Blame It on the Tequila

It was like we went through a cycle of steps in our relationship. Friendship, desire we did our best to not admit to, desire we only showed in the darkness of night when he crawled into my bed, and then…and then we fell apart. We’d never actually made it past step three—or maybe we had, and that was step four—falling apart.

The realization that we’d moved to step three recently sunk the butterflies to the pit of my stomach. What if we were moments away from falling apart?

He bumped me with his shoulder. “You okay?”

I took a moment to really look at him. He was only twenty-four, but I could see the lines forming. A wrinkle between his brow when he scrunched them in concentration. The fine lines around his mouth and eyes that would only grow deeper with the way he inevitably enjoyed life. Would I be there to see it?

I didn’t know, but I was there now, and if it was all I had, then so be it.

“Yeah,” I said with a smile. “I’m good. Although, I’d be better if I knew where we were going.”

His pinky stretched out from where his hand rested on his thigh beside mine and stroked my leg. The smallest touch and fire spread like ripples in a pond. “Almost there,” he promised.

With a dramatic huff, I rested my hand on my thigh, meeting his pinky halfway, where we linked them for the rest of the drive. Our desire wasn’t forbidden anymore, but it was like we didn’t know how to actually show it.

“All right, Supernova,” Ash called from the front. “Close your eyes.”

“What? No.”

When all he did was smile and nod at my objection, I pursed my lips but complied.

Parker’s fingers linked with mine, and I held on tight. I could get used to closing my eyes and surprises if this was the payoff. The car rocked to a stop, and I squeezed my eyes tighter, fighting off the urge to peek.

“We have arrived,” Brogan announced excitedly.

“Open your eyes,” Ash ordered.

Four smiling faces scooting in close greeted me first, and I had to laugh at their hopeful looks. “You guys look like little boys showing off their rock collection.”

“You mean cock collection,” Oren snickered.

“Ew,” I cringed. “Sooo, can we get out? Or is sitting in the car with you smiling at me the surprise?”

They all hustled, and I followed behind. As soon as they exited, they donned various hats to try and blend in. Parker tipped his black cowboy hat that clashed with his band T-shirt and flannel but still looked good.

Finally looking past them, I took in the glowing sign outside the purple building with green trim.

My smile slipped.

Karaoke All Night, Every Night.

Somehow, I managed to scavenge a slight tip to my lips, if not a little forced. I didn’t sing anymore in front of people. I mostly only sang in the shower or in the car. Very few times, I sang with the guys in the last month while writing. They’d jokingly brought up how I should join them on stage at their next show, but I’d shut it down hard enough that they never pressed again.

The only other time we’d been to a karaoke bar had been for my birthday and marked the beginning of singing for me. It marked the beginning of the road to my worst nightmare. I didn’t sing in front of anyone anymore because I couldn’t do it without associating it with what happened.

“What are we doing?” I asked, laughing uncomfortably.

“Karaoke night, baby,” Oren exclaimed.

“You guys really want to sing in a karaoke bar the night before a show in the middle of a tour? Also, I don’t think we’re that far off the beaten path to keep your identity hidden if you go on stage.”

“Oh, yeah,” Brogan agreed. “We’re not singing. We wanted you to be able to sing.”

My smile dropped completely, and my heart thundered, pumping blood so hard it rushed through my ears, making it hard to hear. The lights swirled around me, and I took a step back, the scrape of my boots against the gravel too loud.

“We remember how much you loved to sing,” Ash explained, still smiling and completely oblivious to my turmoil.

“And yeah, asking you to come on stage was a bit much, so we figured a hole-in-the-wall bar would be cool,” Parker finished.

My heart beat too hard—too fast. My lungs weren’t getting enough oxygen despite how hard I was sucking in more and more air through my dry lips.

I didn’t know what brought on the panic more—the thought of being on stage and singing in front of anyone or the realization that they didn’t get it.

Moving from one face to the other, their smiles slowly dropped as the reality of the situation hit them.

They didn’t get how haunted I was. I couldn’t blame them completely because I’d never actually talked about it, but even an outsider would put two and two together. I more than made it clear I didn’t want to sing. I didn’t think I needed to go into the gory details of my recovery to make them understand.