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

Parker had a restaurant he was dying to take me to. He apparently knew the chef and had gotten us a private reservation. I’d been sharing more on my Instagram, receiving lots of exclamation points in the emails from Aiken, but I had yet to show my full face.

The latest one, in particular, might as well have painted a target on my back. I’d stood, decked out in my hiking gear, in front of the tour bus with my hat pulled low. Oren and Ash flipping the camera off in the background had been a dead giveaway as to who I was writing music with. I posted it yesterday morning, and already countless articles commented.

After three weeks of things going great with Parker and me, I felt confident in starting the process of tying myself to him. He’d stood his ground with Sonia when Aspen tried to make him take it all back. He stood by me. I trusted he wouldn’t leave me to deal with the fallout. I trusted he wouldn’t hurt me.

But with the added pressure of my last post, my caution with being in a big city with lots of photographers waiting for the band skyrocketed.

“You just have to make it in and out, and no one knows we’re coming. Once we’re there, we have a private table away from prying eyes,” he said to me in the back of the car.

I could have laughed at how he was basically giving me a pep talk like it was game day. All we were missing was a dry erase board with Xs and Os and lines laying out our plan.

Turned out we hadn’t needed one because we made it in without issue. Sure, there were murmurs as we passed patrons already seated, but photographers didn’t pop out like Jack-in-the-boxes. And the dinner had been fabulous, the company even better. We’d shared a tiramisu I could have married, but with each bite, my nerves spiked again, knowing we still had to make it back out.

When Parker noticed my growing anxiety, he ordered a couple shots of tequila. We talked until my limbs relaxed, and nothing mattered but getting back to our hotel to follow up on the filthy promises he whispered across the table.

“You look ridiculously stunning.” His eyes scraped across my cleavage where the deep vee of my beaded dress barely clung to my curves.

More heat surged through my veins, and I finished off my last drink. “I think I’m ready to go now.”

“Thank god.”

We kept our heads down, and I realized the one downside of a sparkling dress and chunky ankle boots that added enough height to bring me closer to Parker’s—everyone saw me. But I cared less with the tequila and desire bubbling to the surface. It was the only excuse I had for why I turned and smiled when a flash went off just before we reached the SUV.

Parker followed me into the car and blinked with eyes just as wide as mine. We sat frozen, staring at each other while I replayed what I’d just done.

“I blame it on the tequila,” I whispered.

It broke the tension, and we both burst out laughing—mine just held an edge of panic to it.

“I can see your head spinning,” Parker murmured. He shifted to face me, sliding his hand over my knee and up my thigh. “Let me distract you.”

By the time we reached the hotel, Parker had my panties in his pocket and my lipstick smeared on his mouth. My carefully crafted messy bun actually looked like a messy bun, and despite the orgasm he just gave me, I was more eager than ever to get upstairs.

Another photographer waited for us at the hotel, but this time I ducked my head. I couldn’t hide the blush staining my cheeks at our disheveled appearance.

Despite the attendant in the elevator with us, Parker stood behind me, making love to my neck with open-mouthed kisses, grinding himself against my ass. Not that the attendant would have stopped us—they were paid for discretion, and Parker and I liked to dabble in our fantasy of exhibitionism. We never said it loud or pushed too far—merely toed the line.

I was ready to pounce as soon as we opened the door to our room. The hotel had an apartment-like suite, and all the guys stayed together, but they’d made plans to be out tonight. The idea of fucking on as many surfaces as possible before they came back had me almost ripping the handle off in my eagerness to get inside.

Except, not all the guys were gone. Ash sat leaned back on the couch, one foot propped on the coffee table with his bass in his lap.

“Hey, lovebirds. Nice dress, Nova,” he greeted, looking me up and down.

“Hey. I thought you were going to that party?” Parker asked, struggling to not sound disappointed.

“I did. And it was lame. Oren and Brogan left to chase some pussy, and I wasn’t feeling it. So here I am.”

“If only everyone knew, the party animal, Ash Finch, would rather lounge back with his bass over some pussy.” I sighed dramatically, and his brows shot up over me saying pussy.

“Let’s keep it our little secret.”

“Deal.”

“So, how goes dating life?” he asked, turning his attention back to his bass. “Based on the sounds coming from your bunk every night, you guys obviously enjoy each other.”

My eyes shot wide, and my face flamed. “Oh, my god. I’m so sorry,” I muttered through my hands covering my face. Of course, they had to know and hear, but no one ever said anything to make me confront the moans and whimpers Parker pulled out of me.

“Don’t be. I basically jerk off to you coming every night.”

My hands dropped along with my jaw. He took me in from the corner of his eyes, the dark smirk in place.

Parker apparently didn’t have any of the shock rendering me speechless. “Oh, man, Nova will eat that up,” he muttered.

“What?” Ash asked, his hands stalling over the