Blame it on the Tequila by Fiona Cole (reader novel txt) 📗

each other, singing back and forth. When the lyrics weren’t there, I played drums while he played air guitar, just to go right back to dancing—never getting too close. The only time we touched was when he held my hand and turned me in circles.

At least until a slow beat came through the speakers, and my inner ho came out. The gritty bass opened the song, and I moved my hands up my sides, into my hair, dipping down to rock back and forth. I rolled my hips and neck, turning around to meet his ocean blue eyes darkening under his heavy lids. He stood there motionless other than his hands flexing along with his jaw, watching me.

The rest of the room faded, and I basked in his heated gaze, putting on a show. Stepping close, I moved his hands to my hips before turning and continuing my dance. His hands gripped tight when my ass brushed against his groin the first time. I half expected him to step back, but a moment later, his heat came into full contact with my back and enveloped me. He wrapped around me, moving his hips, leaning his head next to mine, breathing deep. I tipped my head back, giving him every temptation to bury his mouth against my neck. The desperation to feel him overwhelmed me. Sweat dripped down my spine. My thighs burned from dipping low and pushing back against him.

His long fingers dipped beneath my hip bones, and I lost myself for a moment, placing my hand over his, lacing our fingers, holding him in place while I pushed back and moved side to side. I felt his rumble against my back more than heard it, my heart jumping in its confines when my ass encountered a hard ridge.

The high of making Parker Callahan hard hit me, and I never wanted it to fade.

The dry humping I accused Kelly of performing on Parker earlier looked like the hokey-pokey compared to what Parker and I were doing.

Before now, I rarely thought beyond my own desires. I never allowed myself to wonder if Parker might feel the same way because it’d been so easy to scoff at. Parker would never go for someone like me—someone as complicated as his stepsister. But the way he held me tight and inhaled against my neck like he wanted to make my essence part of him, I couldn’t brush it off and wondered if maybe he looked at me as something more, too.

The song faded, and I turned back around, our foreheads almost touching, His eyes were glued to my mouth, and his hands still held me close. On impulse, I slicked my tongue across my lips before digging into the tingling flesh. One of his hands abandoned my hips to tug my lip free and slowly drag his thumb along the abused flesh.

It would be so easy to suck his thumb into my mouth—to cross the line—to drop a bomb on the line and forget why it even existed.

I almost did when a catcall preceded Oren bumping past people and emerging in our little bubble, Brogan and Ash close behind.

“Damn, Supernova. That was H-O-double-T—hot. I think I got a half-boner just watching.”

Parker pulled back to a respectable distance, breaking the connection like it never existed in the first place.

“Ew, Oren.” I tried to say the words like I normally would, but they came out breathless. Still a little lost in the moment.

“Yeah, ew,” Brogan agreed, slapping the back of Oren’s head.

The guys danced around and joked. I tried to get into it, but the weight of my desire made it hard to lose myself like I had before.

Halfway through the song, Kelly made a reappearance and tugged Parker down to whisper in his ear. His eyes flicked to mine before he nodded and followed her off the dance floor.

Questions bombarded me as I watched them move out of sight. I tried to ignore them and failed.

Where did she take him?

What are they doing?

Maybe he’ll be right back.

Maybe it’s nothing.

Maybe everything was nothing.

Maybe I’m imagining it.

What if it meant nothing, and he was hard because he was thinking of Kelly?

Shaking my head, I finally gave up on dancing by the third song. The pendulum of emotions from high to low wiped out any lingering energy, and every bone in my body called for a bed.

But first, my bladder called for a bathroom.

I let Ash know and made my way down the single hallway, almost pouting like a child when I took in the four doors on each side. With a deep breath, I sent up a quick prayer I didn’t walk in on anyone fucking.

First door, empty bedroom.

Second door, group of pot smokers. After politely declining, I resumed my search.

Third door, locked. God, I hoped that wasn’t the bathroom.

Fourth door—I didn’t bother because I could hear the couple banging against it on the other side.

Only four more to go, I promised my bladder.

Fifth door, a guy getting a BJ on the edge of the bed.

Fifth door, I cringed, about to shut it when my heart dropped. My bladder was forgotten, and every ounce of tequila threatened to come up with each rioting roll of my stomach.

Fifth door, I shattered, not knowing how much I cared until watching the possibilities be snatched away.

Fifth door, Parker leaned on the bed, his lips parted, head tipped back, and eyes closed as a girl kneeled between his parted legs, her dark head very clearly bobbing up and down.

He groaned, and his eyes slid open, locking on mine, widening.

“Shit.”

I jerked back into action, shoving all hurt aside and locking it away. “Fuck this. I’m leaving.”

He promised to not leave me for Kelly, and yet here he was, getting his dick sucked, leaving me stranded with the guys. Maybe he really did need me as a wingman, and he was dancing with me to get Kelly going. Maybe this was all just a fucking waste.

“Nova,” he called just before I slammed the