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

So instead, I adjusted and enjoyed her warmth against me, raining gentle kisses along her neck and shoulders. She arched this way and that to give me access, dragging her fingers languidly through my hair. We moved like a dance with no end—no purpose other than to feel each other and be close.

“What about after all this?” she finally asked.

“I don’t know.” I pulled back to take her in, pushing the loose curls off her damp cheek. “I feel like we’re just getting started in some ways. But I can also feel the exhaustion creep in quicker with each tour. Maybe I just need more breaks like this. Take some time to enjoy the quiet with you.”

“I could definitely help with that.”

“I’ve also been taking time to really understand and get to know all the behind-the-scenes action. The production and management. I could see myself producing later when my body has finally given up on touring.” I shrugged, not really having thought about it. We all just lived in the moment and enjoyed every second. I’d only had to think about me, but with her in my arms, I realized I wanted to think about her too. “What about you? What do you want?”

Her shrug matched mine. “I got a degree in fine arts and minored in journalism—mainly for my mom’s peace of mind—but I feel like I hit the ground after graduation and splattered in every direction. At the core of it all, art is my foundation. And I started a lot of these projects while I was in college, and now, I’m getting a chance to delve deeper. I write for various online journals about travel, I paint and do photography, I write music and go on tour with famous, sexy musicians.”

“Hey, you better not be doing that with anyone else,” I pretend scolded.

“You are definitely an exception,” she promised.

“Good.” I pecked her lips. “When you’re a famous artist, will you still find time to paint me like one of your French girls?” I asked in a breathy, feminine voice.

She laughed, shaking in my arms, making it hard to sit still, but her smile made it all worth it. “Of course, I’ll paint you.”

“And we can’t forget your Instagram fame,” I added.

She groaned and rolled her eyes. “As I said, that was unintentional and solely based on my vanity of wanting to document my travels.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. I may have spent more than a few nights scrolling through them all.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, although, I’m concerned with the amount of times you’re topless out in the woods. I mean, who takes those pictures?” I’d never stared at a back as long as I had hers. She had a collection of her laying in lagoons, standing on the beach, sitting on the edge of a cliff—all topless from behind.

“What can I say? It’s kind of freeing. And it’s just me in those moments, and my camera stand.”

“Thank god.”

“I don’t know, when I’m out here, I just…am. I’m not worried about the future or any of the pressures of making the right decisions. It’s just me and the quiet.”

“I can see that.” I looked around, enjoying that it was just us. She explained that it wasn’t usually this quiet, but the time of the year wasn’t ideal for those who only dabbled in camping. So, the location was pretty isolated. “I think I like the quiet with you.”

“Good.” She dipped her fingers in the water, warming them before pulling them out again and stroking across the bridge of my nose and brows. “How’s your dad?”

“He’s good,” I answered languidly. I closed my eyes, just feeling her weight on me, enjoying the soft strokes—soft and soothing. “Your mom?”

“She’s good. We don’t really talk much. Especially right now with my decision to stay on my path.

“Why would that make her not want to talk to you?”

“She spent all this time pushing to lock me away in an office, and instead, I am out on my own in the forest. Basically, her worst nightmare. But instead of listening to me and seeing that it’s about what I want and not her, she’s letting it tear us apart.”

It was like we were checking boxes of basic questions to ask when catching up. We’d been talking for a while now, but we kept it mostly superficial or about just us and the now. Our parents had felt a little too close to the past, but since she brought my dad up first—no matter how simple—it was like she pulled the curtain back, allowing more to come through.

“You know, I never quite understood what happened between them.”

“Your dad didn’t tell you?”

“Nah, and since he didn’t bring it up, neither did I. I tried to broach it once, but he changed the topic real quick, so I followed suit.”

“Oh.” Her fingers stalled for a moment but quickly resumed, this time pushing back into my hair. “They argued a lot toward the end. I think your dad wanted to keep it from you so you could focus on your dream.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“The same reason. You were away, and there wasn’t anything you could do.”

“They argued before though and made it past it.”

When she didn’t say anything else, I cracked open an eye and took in her furrowed brow and pursed lips like she struggled over what to say next. I didn’t push her, just stroked my thumbs along the hollows of her hips under the water and waited, sinking back into the sensual scrape of her nails now working the nape of my neck.

“After…everything that happened, I guess tensions got higher, and they started arguing again. I know my mom was stressed over what happened. Your dad was worried about me and didn’t really know what to do. I…didn’t make it easy.”

“It wasn’t your job to make it easy on anyone.”

“Either way. I didn’t help by hiding away, moving through the motions with a pair of headphones locked in place. I could’ve said