t really change that I can’t think of any words.”

It might not, but I could approach him with a bit more empathy.

We both needed this to work. He needed a kickass album, and I needed the money, and adding our shit on top of his own shit wasn’t helping.

“Listen, Parker,” I started. When I stopped, he finally uncovered his face and pinned me under his ocean blue eyes that looked tired. It took actual effort to not fall to my knees beside him and run my fingers through his hair to soothe him—to comfort him like I always did.

But that wasn’t my place anymore. My place was to do a job.

“If we’re going to make this work, we need to be able to be around each other without bickering, and I know some of it comes from me,” I admitted when he cocked a brow. “But it doesn’t help when you keep bringing it up either. I just…don’t want to talk about it.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked, but he didn’t fight me.

“So, let’s just put it behind us and start fresh tomorrow. No more snarky comments and heavy history. A clean slate.”

He raised a dubious brow, and I knew it was a tall order, but maybe if we both agreed to try, we’d at least have a fighting chance. I desperately needed an opportunity to bury these feelings, and if he kept cornering me to talk every day, I’d never get the chance to ignore them. They could sit in time out until I was done with my job, and then I’d face those demons. Just…not yet.

He looked ready to argue, and I pleaded with my best puppy dog eyes for him to agree.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, he muttered, “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

“So, what now? How do we make this work?”

“We’re in Raleigh tomorrow, but you don’t have a show until the next day, right?”

“Yeah, I think so. It all starts to blur together.” He laughed, but exhaustion kept it from sounding anything but tired.

“Good. I have ideas.”

Fifteen

Parker

When Nova said she had ideas, a museum was the very last place I expected.

She had me grab a hat and aviators when we left but passed me a pair of thick rim glasses and an oddly bushy stick-on mustache once we got there. Frankly, I didn’t know how anyone would even notice me when she stood beside me. All eyes would be on her with her effortless style. Those billowy pants and denim jacket looked unsuspecting until she turned, and you got the full effect of her fitted cropped tank top. Maybe two inches of skin showed, but I couldn’t focus on anything other than how much I wanted to figure out if she was as soft as I remembered.

“So, how is this supposed to help?” I asked, looking up at the white panels of the building.

“It’s an art museum,” she responded, like it answered all my questions. When I still gave her a blank look, she explained. “Art inspires art.”

“I mean, I’ll give it a try.” My hope waned a little. When she said she’d had plans, I imagined something more than looking at paintings.

“So, part of our problem is that we can’t quite find our sync. So, we’re going to play a game. We’re going to observe the art, but while we’re looking on, we’re going to come up with our own story for it. One of us will start, and we’ll have to alternate back and forth until we come up with something fabulous and absurd.”

“Oooookay.”

“Trust me.” She turned to pay the lady, and I ducked my head low, but apparently, the mustache worked because the attendant didn’t blink twice.

Thankfully, we came earlier in the day, ignoring Aspen’s disapproval over the phone when Nova informed her of her plan. Add in it was a weekday, and other than maybe a few school field trips, it was pretty slow. Thank goodness.

“So, I take it you don’t do many museums in your spare time?” she asked while we wove our way around the statues on pedestals.

I scoffed at the words, spare time. “Not that I have much, but a museum isn’t the top of my list.”

“You never did like art museums.”

“The only paintings I truly enjoyed were yours.”

“Ours,” she corrected.

“Yeah, ours.” I smiled at her profile, warmth spreading through my chest when she mentioned how it had been our art. Even though my contribution had been merely a dot. “But we do actually hit up a few museums when we can. I like the natural history ones because of all the dinosaur bones.”

“Like a little kid.”

“Hey, they’re pretty cool.”

“What else did you do?”

Her question was innocent enough, but it halted the growing heat with a cold bucket of reality. We didn’t know each other anymore. We missed out on so much.

“We went on a lot of hikes. I think I’ve hiked almost all of Southern California.”

“Is that where you live?”

“Sometimes. I have a house there I share with Ash.”

“And the tiny mansion in New York.”

“Yeah, that one, too. Also, the one—”

“Seriously,” she cut me off with a shocked cry.

I laughed at her dropped jaw. “I’m kidding. I just wanted to see your reaction.”

She shoved me but smiled. “What else did you do?”

“We went