Blame It on the Tequila

All I wanted to see was him.

“Parker,” I whispered, pleading with him to tell me what to do next.

I could barely see his eyes in the dark, but I could see enough to watch his pupils dilate just before his lips came crashing to mine this time. I gasped, and he took the opening to deepen the kiss, pushing his tongue against mine.

He tasted like the tangy lime and tequila, and I became just as drunk on him as I could ever be on tequila. His spicy scent that lingered in the bathroom every morning encompassed me, seeping into every sense. I clung to his biceps, digging my nails into the flexing muscles, wanting to leave my mark on him.

I didn’t even know what that meant, but as he walked us backward until my back hit a wall, I didn’t care. I became primal, giving in to my instincts—into the embers that flamed to an inferno. Sliding my hands up, I dug them into his hair, holding him to me, unwilling to let him realize this was wrong and stop. I needed more. I needed to dig deep into this urge he created. I wanted to learn more, and I wanted him to teach me.

I pressed my breasts to his chest, my hips to his, closing every inch of space keeping us apart. He groaned when his hard length grazed my stomach, the sound vibrating against my sensitive nipples.

I ached and whimpered when he pulled away just long enough for us both to suck in air, only to come crashing back.

His scruff abraded my cheek when he dragged his seeking lips down to my neck. The hand pressed to my back slid to my front, gliding up to cup my breast. Needing to see it, I tipped my head, giving him more access to me and watching his long fingers cover my breast, moaning when his thumb grazed across my nipple.

I angled my hips, rubbing back and forth against his dick, needing the friction—needing something.

“More,” I begged.

“Fuck,” he muttered into my skin. His lips traveled back up over my chin, pinching my nipple through my bra, making me gasp just in time for his tongue to dominate my mouth, to taste me like I wanted to taste him.

We devoured each other in that dark corner, lost in a haze of denied pleasure, ignoring anything that could make us stop.

Anything except the guys calling my name.

Their shouts pierced our bubble and had us jerking back on instinct.

“Fuck,” he muttered again, watching me with eyes that looked as lost as I felt. “Nova.”

I touched my lips, holding the memory of his on mine close.

“I don’t—”

I don’t want to stop, I wanted to say, but admitting it felt too much like begging, and I cut it off.

Not that it mattered because he apparently thought the same thing.

“You want to go home?” he asked, but something in the way he asked let me know going home held so much more than our typical routine.

And I couldn’t wait to find out.

“Yes. Take me home.”

It sounded like begging, but imagining what could happen, I didn’t even care. I’d beg him on my knees if it meant we didn’t have to stop.

Now that we started, I never wanted to stop.

Twelve

Nova

P A S T

The first thing I noticed when walking through the door was the picture-perfect family photo my mom claimed we absolutely needed now that we were all together. Right next to that one was the one Mom made Parker and me take together like siblings.

Not the reminder I needed when my lips still stung from where he kissed me. Not when I wanted to bombard him as soon as the door clicked behind us so we could do it again.

Only the dim light we left on in the kitchen shined around the corner, illuminating us in shadows. But when I turned to face him, I noticed him looking at the same photo, and dread crept its way up my back.

It’d been thirty minutes since I’d first kissed Parker Callahan—thirty minutes too long. We’d rushed our goodbyes and sat silently in the back of a cab on the way home, both lost in our thoughts—me lost in anticipation. I thought maybe Parker had been too, but watching his brows pinch together as he stared at the picture, I worried maybe I’d been the only one.

“Nova—”

“Don’t.” I cut him off before he could even start his speech about why we shouldn’t. He could have listed off any reason, and none of it would have mattered. I didn’t care. Our parents were gone for the weekend and nothing stood in our way. “Just for tonight,” I pleaded. “Just for my birthday. Then we can go back to not talking about it.”

Just like we had for the last few months. We’d let it linger and fill the wasted space between us and never utter even a hint about its existence.