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

Her sleek brow lifted high, and I remembered she’d said something.

“Uh, yeah,” I stuttered.

“We all went to high school together,” Ash explained.

“Yeah, and Parker and Nova are stepsiblings,” Oren added.

Miss Quinn’s other brow joined the first.

“We’re not stepsiblings,” Parker grumbled, speaking for the first time, making me realize how much I’d missed his voice over the last week.

“Oh, right,” Oren said, snapping his fingers like a lightbulb clicked. “Their parents divorced, so they’re not stepsiblings anymore.”

“Anywho,” Brogan cut Oren off when he opened his mouth again. “Nova used to help us with our music back then. She also sang with us for a while.”

“Why don’t you sing with them anymore? Were you not part of the contract?”

The room fell silent as, all of a sudden, every second of the last five years and why that time existed between us crammed themselves in the room. Everyone’s eyes dropped to the floor, no one willing to voice what happened.

“It’s a long story,” Parker finally answered.

“Oh, well, is it going to be an issue?” she asked, all business. “Because if so, then we don’t need to waste our time with this meeting. We need someone who can work with the guys without problems.”

They all shook their heads, muttering that they had no issues—even Parker. Four sets of eyes landed on me, awaiting me to join them, and I stood there like a deer in headlights.

Could I do this? The little information given let me know I’d be going on tour with them. I’d be with them for at least a month to write the album. Any hope I had of avoiding Parker would be a joke. I’d probably be working with him the closest.

I should have turned on my power heels and stomped out of that room, but the guys looked at me with silent hope, and maybe I missed them more than I ever let myself think about. And then there was the money. I’d be able to finally get that van I had my eye on—a better one.

With a deep breath, I made my decision. “No. It’s not an issue.”

“Fuck, yes,” Oren crowed. “With Nova on our side, we’re going to be winning Grammys left and right.”

“Good,” Miss Quinn answered, a slight tip to her full lips the only hint of her approval. “Let’s have a seat.”

I rounded the couch, picking a chair on the far side away from Parker.

“I’m Aspen,” she finally introduced herself. “I’m the manager of the guys and pretty much keep everything in line.”

Kind of like what I used to do before they signed a deal. The thought crept in, leaving the bitter taste of jealousy in my mouth. Shaking it off, I shoved it away, knowing thoughts like that would only make this harder.

She pulled out a stack of papers handing one to me before grabbing a seat and proceeding to go over each page of the contract. We went over the privacy clauses, tour dates, non-disclosures, and every requirement in between. Through it all, I could feel Parker staring, his gaze a powerful force urging me to look up and see him. But I refused, focusing so hard on the words they blurred.

When we got to the last page, my heart skipped a beat as she went over travel arrangements.

“Some trips will be by plane with stretches of time in the tour bus. When we fly, we stay in hotels, and you’ll have your own room, but the bus is closer quarters.”

“Oh,” I muttered eloquently.

“Are you okay with sharing?” Aspen asked.

“She can always sleep in my bunk,” Ash joked, waggling his brows.

“Fuck off,” Parker grunted.

“Don’t be jealous that she’d rather curl up with me than you,” Ash defended.

“Yeah, right. Nova will one-hundred-percent want to cuddle up with me,” Oren claimed.

“Oh, Jesus,” Parker mumbled.

I glanced his way just in time to watch him roll his eyes. Brogan laughed, watching the banter like a tennis match. All he was missing was a bucket of popcorn.

“Boys,” Aspen called with all the authority of a drill sergeant. “Focus.”

The back and forth bickering stopped, and they fell silent. Ash kicked Parker’s foot, and just before Parker could kick back, Aspen narrowed her eyes, almost begging them to challenge her. She wasn’t even looking at me, and I sat up taller. When they finally complied, moving their feet away from one another, she turned to face me, an expectant look on her perfectly made-up face.

“No problem,” I answered. Honestly, remembering when Parker and I wrote together, sharing a bus didn’t come close to the intimacy we’d already be delving into to write songs.

“Good. We have a concert this weekend in New York, and then we’ll be taking off. The writing can be organic; however, you want to work that out. The guys usually write their own music, but we’re…” She trailed off, glancing at a pouting Parker. His jaw ticked, and he stared off at the city, slouched down in the chair with his arms crossed. “Trying something new,” Aspen finished.

I couldn’t help but wonder what she was going to say originally but figured it had something to do with the few times Parker alluded to writer’s block.

“We don’t want to push it, but we do have a deadline before the recording studio. If at all possible, we will try and record a song or two on the road.”

“Okay. I’m sure we’ll be able to work something out.”

“Hell, yeah,” Oren agreed, reaching his hand across Brogan. I obliged and slapped my palm to his.

With that, we signed a few papers as the guys talked, and before I knew it, it was done. I was officially helping The Haunted Obsession write their next album and going on tour with them.

Them, as in three guys who used to be my closest friends and one who used to be the stepbrother I loved even before I knew what it meant to love someone so deeply. All of them the guys who left me behind when I firmly shoved them out, slamming and locking the