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

to a lot of concerts. That was us studying our art. From Lady Gaga and Katy Perry to Foo Fighters to Luke Bryan.”

“Wow, you don’t like country.”

“I do not,” I confirmed. “But he was entertaining. We learned a lot of stage presence at those concerts.”

“That’s awesome.”

“It was. We have a lifetime of stories, which is cool. But things get busy, and concerts are harder to get to. Hobbies are harder to keep up with. It’s great, but you have to adapt.”

“Do you love it?”

I took a deep breath, thinking over it all. “Yeah, I do. Everything has downsides, and any job will have hard days. But I still love it.”

“Good.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well, you’re basically crushing the Instagram game, writing music for huge bands, and I’m assuming you do art, based on your pictures online. Or are you just painting and burning them?”

“You know, Picasso painted over some of his own paintings. Maybe I just do that?”

“Do you?” he asked, brows raised.

“Nah. But it’d be a cool find if I became famous later.”

“So, what do you do with all that art?”

“I sell some of it. Just not consistently enough to count on it as income.”

“Ahhh, the life of an artist.”

“’Tis glamorous,” she laughed. “I’m working on it, though. I kind of just started a bunch of hobbies. Hiking was a great way to escape and just have it be quiet, and I saw such amazing views that I wanted to capture forever. So, I picked up photography and started posting them. I didn’t expect it to be what it is.”

“Yeah, a million followers is a hell of a platform.”

“And apparently, I lived under a rock, not quite realizing I could monetize it until Rae lost her shit on me.”

“So, what’s the plan?” I asked. Nova always made her way outside of the box in her own style. She always had a quiet power about her that emanated success. She just never shouted about it.

“I recently hired someone much smarter than me to help me make this into something long-term. Hence the tour. Apparently, brands want a face with the promotions. A few big sponsors recently pulled out on me.”

“So, they want you to start showing your face?”

“Pretty much. And I guess I just haven’t because …” I watched her struggle over the words like she wasn’t quite sure herself. “I guess I never pictured it being that way, and I’m too stuck in my own idea of how it should be.”

“What?” I mock gasped. “I’m shocked.”

“Oh, fuck you,” she said, bumping her shoulder into mine.

“So? Are you going to show your face?”

“I don’t know yet. But I am trying to merge the three moneymakers into one. Sell my art on my platform. Keep traveling and posting. I’m focusing on that first.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Speaking of a plan, let’s get started.”

We browsed around from piece to piece. She started most of the stories, but I quickly caught on. At one point, she even picked a strong midwestern accent that had me choking back laughter. A very hip-looking couple gave us an alarmed side-eye which caused her to break character and laugh.

“I think they’re on to us,” I whispered.

“Nah, I bet they’re just eavesdropping to get any secret details.”

“I’m sure,” I deadpanned.

When we ran into them again around one of the many freestanding walls, her voice grew louder. I fought not to laugh and focused on playing along, but the nasally voice with the absurd facts she made up had me on the edge of cracking up. Honestly, I could have done this all day. The easy comradery and play banter flowed without anything inhibiting it. Being goofy came natural together, and right then, we needed to find natural.

“My friend, Tina, made this one,” she said loudly, pointing at the very clearly ancient Greek statue of a naked man holding a bat.

I almost jumped out of my skin at the sharp decibel, unsure of when this turned into shouting. I slowly turned my head to look at her with wide, concerned eyes. She gave an almost nod to the couple closing in and winked.

“You know. Tina,” she continued. “She’s the one with seven kids and two husbands. She uses one house to be a wife and another one to be an artist.”

Fuck, it. I guessed we were doing this. It was then I remembered how willing I’d been to follow Nova where she led me—even if it was a little crazy.

“Ohhh, that Tina,” I agreed just as loud as her.

The couple inched closer. “She said this was a representation of Ope. You know what all us Midwesterners say when they do something on accident.”

“That makes sense. The way he’s leaned back.” I nodded before taking a turn at our act and faced another painting, using a matching accent. “You know Hank painted this one last week. Can’t believe he did it while sleepwalking.”

She snorted but held it together. “You know, Hank. He’s famous for that. He even painted a room in the White House.”

We moved from painting to painting, rounding walls, coming up with more outrageous stories than the last. We lost our hip couple but picked up a few more along the way. However, when we neared the front, a guard pinned us with a glare before making purposeful strides in our direction.

Switching back to a casual whisper, like we were the picture of innocence, we speed-walked our way through the various structures, trying to lose the guard. We rounded a corner, and I saw a private alcove to lay low in. Not thinking about it, I linked my hand with hers, electricity and want reverberating through me at the contact when my calloused fingers grazed her smooth skin. Apparently, I caught her off guard because when I tugged her with me, she stumbled, and I barely turned around to catch her.

Right. Against. My chest.

Her palms landed against me, flexing into the material. I looked down at her mass of red hair and forced myself to remain still while her