Love Letter Duet: The Encore Edition

by Callie Anderson

  I liked to pride myself on the fact that I could read most girls. From the first encounter, I could list their dents. Monica, for example, was gorgeous, and any guy would kill to be with her, but there was no chase. She was willing to do whatever. And an easy girl has more dents than I’m willing to count. I’m not saying that I wouldn’t hook up with her. In the past, I’d had my fair share of Monica’s, but those weren’t the girls you brought home to your mother. Those weren’t the girls who would inspire you to write a song about how they made you feel. They weren’t the muses for lyrics in my heart. But Emilia I couldn’t read, and that was a challenge. A challenge I wasn’t about to let slip out of my life.

  Placing my beer on the table, I walked over to Leslie. She was swaying to the beat and Emilia was right next to her, bouncing around.

  “Hey,” I said over the music.

  “Oh, hey.” Leslie smiled at me. “You guys were great up there.”

  “Thanks.” My heart slammed in my chest as I glanced over at Emilia. I debated cutting in and giving her someone to dance with, but I already had two strikes. And I didn’t want another one. And she didn’t need anyone to dance with her. She controlled the dance floor all on her own. So instead, I decided to befriend her friend and find out any information she was willing to give me.

  “She looks like she’s having fun.”

  Leslie continued to sway, sweat building on her forehead. “She’s on a mission tonight. This is her goodbye party!” she shouted over the music.

  And then it hit me. Like a fucking semi-truck right in the face. This was the reason Axel had pushed us to play. Emilia was the friend who Axel said had a lot of connections. But she was leaving.

  Fuck.

  I tried to hide the disappointment in my face. “I’m Weston.”

  “Leslie.” She smiled up at me and continued to watch Emilia.

  “You’re not drinking?” I asked when I spotted her empty cup.

  She frowned. “I’m DD.”

  “I can take you girls home. I’m not really a drinker.” Leslie crossed her arms and looked at me as if she was weighing her options. I chuckled at her apprehension. “I’m not going to kidnap you if that’s what you’re thinking. You can ask Axel, Harry, or Pete. I’m a good guy.” I raised my hand in the air. “If it’s your friends last night here, you should be having as much fun as she is. Plus, I’m sure I’ll be driving all the guys home.”

  Leslie pursed her lips. “Are you sure?”

  I nodded.

  Her grin deepened. “I’ll be back. Keep an eye on her while I run to the bar.” She dashed over to Harry.

  The music stopped, and the emcee introduced the final band of the night. While he talked, I focused on Emilia. She was in her own world, dancing as though the music was still playing. When she turned back and faced me, her body froze. Her eyebrows pinched together, and a devious grin split her cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

  Her voice was a little slurred, and I knew that she was a bit tipsy, if not drunk. “I’m watching you. Leslie went to go get a drink.”

  “Shouldn’t you be watching Monica?” Her head bounced with annoyance. “Or Candy? She seemed nice.”

  She was even adorable when she was jealous. I shrugged. “Too many dents,” I muttered.

  Emilia’s grin dropped, and she looked up at me a bit confused. “Did you say dents?”

  I chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. I can’t see any in you.”

  “You have two strikes, buddy. So take your gorgeous gray eyes somewhere else. It ain’t happening.” She shook her finger in my direction.

  At least she thought my eyes were gorgeous.

  Walking toward her, erasing all distance between us, I leaned my head into her hair. The scent of her flowery perfume was tantalizing. “What’s strike one?”

  I heard her inhale and exhale dramatically. “It doesn’t matter, I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “It matters to me.”

  Emilia took a step back and brushed her hair away from her face, her gaze locking on mine. Through the dim lights, I noticed that she was nibbling at the corner of her lips. “I’m probably not going to remember this in the morning, so I’m going to tell you how it is. I’m not interested in getting to know you. Please, go keep Monica company because we all know she has no problem opening her legs for men like you.”

  “Shots!” Leslie shouted, and Emilia turned to her. I watched as she tossed the liquor down her throat. Bringing my lips to her ears, I whispered, “I know women, and I know that you’re full of shit. But keep your guard, that’s fine. It makes it a bigger challenge.” It took all the strength I possessed to pull away from her.

  She looked at me from the corner of her eyes, and I winked at her. One way or another she was going to realize I wasn’t like other guys, just like she wasn’t like other girls. I had no clue if she’d understood me given the amount of liquor in her small frame, but it was worth a try.

  She would always be worth the try.

  I sat back as the last band finished their performance and the deejay started laying down different tracks, but my gaze was glued on her, watching as she danced with Leslie. Her hips swaying, her hands in the air, the wide smile on her face. I could stare at her all day.

  Axel returned with Sally, and I shook my head, trying not to look like a love-struck pup.

  “Man, we rocked it out there.” Axel sat next to me on the picnic table. I glanced over at him and smirked at the way Sally’s lipstick was smeared all over his face.

  “We did.” I nodded and decided to let him walk around with lipstick on his face. Axel flipped opened his pack of cigarettes and pulled one out.

  “I need your schedule so we can figure out what would be the best time to book some studio sessions.”

  “I have a pretty good one at home. We can always record there.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Have you seen her?” Leslie tugged on my arm, interrupting our conversation.

  It took me a few seconds to register what she said, but it still didn’t make any sense. “Huh?” I looked over at her and then at the empty spot where Emilia had stood.

  “Emmy! One second we were dancing, and the next she was gone!” Leslie shouted frantically.

  “It’s okay. We’ll find her.” I nodded at Axel who slapped Pete on the arm to help search. “Stay here,” I said to Leslie. She seemed panicked, so it was best for her to stay put.

  The three of us split up in search of Emilia. I didn’t know much about drinking except that it made you have to pee constantly, so that was exactly where I’d check first. I was approaching the door to the restroom when a red haired beauty was walking out. Bingo.

  Stopping in my tracks, I waited for her to bump into me. Her head was down, and her eyes focused the ground, so she didn’t spot me until she ran straight into my chest.

  “Sorry,” she said and stumbled back. She blinked a few times like she was focusing her vision on me. Quickly, I pulled her into me, stopping her from colliding into anyone else.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  She looked up at me with eyes half-mast. “I’m really drunk.” She pouted.

  “Why don’t we get you home?” I tucked her under my arms and led her back to toward the crowd.

  “You smell nice.” She pressed her head to my chest. “Even with all your strikes you still smell nice.”

  I wanted to slam her up against the wall and kiss her rosy lips until she couldn’t breathe anymore. It took everything inside of me to ignore her comment and bring her over to the table. Axel and Pete spotted us from across the room.

  “I think she’s ready to go home,” I told Leslie.

  Harry had Leslie sitting on his lap as he whispered into her ear, “Come on.” Leslie stood, her hand laced with his as she pulled him up. “We all need to get home.”

  Harry stood behind her and kissed her neck. Emilia strolled over to Axel and embraced him with lazy arms. The music began to soften, and a few lights turned
on letting the rest of the people know the bar was closing and it was time for everyone to go.

  Emilia lifted up to her toes, speaking softly to Axel who nodded before hugging her firmly. She then hugged Pete and Harry before looking at me. Shaking her head slowly, she kept one eye closed as she talked.

  “You’re trouble, Weston, but you’re a phenomenal singer.” She lifted her fist for me to pound. When our fists collided, she said, “Rock on!”

  This girl. She was going to be the death of me.

  Leslie laughed and laced her arm through Emilia’s. “Come, babe. We gotta go.”

  Harry climbed into the back seat of my car with Leslie, and Emilia sat in the front. Half of me wished it was Harry and Leslie up front and me and Emilia in the back, so I could hold her. I lowered the window for her, giving her some fresh air in case the liquor wanted out of her system before she got home.

  “Are you going to be sick?” I asked her.

  “No,” she mumbled and closed her eyes.

  Harry gave me the directions to his house all the while trying to persuade Leslie to spend the night with him. She wasn’t having it, though. I turned up the radio to give them some privacy in the back seat. When I pulled up in front of his house, he pleaded one last time. “Come on, Les. Please?”

  Leslie looked up at Emilia, who was slumped against the door. “Emilia is leaving tomorrow. I can’t just leave her.”

  Oh, but she could.

  “You can go,” I interjected, trying to sound calm and cool. “I can take her home and make sure she gets in okay. Monica and the other girl should be there.”

  “Are you sure?” Leslie asked. Her gaze kept bouncing between Harry and the sleeping Emilia.

  “Yes, I don’t mind at all.”

  “Okay.” Leslie smiled at Harry who was already stepping out of the car. “Thanks, Weston. We’re right off the Santa Ana Freeway,” she said and handed me a ripped piece of paper with her address on it.

  With the directions Leslie gave me, I drove Emilia home. I parked in the driveway and closed her window before turning the car off and climbing out the driver’s side. She didn’t stir at all when I pulled her door open. In fact, her soft snores were adorable and soothing.

  “Em,” I said softly. “We’re home.”

  “Hmm,” she complained and ran her hands under her eyes. “I’m never drinking again.” She threw her hand out for me. “I’m too drunk to even get up.”

  She was cute even when intoxicated. “Come on.” I helped her out of the car. “I’ll get you inside.”

  Emilia scrunched her face as she dug through her purse and tried to locate her keys with no luck. She didn’t protest when I attempted to help.

  “You think you're so cool that you can get the door open,” she sang and stumbled inside the house.

  Maybe that could go against one of my strikes.

  Following her, I kept my arms open in the event she tripped and fell. She led me through the small apartment, and I trailed close behind her until she opened a bedroom door.

  “If you’re looking for easy, you need to walk down the hallway.” She flicked the light on, and her perfume lingered in the air. Emilia spun slowly to face me. “I’m not easy.” Her eyes were squinted as she tried to focus on me.

  I stopped my hand that wanted to reach up and brush it against her cheek that looked so soft. “I never thought you were.” It’s one of your best qualities, Em.

  She didn’t say a word as she tugged on the seam of her shirt and pulled it over her head. I didn’t want her to strike me out again, so I twisted around and gave her some privacy. Not that I didn’t want to look, but I wanted her to be sober when I ran my gaze up her body, soaking in every ounce of her perfection.

  She continued to mumble a few more things, and I glanced back to find her braless and wearing booty shorts. “Fuck,” I cursed under my breath. It was impossible not to want to kiss every part of her. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from her body.

  “You should get some sleep,” I suggested, wanting her to get under the covers where she was safe from my gawk.

  “You have two strikes, Weston.” She shook her head and walked toward her bed. “Two strikes,” she repeated.

  Emilia closed her eyes as she crawled into bed and I released a long sigh, glad that I wouldn’t be tempted anymore. I pulled the comfort over her and stopped for a moment, contemplating kissing her forehead, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not this way. I looked down at her and our eyes locked, making my pulse race.

  “Don’t leave,” she whispered.

  I smiled at her. “I’m not going anywhere until I know what strike one is.”

  5

  EMILIA

  I woke up the following morning, my head pounding with each breath I took. Cheap beer and even cheaper hard liquor always caused the worst hangover. The pain behind my eyes was almost unbearable, but the warm sunshine pelting my face from the window helped ease the discomfort. The rest of my body felt weak, and the extra alcohol sloshing in my stomach threatened to come back up. My body was heavy as I kicked off the sheets and planted my feet on the floor. They ached from too much dancing. I glanced at the bedside clock through eyelids squinting from the sun; I had to be ready in two hours. I wiped the sleep and drool off my face, then stretched my arms over my head while I looked over at Leslie's bed. It had been untouched.

  How the hell did I get home last night?

  As I glanced around my room for a bottle of water to quench my thirst, my phone began to ring from my computer table. This hangover was going to suck. I pushed off the bed and stood. My head pounded with each step I took; the chirping sound only intensified my migraine. My aunt was calling, most likely to check whether I was ready for the airport. I slipped my finger over the phone and cleared my throat.

  “Alô?” I said.

  “Oi, meu amor.” She said. Hello, my love, in Portuguese. Though Regina spoke some English, her accent made her timid and she never wanted to speak it with me.

  “Oi, Tia,” I moaned into the phone.

  “Did I wake you?” she asked.

  “No.” I tried to clear my throat. “I'm just getting ready to go to the airport,” I lied.

  “Oh good. I was worried that you would miss your flight since you said you were going to celebrate last night.”

  Her voice felt like needles stabbing into my brain. She was younger than my mother by two years, and when my father passed away, she’d immediately hopped on a plane to be at my side. For the past eight years, I had been living with her and my uncle Neto. It wasn’t easy for them to take on a teenager who had lost both parents, but they never gave up trying to make me feel at home.

  “Call me when you board the plane.”

  “Will do.”

  I swallowed back the vomit from my hangover as I hung up the phone. From the corner of my eye, I spotted an old bottle of water that had fallen off the nightstand and chugged it back. It did nothing to alleviate my migraine, but at least a part of my thirst had been quenched.

  After I was done emptying my stomach and washing my face, I needed coffee to cure my headache.—strong black coffee. Our kitchen was in the back corner of the apartment, and the walk towards the coffee machine seemed longer than usual this morning. My hand pressed against the swinging door that separated the kitchen from living room. I pushed the door forward . . .

  And stopped short.

  My head jolted, causing a sharp, lightning pain to shoot through my eyes. Weston stood shirtless with his hip resting against the countertop. My hand firmly braced on the swinging door, I held my breath as I scanned his bare chest before letting my gaze move up to his face. His eyes locked with mine and I took a short step forward, feeling hesitant and confused.

  “How do you feel?” His voice was raspy, sultry and even sexier than I remembered.

  My words were lodged somewhere between ‘what the hell happened’ and this gorgeous man in front of me, so I looked down at his chest. Again. The hair on his pecs was buzzed
low, and his skin looked like the sun had kissed it. He appeared Latin with a touch of something exotic, and his eyes were light, yet stormy.

  Still unable to speak, I nodded as I peeked at his arms. For a lean guy, he was cut. His right bicep was covered with a coy fish tattoo and a tribal design was displayed over his pecs. My eyes grazed lower; I angled my head a little to get a better view, and immediately met his washboard abs. My heart raced in my chest. He was here, shirtless, in my kitchen, and he looked delectable. He reminded me of caramel chocolate. I would do anything to take just one bite.

  Then reality smacked me upside the head.

  He was here, but he wasn't in my bed when I woke up. Nor was he in Leslie's bed. Monica had no problem throwing herself at him last night, so it was obvious he’d spent the night with her. I cleared my throat and reached in the cupboard where we kept the coffee mugs.

  “I'm fine.”

  I pulled one out and walked to the coffee pot. It was a tiny kitchen and now it felt the size of a matchbox. I felt his eyes on me and my skin burned with each step I took. I was wearing booty shorts and a camisole. With no bra.

  I took the carafe and filled my cup with pitch-black coffee. I was the only one in the house who liked coffee, so I knew he had made it. I looked out the kitchen window and towards the garden view of our apartment complex. Weston shifted his feet under him and turned towards me. My elbows were tucked at my sides, holding my boobs to hide them from his view. My pounding headache had dissipated, replaced with my racing heart.

  I shouldn't have wanted him.

  He’d spent the night with Monica.

  Yet I wanted him to toss me on the counter and kiss me until our lips were bruised.

  “Did you have fun last night?” he asked, his voice soft, soothing.

  I took a sip of my hot, bitter coffee and nodded slowly. “Yes . . . From what I remember, it was a lot of fun.” I took a deep breath and tried to focus on the palm trees, the green grass, even Mrs. Lipsky's green Cadillac. Anything to divert my focus away from him.

  Weston cleared his throat. “What's strike two?”