Love Letter Duet: The Encore Edition Read online

  He remembered.

  I turned to face him, my arms now covering my breasts. It was warm in the house, but I felt my hard nipples pressing against my thin camisole. “Why does it matter?” I asked.

  “Because…” He took a step closer, and it felt as if my heart would explode out of my chest. He lifted his hand and gently ran it down my shoulder. “I can deal with one strike against me, but two seems unfair. Especially since I don’t know what I did to deserve it.”

  I gave him a sideways grin. “It's irrelevant.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  I wanted time to stop right there; not another second to go by. I needed to stay locked in that moment with him where the outside world didn’t exist. A world where he wasn’t a musician or a womanizer.

  A world where I wasn’t leaving the country in three hours.

  I wanted to stay paralyzed in this moment with him because Weston made me feel things I had never experienced before: jealousy, butterflies, excitement. I wanted none of it to ever stop.

  Leslie pushed the kitchen door open and reality set right back in . . . again. I had been so focused on Weston that I hadn’t heard the front door. My emotional roller coaster had come to a stop and I needed to get off.

  I’d known Leslie long enough to realize that her puffy eyes and the redness in her nose were from crying. She ducked her head when she noticed Weston in the kitchen with us. She had been crying over Harry—it was the only reason Leslie ever cried—and though I wanted to tell her he was a piece of shit womanizer whore bag, it wouldn’t matter what I said. She had fallen for him and there was nothing she could do to change that.

  Hound Dog Harry had cheated on her in the past—repeatedly. She had caught him in the act and still managed to go back. He never wanted to commit to her, and every big holiday he seemed to need a fucking break. But she was in love with the idea of love, and there wasn't anything I, Axel, or the Pope could say to change that.

  “Morning,” Leslie said in a low, hoarse voice. She got a bottle of water and took a sip before she joined us near the coffee machine.

  “We have to leave soon,” I reminded her. I hoped that Weston didn’t notice her puffy eyes.

  “We have to go sooner. I got called in to work.” Leslie had been working as a waitress at a local pub for extra cash until the next semester began.

  “What time do you have to go in? I still need to shower and make sure everything is packed.”

  “At two.”

  I glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was half past eleven. “Les, there is no way you’ll make it to LAX and back in two hours. The 405 will be insane.”

  “I can take you,” Weston spoke up. In the midst of figuring out how I would get to the airport, I’d forgotten he was standing so close.

  “No, it's fine.” I shook my head. Sitting in a confined space with him for a few short hours would be intoxicating.

  “No, Weston,” Leslie joined. “It's bad enough that you ended up our DD last night.”

  My head snapped towards Leslie. Weston was our DD? How much did I drink?

  “Weston said he wasn’t drinking so he wanted me to enjoy your last night with you,” Leslie said when she saw my furrowed eyebrows. “He drove me to Harry’s and then brought you here.”

  “I crashed on the couch,” he added with a cute smirk on his face.

  The warm tingles on my skin told me I was blushing. How badly had I embarrassed myself?

  “I can take you, Emilia. By the time we drive back to Yorks to get Leslie’s car and you head out to LAX, she'll be late to work.”

  “I can take a cab, really. It’s not that big a deal.” I waved my free hand.

  “I'm not letting you take a cab!” Leslie’s voice shrieked through the small kitchen and had me grasping the bridge of my nose. My headache was still present.

  Weston turned to face me. He hadn’t moved and I felt the heat from his body. “It’s on my way home. I don't mind taking you. Plus, it would beat being stuck in traffic all by myself.”

  How could I say no? A part of me needed to say no—he was sexy and had me questioning my every thought—but I would probably never see him again. What was a couple of hours?

  “All right,” I whispered. Trapped by the gaze of his eyes, I took a deep breath to control my rapid heartbeat.

  “Alrighty then.” He winked, and the boyish grin that greeted me had me biting both of my lips to contain my excitement.

  He hadn’t slept with Monica; instead, he’d driven me home. Taken care of me. Yes, I had a rule to never date guys like him, but I was smitten again. Maybe he wasn’t the guy I’d pegged him to be.

  Thirty minutes later I was showered, dressed and shoving my two oversized suitcases in the trunk of his car. It was a shiny black Pontiac GTO, clearly a collector’s dream to own. It smelled like Weston: leather and cinnamon.

  “You're leaving?” he asked once he slammed the trunk shut.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  I began to turn but his voice stopped me in my tracks. “For good?”

  “It's been the plan all along.” I shrugged.

  Monica and Kate met us outside, their faces still sleep-ravaged. “We’ll talk soon.” I hugged them and promised to stay in touch.

  I walked back to the car while Weston leaned against his shiny fender to wait for me. He wore the same clothes from last night, but his eyes had a spark to them this morning.

  Leslie slid in the front seat as I climbed into the back. The heat made my dress stick to the leather. I placed my oversized sunglasses over my eyes and mentally prepared myself for the conversation Weston and I would have from Yorks to LAX. After all, I didn’t want him to remember me as a complete tool.

  Weston talked to Leslie about her job and I tuned them out as I said goodbye to where I had spent the last few months. We pulled into Yorks’ parking spot next to Leslie’s car and Weston cut his engine. “I’ll wait for you here.” He eyed me through the rearview mirror. I nodded and followed Leslie out of the car.

  I draped my arms over Leslie, and tears pooled in my eyes, but I couldn't let them fall. If I cried, it would be hours before anyone could separate us. “I can't believe this is goodbye.” She wrapped her tiny arms around me and hugged me tighter.

  “It's not goodbye forever. I promise I'll come visit.” My voice cracked.

  Luckily, Weston had stayed in the car and given us our privacy. It was bad enough that we were wrapped in each other’s arms in an empty bar parking lot.

  “Call me as soon as you land in Rio.” She brushed my hair back.

  “Promise.” With one last embrace, she let go and walked to her car.

  I swallowed my tears and pulled open Weston’s passenger door. I sank into the seat as he pulled out of the gravel parking lot. Suffocated in the small car by his presence and the scent of leather and man, my heart began to accelerate.

  He lowered the volume of the stereo. “You and Leslie close?”

  I looked over at him, but his eyes remained on the road. “Yeah,” I responded. I gazed at his chiseled chin and manly scruff. “She spent a semester with me in Brazil, and this year I joined her.”

  He finally locked his stormy eyes on mine. “I would have guessed you lived somewhere back east maybe.”

  I pushed my curls behind my ear. “I was born in the States and lived here until I was twelve.”

  “Ah, that makes sense. So are you going to tell me what strike two is?” He grinned.

  “Nope.” I shook my head and smiled.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it doesn't matter.”

  “It matters to me.” He loosened one of his hands from the steering wheel and patted his chest. “I want to know what I did to offend you.”

  “I was drunk. It doesn't matter now.”

  “Yes, that you were.” He pulled up to a light and peered over at me. “Do you always drink that much?” His tone had changed, and I heard what sounded like concern in his voice.

  “
No … Well, maybe? I guess it depends. It was my going away.” I didn't know why I wanted to explain myself to him, but I couldn't stop. “Usually, I’m a two beer kind of girl. And Leslie is officially the worst DD.”

  “Nah, she’s a good person.” He stopped behind a large black SUV and turned to me. “I'm not a drinker, either. I'll nurse a beer all night. You two seemed so happy on the dance floor that it would've been a shame if it were only you having all the fun.”

  “I blacked out.” I slammed the edges of my palms in my eyes. “Axel!” I gasped. “Oh, crap. Did I say goodbye to Axel?”

  Weston chuckled. Even his chuckle was sexy. “Yes, you said goodbye. You actually went around the whole bar and said goodbye to everyone.” His eyes crawled up my body. “Except me.”

  His eyes. God, his eyes. Jesus amado.

  I swallowed the rock that was lodged in my throat. “Sorry.”

  “The whole ride home you kept reminding me that I had two strikes. I took you home, helped you into bed, and you still won't tell me what strike two is?” He looked over at me and winked.

  I buried my face in my hands. “Oh, God. Now I'm mortified.”

  He laughed. Not a chuckle, but a full-blown laugh. “If you tell me what strike two is, I’ll call it even.”

  I grinned up at him through my fingers. “Nope.”

  “Fine, be that way. But just so you know, this morning when you were trying to hide your body from me? It was pointless.” He raised his eyebrows. “You had no problem undressing in front of me last night.”

  I felt as though he dropped an anvil on my chest. “Shut the… No, I didn’t.”

  He greeted me with another hearty laugh. “I turned around when you began to undress because I'm a gentleman.”

  Weston took the exit towards the airport; our time together was coming to an end. I fiddled with the cuticles of my fingernails, wishing we could stretch it out. Even a few more minutes would make me happy. Weston pulled the car into the fire lane and shifted it into park.

  I stepped out of the car as he pulled my luggage out of the back. “Thank you for the ride.” I lifted the handle of my suitcase. “Take care.” I turned, gripping the bars so I could wheel them behind me.

  “Emilia!” I heard Weston shout from behind me. I turned so quickly I knew I would have a kink in my neck later. “If I can’t have strike two, what’s strike one then?”

  I bit my lip. What was the harm in telling him now? “You’re a musician. That’s strike one.”

  The wide smile on his face dropped. His hand brushed the scruff growing on his chin and he nodded. “Take care of yourself.”

  The way his face changed would forever be etched in me. Something passed between us, but I couldn’t tell what it was. He didn’t wait for me to respond. His head dropped and he turned back towards his car.

  Weston never looked back.

  It was my turn to do the same.

  6

  EMILIA

  One Year Later.

  “Emilia, vamos!” Tia Regina shouted from the stairs.

  I had been on the terrace of our home for the past ten minutes staring at the beautiful world around me. A year and a half ago I had done this exact thing. I had stood here, imagining where my life was going and petrified for the six months I would be studying in the States.

  My semester abroad changed my life for the better. When I returned home, I graduated in December and then immediately started working as a temp at PLI Banco Financial in Rio de Janeiro. Within the first month I knew it wasn’t what I wanted to do in life. I despised the nine to five, the office atmosphere was stuck up, and I loathed the brown-nosing. While I was sorting mail or filing paperwork, I counted down the hours left in the day until I could go home and listen to music or catch up with Axel and Leslie over email.

  I stayed at PLI Banco Financial for six months. By month three I knew I needed to do something different, so I applied for a job I knew I would excel in. I’d interviewed over the phone and did the one thing I swore I would never do: I dropped my father’s name so they’d know who I was. Yes, it was wrong to do that, but I had a minor in communications and was applying to be an assistant producer at a radio station without any experience. I was lucky they took my call.

  Most of the houses in Rio included an open rooftop terrace which served as a place to entertain since there were no backyards. I stood there like I had done a year and a half ago, saying goodbye to Rio. Last time, I said my farewell for only a few short months, but this time I didn’t know when I would come back. Inhaling the scent of salt water and city fumes, I walked down the marble stairs towards the front doors. Aunt Regina waited at the bottom of the steps, her foot tapping on the shiny tile.

  “You'll miss your flight,” she barked at me.

  I shrugged, picked up my carry-on duffel bag, and tossed it over my shoulder. My uncle Neto had already lugged my two suitcases to the back of his Volkswagen. I yanked on the white metal gate door, then paused and turned back to the house behind me. My aunt stood with a dishtowel in hand and tears dripping from her eyes. She reminded me so much of my mother; she had been a mother to me for the past ten years. The duffel bag slid off my shoulder and I sprinted towards her.

  She sobbed and opened her arms for me.”Minha filha,” she cried. She had always called me her daughter as a way of endearment.

  “Thank you for everything.” My words were muffled into the crook of her neck.

  “Be safe. And please call me when you get there.”

  I nodded in agreement, unable to speak. Tears threatened to flood my eyes as I kissed her forehead and ran back to my bag. Tossing it to my uncle, I looked up at my home and said goodbye. I was about to begin a new chapter in my life.

  The flight from Rio to LAX was fourteen hours long if you counted my connecting flight in Sao Paulo. My legs were swollen, my kneecaps stiff from sitting for so many hours, but I finally arrived in Los Angeles. When the flight attendant turned off the seat belt light, I leaped out of my seat and stretched my arms over my head. Departing the plane, I passed through customs and retrieved my bags.

  Leslie stood outside of baggage claim holding a white paper sign with my name written across it. She smiled and jumped with joy when she saw me. “You made it!” she shouted as she jogged towards me. We hugged briefly before she rested her hands on my shoulders and looked at me. “You look as hot as always, chica.” I embraced her once again.

  This was my new home.

  Following Leslie to the car, my old clunker that I had given her, I soaked in the Southern California heat that I’d missed so much. It was June in LA, where the temperature was eighty plus and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Though Brazil was known to be warm year around, it had rained for the past few days.

  “Blue hair, huh?” I asked when we reached her car.

  “You like?” She shook her head and the indigo streaks moved against her raven hair.

  “I love it,” I answered honestly.

  She took one suitcase and helped me shove it in her trunk. “It's a wash,” she huffed. “I wanted to do something spontaneous before I start work on Monday and have to live the boring corporate life.” Leslie had taken an account management position with DE Financial.

  The Sunday morning traffic wasn't as hectic as the rush hour I remembered, and within thirty minutes we were pulling up to my new home. Leslie had still been living with Kate and Monica, but she moved out two weeks ago. We were renting a two-bedroom apartment that seemed like a mansion compared to the place we had in college. It had a small kitchen, a large room that served as both a living and dining room, and one bathroom.

  “Do you like it?” she asked as we walked into the living room. Boxes were shoved into the corner and our couch was still wrapped in plastic. Leslie had furnished our place with some of the money I sent her. She had my full permission to make it how she wanted, and I thanked God she had great taste and everything matched.

  I left my suitcases in the living room and admired my new home.
Leslie had taken care of everything. The only thing I had with me was a picture of my parents and my clothes, but each room had boxes that needed to be unpacked and sorted.

  “It's perfect.”

  My first few weeks at Q143 FM were tiring. As the assistant producer, I arrived at five in the morning to help out with the morning show, and I returned in the evening for the Nine at Nine show, as well. Thankfully, since Leslie kept my old car, I had enough money saved to purchase an old Sentra—which Axel referred to as the snot rocket—that helped me get around the city.

  I quickly moved on to a more permanent position as Cinthia Stone's shadow. She was expecting her first child, so she’d be leaving on maternity leave in a few months and I was scheduled to take over her position.

  Leslie had landed an internship at MRA Corporation, a financial institution in the heart of LA’s business district. Our lives were on opposite schedules, so we only saw each other in the mornings before we headed out to work.

  Even though I couldn’t stop thinking about him, I refused to ask Axel or Leslie about Weston. I had been in Brazil for three months before I caved and looked him up on social media. I stalked his page daily, obsessing over pictures he posted with other girls and watching as his fame grew with each passing week. Axel told me that opportunities for the band opened for them after their performance at Yorks. They would go far, and I went out of my way to assure I wouldn't be a part of it. Eventually, I blocked Weston from my social media accounts so I wouldn't be tempted to see him.

  Needless to say, I was busy, and my dating life wasn’t.

  7

  EMILIA

  Mid-October.

  Staring back at my reflection in the mirror, I sighed. I had promised Axel I would go out with him for drinks on my next day off, but what I thought would be a simple dinner between us had turned into a mini-reunion party. Leslie had mentioned it to Harry, who insisted on joining us. They were still hooking up when it was convenient for him. She swore it was a mutual agreement, but I knew she was lying to herself. By the end of the night, Axel would most likely find someone to shag, so I’d invited Marc.