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

as she danced toward the camera. “Amazing.” I recalled how many times she’d looked up at me with those same heavy eyes, only this time, they held a wealth of understanding that they hadn’t when we were teens. “But I didn’t get to see much of her. As soon as she realized what her friend had done, she’d looked like a deer in headlights and left the live video.”

“Oh, man,” Oren laughed, slapping his thigh. “I bet it was epic.”

“It was pretty funny.”

“Remind me why you haven’t talked to her again,” Brogan asked.

“She hasn’t picked up. According to her Instagram, she’s on a trip. But I also think she’s avoiding me.”

“She has Instagram?” Ash asked, pulling out his phone. “What’s her name?”

“Psithurism.” His brows shot up, and I spelled it out. “Apparently, it means the sounds of the wind in the trees.”

The guys crowded around Ash, and I already knew what they’d find since I’d scrolled through each picture a million times.

“Dude, she’s got a million followers,” Brogan said.

“Are you sure this is her?” Ash asked. “She doesn’t show her face at all.”

“Yeah, it’s her.” I had no doubt. I’d know that red hair anywhere. I’d dreamt of those long limbs almost every night. Then there was one of the photos that showed part of her profile, and I noticed the beauty mark just behind her ear that always sent chills down her back when I kissed her there.

“Daaaaaamn,” Oren crowed. He didn’t have to explain. I knew they stumbled on one of the many that she posted of her naked back as she lounged in a lake or on the edge of a cliff.

“All right, ladies,” Aspen, our manager, called from the stage. “Equipment is setup, so let’s get going.”

She stood taller than her five-foot-four frame, her attitude and confidence adding a few more inches—the black stilettos helped too.

Ash shoved his phone back into his pocket. “If you hear from her, let us know.”

“Sure.”

Once upon a time, I’d worried Ash also had a thing for Nova, but in one drunken confession, he admitted he would flirt with her to push my buttons because it’d been the only way to make me take what I so obviously wanted. It’d just been hard to take when that someone was your stepsister.

“Parker,” Aspen called. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

I headed her way while the guys strapped up. “What’s up?”

“I know you’re struggling with lyrics,” she started, and I rolled my eyes before she finished. “Don’t give me that. This is your job, and it’s my job to make sure you do your job. If you can’t do your job, then it’s my job to do what I can to make it happen.”

“I’m working on it.”

“I know. And usually, that would be enough, but we’re doing a big push this year. You’re on the cusp of being a great. A Rolling Stones, Foo Fighters, Led Zeppelin. Parker, this is the push to be legendary forever and not just a forgotten band who almost made it.”

“I know that,” I growled.

“Good, because I wanted to talk to you about bringing on a songwriter.”

“No. We write our own music.”

“And if you were actually writing anything, I’d believe you.” She matched my glare with a dark one of her own. Aspen was the record label owner’s daughter. She had a lot to prove, and because of that, her determination to see us succeed broke through any barrier in her way. “Listen, I get writer’s block,” she said softer. “I’m not saying we just buy some lyrics. I’m saying we find a way to get someone to work with you. Even if that person just comes in and says something absurd that sparks a song for you, then that’s good enough. Even if you don’t use a thing they create, I just need you to create.”

Pacing away, I dug my hand into my hair and tugged before walking back. “And what about the tour? How are we doing all this? We’re already planning on recording on the road where we can.”

“Leave that up to me. I just need to know you won’t fight me on this if I set it up.”

I wanted to. I wanted to tell her and whoever she hired to fuck off because I didn’t need them. The guys’ laughter nabbed my attention, and I looked over at the three guys who I’d do anything for.

I hated this rut that shrouded my thoughts in nothing. Lyrics usually came to me like oxygen to my lungs, but lately, I’d been deprived. Probably because on this path to becoming legendary, there was limited rest. I loved every part of this job—it’d been my dream since I was a kid, and every person that doubted me, only drove me harder—one person in particular.

When that one person was your own mom, you didn’t take breaks, and you didn’t pull back from the hard stuff to succeed. I just wish succeeding could feel a little easier for once. Kind of like it did when I’d had Nova at my side. She’d slipped her hand in mine, and the future flowed together like pieces of a puzzle snapping in place. I’d almost hoped talking to her might have caused another surge of inspiration—she’d always been my muse.

But it was hard to use your muse when they didn’t pick up the phone. Which left me still stuck in my rut.

“I won’t fight you,” I gave in.

“Good,” she said, her red lips stretching into a smile.

I walked up on stage and grabbed my guitar. Aspen rambled on about our schedule while we got ready to run through our set.

“Also, Parker, you have a date with Sonia tomorrow night.”

Sonia was a model-turned-actress I’d been photographed with at an awards afterparty last year. When the media had a field day with the photos, Aspen concocted a plan to formulate a fake relationship between us since the fans went crazy imagining all the songs we wrote were about Sonia and me. Our sales