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

when my mom was forcing a family dinner, where we would all sit around a table like a happy family.

Dropping my charcoals on the desk, I rolled my neck and arched back, spreading my cramped fingers like if I reached hard enough, I’d be able to touch the ductwork in the ceiling of my room. My fingers matched the darkness beyond the lamp illuminating my desk, and I dabbed them on the cloth I kept. Not that it worked since I’d overused it, and it only served to smear the dark color more.

Making a better attempt to scrub them clean in the bathroom, I looked myself over in the mirror. My hair piled messily on top of my head, my shirt had smudges, and my cut-off shorts had fraying strings. I considered changing but shrugged off the idea as soon as it came. If my mom wanted a family dinner, then we’d stick to the norm and keep it casual.

I walked out just in time to watch Parker fall back into one of the chairs around the table. He pulled out his phone and scrolled, giving me time to take him in—something I liked to do whenever I got the chance.

Parker Callahan was hot—really hot.

He was only a year older than me but carried himself like he’d lived an entire life to find the confidence he exuded. His arms flexed against his black T-shirt and his legs strained against the jeans. Not like the football players at our school, but like a swimmer.

Every time I saw him, I cataloged something new. How he stood so much taller than my five-foot-eight frame—definitely over six-foot. The ropey muscles stretching down his arms to his agile fingers. The way his lips curled up a little higher on one side when he smiled.

One beautiful moment stood out the most. I’d caught him coming up from the pool downstairs in shorts and a towel, displaying a light dusting of hair that perfectly matched the dirty blond waves on his head. I almost drooled when he deflected a punch from his friend, and he flexed, showcasing perfectly lined abs. God, even his strong legs leading to his feet had been drool-worthy.

This time I noticed a small black mark—a tattoo—on the inside of his right middle finger and made a note to try and figure out what it was.

“Nice shirt,” he said, jarring me out of my perusal.

Blinking, I looked down at my oversized white tank with The Black Keys emblem. “You know them?”

He pinched one corner of his shirt to show off the same band name over the left side of his chest. As if connected to the material, one side of his mouth quirked up too, rendering me speechless.

“Cool,” I muttered.

It was his turn for his gaze to take me in, and it dropped to my bare legs exposed beneath the edge of my tank, grazing my thighs.

“I have shorts on,” I blurted, real smooth-like. To add insult to injury, I lifted the hem of my shirt to show the cut-off jean shorts.

Heat bloomed across my cheeks as the other side of his mouth kicked up in a delicious smile. He lifted his hands and laughed. “It’s your house. You can wear whatever you want.”

“Well, not really my house.”

“Not really mine either.”

My green eyes clashed with his blue ones, and a moment of understanding passed between us, followed by a laugh.

“It’s weird,” I said.

“That it is,” he agreed. “At least you have your normal school.”

“Yeah.” I dug deep for normalcy to fill the small talk while we waited for our parents to join us at the table. “Are you bummed to leave your old school your senior year?”

He shrugged. “A little. But it’s a cool adventure. New York is bigger than Chicago, and I’m always up for exploring.”

“I have no doubt you’ll fit in perfectly.”

“I hope you don’t mind breakfast for dinner,” my mom said, walking in with a platter of pancakes for an army. Brad followed behind, his hands equally as full as my mom’s.

“Breakfast is good at any time of day,” Parker answered.

“Nova loves breakfast, too.”

Parker nodded with approval, and my heart jumped for joy like I’d been admitted into a club. Although, when Parker squirted grape jelly over his scrambled eggs, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be in the club anymore.

He looked up and laughed. “Don’t judge me, it’s good. Have you ever had it?”

I tried to pull the look of disgust off my face and failed. “No. Because it’s grape jelly and eggs. I don’t need to try it to know those don’t go together.”

“You’re missing out,” he explained around the huge bite he took.

“So, Parker,” my mom started. “I see you’re fitting into New York well. You’ve definitely been busy.”

That was putting it lightly. In less than a month of moving to New York, Parker came and went like he had the social calendar of the queen.

“Yeah, I met Ash almost as soon as we moved in.”

“Ash?” I asked.

“The guy who lives three floors down. He said he goes to school with you.”

“Oh, yeah.” I played it off like I knew who it was the whole time when in reality, I only recalled dark hair and a tall body. I kind of kept my head down for the most part at school, preferring to sit back and observe and lose myself in art.

“Ash plays bass, right?” Brad asked.

“Yeah, he’s going to introduce me to his buddy, Oren, who plays drums. With me on guitar, we were thinking of seeing if we could get a band together.”

My mom stiffened, her fork freezing over her egg whites. She’d been married once before, to my dad, who’d been an aspiring musician. One who’d been blindly ambitious to anything but his own dreams, leaving us behind in the process—but not before he tried to use us to get ahead. I watched my mom carefully school her reaction with a smile.

“That’s right, you were part of a band in Chicago.” I had to give