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

down lyrics like the tension constantly trying to bind us together bled into the paper.

With one more bow from all of us, we finally left the stage, getting high-fives and backslaps from the crew. Nova stood to the side, beaming with flushed cheeks, her lip firmly planted under her teeth. I moved to her like a magnet, and when she saw the intention in my smile, her hands came up as if to hold me back.

“Don’t you dare, Parker.”

“C’mon. It’s not that bad,” I said, plucking my damp shirt from where it clung to my chest.

“No.”

“What about now?” I asked, stripping my shirt over my head.

She stopped walking backward and took me in. I loved catching her off guard without my shirt on. We all walked around the bus in various states of undress, but only with me did she freeze, her attention solely focused like I was a god.

“Is this better, Nova?” I asked quietly, now that I was only a foot away.

She swallowed and nodded jerkily. “Yeah. It’s, uh—it’s a start.”

“What would make it better? How do I get you in my arms?”

The question snapped her attention from where it mapped every ridge of my chest up to my eyes. We weren’t just talking about right then after a show. I meant all the time and not just at night either.

The flash of a camera stole her attention, and when she looked over my shoulder, her eyes blanked of any heat, and she stepped back.

“I’ll catch you after you clean up and do the whole rock star thing,” she explained, her eyes flicking to the journalist Aspen set up to write about our show.

She backed into a crowd of workers, doing her best to blend in and failing. Nova stood out to me among the masses, and I was sure I’d find her even with my eyes closed. But taking her in, I didn’t understand how anyone could miss her with half her red hair down her back and a weird knot thing on top. She had on one of our band T-shirts she’d tied up over her loose, torn jeans that she rolled up over her snakeskin ankle boots. I snorted, loving her obsession with weird as hell shoes. And if that wasn’t enough, she wore some sheer cardigan thing that hung to the floor. The deep teal made her look like a mermaid in the sea of black clothes everyone else wore.

Another flash directed at me, standing there with my shirt in my fist, pulled me out of my daze.

“You’d probably make the fans go wild if you took your shirt off during a show,” the reporter commented.

“Nah,” Ash cut in, his arm tossed over my shoulders. “If he took his off, then I’d have to take mine off, and they’d forget who he even was. He’d cease to exist.”

The other guys joined in, and we bantered, took pictures, and answered questions. It was actually a fun interview about our music and tour. Sometimes we got people who flirted or asked about our personal lives, barely touching on our music. I understood it and played the game, but it was always nice to have someone as passionate about music as we were.

“There you are,” Oren shouted when we walked back into the room they’d set up for us.

Nova sat on the couch, swiping through her phone. “Yeah, I figured I’d wait here away from the chaos.”

Also, avoid any attention directed her way. Any time we went out, she stepped back in the shadows, keeping a healthy distance in case any photos were taken. Or she didn’t go out with us at all. Especially since her Instagram started blowing up even more than usual. She’d been posting intermittent photos of her working on lyrics with a stage in the background, hinting at more than just hiking adventures but never outright showing anyone’s faces.

I kind of understood since any time I was pictured with a woman, people went crazy with ideas of secret dates and love affairs. But she was a songwriter, and it would be easy to explain away. Also, Nova herself was hard to peg down. She had a very small digital footprint.

“What are you guys doing tonight?” she asked, pulling me out of my contemplations.

“What we do best,” Oren said with a wink. “Party it up.”

“You have fun with that,” she laughed.

“You’re not coming?” Brogan asked.

“Nah. I’ll probably head back to the bus. Enjoy some peace and quiet.”

“Psssh, we’re in hotels tomorrow night for Cincinnati. You’ll have plenty of peace and quiet,” Oren explained.

“I think I’ll go back with her,” I jumped in, saving her from Oren’s pleas.

“Well, duh.” Oren rolled his eyes and made thrusting motions, insinuating what he thought we would be doing.

“Hardly,” Nova deadpanned.

“Besides,” Ash said. “I’m gonna head to the bus, too.”

“You?” Oren asked.

“Yeah. I need a fucking night of nothing. I’m hitting that six-week slump.”

“Not the six-week slump,” Brogan cried.

Ash shrugged. “Yeah, it’ll pass.”

It always did. We almost always hit it on long tours, the exhaustion creeping into our bones. Thankfully, we had a week off coming up soon that we tried to plan around this time, and it couldn’t get here soon enough.

“All right, party-poopers. I guess it’ll only be Brogan and me representing tonight.”

“Please don’t get arrested,” Nova pleaded.

“I solemnly swear I will do my best not to.”

“I guess that’s all I can ask for.”

Brogan held up three fingers next to Oren. “Girl Scout’s honor, Mom.”

With everyone’s plans made, we parted ways. As soon as we got back, we took turns showering. Nova went first, and then Ash and finally me. Ash must have been really tired because, by the time I got out, his curtain was closed, and the soft rock he listened to at night played low.

Bypassing my bunk, I climbed into Nova’s, smirking when her jaw dropped at my shirtless chest.

“I think I’m still hot from the show,” I said, knowing the excuse to go sans top was weak at best.

She laid on her back,