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

I gently pressed my lips to hers. “You didn’t owe an explanation to them.”

“I know, and my mom didn’t make it easy to talk. After I got home from the hospital, she went a little crazy. It was like all the years she hadn’t spent being over-protective were crammed into those first few months, becoming a helicopter mom. It was like the only thing she could blame was giving me too much freedom.”

“Yeah. I know she blamed me for what happened, and I wasn’t there for her to take it out on. So, I’m sure that didn’t help with everything else going on.”

She pulled back, the lines between her brows deepening. “What? How did you know she blamed you?”

My confusion mirrored hers, and I took a moment to consider that her mom never told her about my visit. But why would she when all she wanted to do was keep me as far from her as possible?

“I looked for you.”

Her hands stopped completely and slid to my shoulders, helping her scoot back to the edge of my knees. “What?” she asked again, barely a whisper. This time there was no confusion, but instead, disbelief.

“Of course, I looked for you, Nova.” How could she assume I’d just given up? I’d been busy, but I never wanted to abandon her. Even if she abandoned me without giving me a chance to fight. “When you stopped taking my calls, and then my dad called to tell me they’d gotten divorced, I came back. But you were gone. It was like you vanished—no social media, you weren’t at school. I couldn’t find an address. Nothing. Your mom switched jobs and changed back to her maiden name, which took me a while to figure out, but it was something—somewhere to start. I went to go see her because why not?”

She searched my eyes, her chest heaving with each revelation I shared, her eyes brimming with tears.

“She fucking laid into me when I walked in. She told me she’d hide you from me if it was the last thing she did because of what I let happen to you. I, uh, I didn’t take it great.” I winced, remembering the way I’d got raging drunk and trashed the mostly empty practice space we’d held onto. “The guys cornered me the next day, pretty pissed since I canceled two shows to stay in New York to find you.”

“Jesus, Parker.”

“They made me choose, and in that moment, I made an emotional choice—I made the easier choice to go with the path of least resistance. I chose the safer one, and I’m so sorry I didn’t fight harder.”

A tear slipped free, and I wiped it away before it could even reach her chin. She studied me, swallowing again and again, and I sat there, letting her process everything. Barely a moment passed when she took a deep, shuddering breath and lifted her chin, pulling her shoulders back.

My Nova, I thought, taking in her strength and will, the sun fully setting like a fire behind her. My supernova.

“It’s in the past,” she declared. “I didn’t know, but there isn’t anything we can do but be here—now.”

“I think I like that plan.”

“Good.”

With a decisive nod, she reached past me, pressing her front to mine, stealing my breath, and electrifying me right back into the moment. I was halfway to gripping her to hold her in place when she pulled back with her camera.

“Take a picture of me,” she ordered, climbing off my lap.

She turned around and stood until the water rippled against the small of her back. With her red hair shining brighter in the dying sun, her pale skin bared, perfectly decorated with the beautiful art she’d created, she stretched her arms wide. I ogled the firm lines of her back and the delicate curve of her neck. She was strength and beauty and everything I could ever want in a woman.

I took a few shots, being extra careful to not shift and catch any of her breasts. But once those were done, I said screw it to caution and kept clicking as I shifted around her. When she saw me rounding her side, camera lifted and still clicking, she gasped and jerked her hands to cover her breasts.

“Oh, c’mon, Supernova,” I coaxed. She pried her middle fingers free and stuck her tongue out. “Real mature.”

“Well, let me take some pictures of you naked, then.”

“You want a dick pic? Because I will happily pose for one.”

“Of course, you would.,” she laughed, rolling her eyes.

“I have a better idea,” I said, closing the distance and pulling her into my arms. Flipping the screen, I positioned it as best I could and snapped a pic just as I pressed my lips to hers.

She abandoned her breasts and wrapped her arms around me. Losing myself in the moment, I randomly snapped, giving most of my attention to the woman in my arms. I walked her back, arching her over the rocks where she stretched her arms out and back. Pulling the camera back to my eye, I pressed my hand over her pale breasts, fingering the hard ball through the petal-soft nipple, growing harder at her gasp, and shifted my fingers enough to cover the bare minimum. My tan skin stood stark against her pale flesh, and I snapped. Her chin a shadowy blur beyond the exquisite line of her body arched back.

I took picture after picture as we shifted. My mouth on hers, on her chin, neck—her nipple. She stole the camera when I lifted her up and buried my head between her thighs. She dug her hand into my hair, and the whir and click of the camera had me diving in, even more turned on by her memorializing me eating her pussy.

When both of us were on the edge of desperation, I picked her up and practically ran to the camper van for a condom. The camera was tossed aside, and nothing else mattered for the rest of the