Blame It on the Tequila Read Online Fiona Cole

Categories Genre: Angst, Contemporary, New Adult, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
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“Oh, I don’t think it’s done,” I said, turning back to the canvas, assessing it.

I tipped my head back and forth, squinting my eyes to try and see it from another angle. His bare feet padded across the floor, closing in, and I held my breath. This was my favorite part of our time together.

His hand rested on my shoulder, sending a blazing path down my chest like I’d never experienced before, and his warmth surrounded me when he leaned over, resting his other hand on my table. With his face next to mine, the painting faded away. All I saw was Parker’s profile staring at my art, only a small distance from mine.

He tipped his head too, and the seconds ticked by. Part of me never wanted him to move, while another part needed him to before I passed out from holding my breath.

Finally, slowly, his cheek ticked up, and he stood. “Damn, Nova. This is good.”

The air whooshed from my lungs, and I swear I almost collapsed off my stool.

“One more thing though,” he added.

As if in slow motion, his hand reached across my body for the paintbrush I still clutched in my grip. Without removing it from my hand, but instead wrapping his fingers around mine, he dabbed the brush in white and placed the tiniest dot inside one of the blue circles. Usually, if anyone tried to touch my art, I’d cut their arm off. But just like relaxing in the room together, this was also our norm. He’d asked the first few times he’d added his special touch, and I’d been useless to say no. But now, he did it at his leisure, and I let him.

When he let go of my hand, I wanted to chase his and beg him to never stop touching me, but he stood, and I managed to control myself.

“There,” he said, standing tall, nodding at the painting with crossed arms. “Now, it’s our art.”

And that was why I let him do it. Because when we were in my room, it was our art. Even if he only added a speck of paint that anyone could barely see, the reality was, he filled every stroke, line, and dot I created with his music as my backdrop.

“Yeah,” I breathed. “Perfect.”

He turned, and like always, his smile brought mine out to play. As if in slow motion, the shift from friends to something else started. His smile faded, and his eyes dropped to my mouth. Unbidden by me, my tongue peeked out to slide across my parched lips.

Maybe it was good that Parker wasn’t home as often because this band around my chest squeezed tighter and tighter with each passing second, and I was scared of what would break free when it snapped.

I’d had crushes—this wasn’t new. I’d kissed boys and even let them put their hands on me, but I’d never had this. I’d never had the all-consuming urge to go, go, go until we were one. I’d never had the urge to crawl inside someone and never come out.

Until him. It kind of scared the shit out of me at the same time as exciting me. It made me want to give in and pull back. Especially when I had the daily reminder of him being my stepbrother from everyone in the world weighing on me. It was one thing to crave a boy—it was another when that boy stood across a forbidden line with a million consequences on the other side.

I broke the stare and cleared the need crawling up my throat. “What time are you meeting Ash?”

He tugged his phone from his back pocket and checked the time. “I should probably head down there now.”

“Cool. I’m probably going to hop in the shower to get all this paint off.”

“Yeah, you might want to start with your face,” he said, poking my cheek.

I tried to dodge his finger and rolled my eyes. “Damnit. I thought I did good not touching my face.”

“Maybe one day you’ll get through a project without being covered in it.” I raised a doubtful brow, and his smile broke out. “Yeah, probably not. You should just go ahead and own it. Maybe get shirts made. I’m an artist. Ignore the paint in my hair and the charcoal on my…everything.”

“You’re sooo funny.”

“I know I am.” He backed away with a bow and collected his stuff from the bed. “I’ll see you later?”

“I’m always here.”

“You know you could come, right?” he offered.

“Yeah, but I’m good hanging out here.”

I did, but I never took him up on it.

He’d won me over at school, slowly pulling me over to sit with him at lunch, but my introvertedness kicked in each time he invited me to go with him to see the guys. They were great, but maybe subconsciously, I was trying to keep some distance between us. Maybe subconsciously, I was trying to protect myself from others noticing what Parker did to me. I could only imagine what everyone would say—all the rumors.


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