I would go to see him after work, or he’d pick me up for a spontaneous afternoon date at the beach. I’d spend most evenings at his place with him. I’d cook dinner, he’d clean up, and then we’d make out like teenagers on his couch. Weston never pushed any further than second base. Some nights I either slept over or went home in the wee hours of the morning and when he was helping Axel with the Sparrows’ promotion, I bartended.
I hadn't seen Leslie in weeks, and when I was home she was either asleep or with Harry in her room. Staying at Weston’s had its perks; it was a closer drive to work, and we never had to worry about someone coming home to us making out on the kitchen table. I missed my banter with Leslie, but l had fallen into a routine and life around us seemed to stand still.
In late February, I drove home early one morning from Weston's home. The skies were dark, telling people they still had a few more hours to sleep before the work day started. I’d forgotten to pack a blouse for my meeting with Cinthia and the executives at the radio station. Wanting to get to the office at least an hour early to prep, I got showered and dressed. When I emerged, Leslie had awoken and was brewing her coffee.
I strolled into the kitchen with a huge smile on my face. “Morning, sugar.”
She poured a splash of milk into her mug. “I thought I was going to have to call search and rescue.” Her voice was laced with snark. “At first I thought you’d died, but when I noticed the laundry kept getting washed at random times of the night, I knew you were still around.”
I pulled open the cupboard and grabbed a mug. “Les, come on. You know I'm seeing Weston now.” I felt a bit guilty for not being around, but it wasn’t as though I’d spent four weeks without any sort of communication. I filled my mug and turned to face her.
“Seeing him? Please, you’ve pretty much moved in with him. You're so up his ass that you don't even know what your friends look like anymore.”
“That's not fair. I sleep here at least three times a week and usually you're with Harry or asleep.”
“You know what’s not fair? Completely ditching your friends for a guy you despised at one point.”
“I'm sorry.” I felt like a crappy friend. “I didn't realize I was ditching you. I … I got caught up in the moment.”
“Maybe you should look in the mirror and see if you recognize yourself. You’re starting to look like your mother. I'm pretty sure she got caught up in the moment before she followed your dad on tour.”
Leslie was hurt, that I understood, and I had been a shitty friend, but she’d crossed the line when she brought my mother into this. My toes curled with anger that coursed through my body, and I slammed my coffee mug on the counter. “You're pissed because I haven't been around, I get that. I'll make an effort to be more active in your life.” And like Leslie had done, adding to my deepest cut, I returned the favor. “You're pissed because I have something with Weston, and you still have absolutely nothing with Harry. He refuses to commit to you, yet you continue to be his late night fuck. I get that you're pissed, but that doesn’t give you the authority to stand there and talk about my mother like you know anything about my love life, let alone hers. So, do me a favor and mind your own fucking business.”
“Oh please, Emilia. You’re so caught up with Weston—”
“I am! And God forbid! For once I know what it’s like to be happy with a man, and I refuse to let you ruin it. I apologized for being flaky, and I’ll be around more often, but that doesn’t give you the right to complain.”
“I’m sure your mother said the same thing to her friends.” She rested her hands on her hips.
I yanked my purse off the table and threw it over my shoulder. I needed to get out of here before I said something I’d regret. “You know what, Leslie? Kiss my ass!” Furious, I slammed the front door.
Was she right? Was I completely losing who I was with Weston? Was history repeating itself?
Ignoring my inner thoughts, I blasted the radio and listened to another song I would hear at least six more times throughout the day.
By lunchtime, I was frustrated and flustered. I’d brought the wrong media kit for review, and Cinthia had to apologize to the executives. My work suffered because Leslie had crawled into my head. She’d planted the seed and the tree of doubt was born.
Was I really following in my mother's footsteps? Was I falling head over heels for a guy who didn't guarantee me a future? What the hell was I doing to myself?
After my morning meeting, my day continued to spiral downward. I’d screwed up the email I sent out for the sound staff. Their reply about the marketing ads seemed like gibberish because all I did was replay what Leslie said. When I had as much work to do as I did today, I usually didn’t step out for lunch, but I needed to get some fresh air and clear my head. I gently tapped on Cinthia's office door before pushing it ajar.
Her head popped up from her screen. “Emilia, come in.” Her voice was sweet, as if I hadn’t screwed up. She was pregnant and hormonal; most days I would’ve received a lecture about time management in her fiery pitched tone.
“Hi, Cinthia,” I pulled out a chair in front of her desk. “ I'm sorry. I need to apologize for the meeting. It was unprofessional. I don't know what got into my head.”
“Is everything all right?” She folded her hands on her desk. Cinthia was in her early thirties, and always dressed in a Calvin Klein dress with pumps, even with her small baby bump.
“Yeah, everything's fine. I just need some air. I'm gonna step out for lunch. Can I grab you anything?”
She laughed and rubbed her bump. “I’m craving a very cheesy burger, but do yourself a favor, Emilia, and take the rest of the afternoon off. You’ve been working nonstop and I think I might be overworking you. It’s unlike you not to be prepared for a meeting.”
I apologized again and left her office before she had a chance to change her mind. Cinthia’s hormones must have been on the fritz. This was the first time she had given me the rest of the day off.
I hopped in my car and went to the one place I knew would clear my head. I walked down the Santa Monica beach holding my shoes in my hands. My feet dug through the sand, and the waves crashed in the distance. Serenity. It was where I needed to be to soothe my soul.
Though it was March, there were a few people on the beach. I strolled toward the pier, far away from any other souls, and plopped down on the cool sand. Slowly, I began to breathe in the salty mist. My mind started to relax and then rationalize the root of my problem. Was I falling for him and losing everyone around me? But I was happy, extraordinarily happy, with Weston.
He had infused himself underneath my skin and began to feed my soul. Weston was like a spark that fired up my heart. I wanted to be with him, I knew that. But at what cost? Was this love? Had I fallen in love? Weston had knocked down every brick I’d built to keep him out. He wasn’t a womanizer, and though he was a musician, did that give me the right to compare him to my father? I’d run from love for so long and I’d avoided it. I just didn't believe that a happily ever after could exist.
My mother had painted a quote from The Beatles on our wall: Love is old, Love is new, Love is all, Love is you. When my father overdosed, he was facing that painted phrase. I’d sat there crying for almost thirty minutes before I’d called for help. I’d sat there rereading that quote non-stop as I sobbed. I’d blamed love. I still blamed love. Love took the only other parent I had left.
“I hate love.”
But with Weston, it couldn’t be love. I refused to fall in love. What he and I shared was different. I felt alive, as though I could conquer the world. Love left you shattered and broken. I wouldn’t fall in love because I was a girl who didn't believe love conquered all. Love was a liar. It was created to hurt you and tear you apart. It was designed to make you insane and hurt the people you were supposed to love the most.
I had witnessed it firsthand.
Exhaling, I ran my free hand through my long, windblown curls. I gazed up at the sky, at the
sun beaming down on my face. I shut my eyes and whispered to the clouds, “Tell me what to do, Mom. Please, tell me what to do. You were once in my shoes. What should I do?”
There were moments like this when I wished I had my mom here close to me. I desperately needed her motherly advice. I had lost so many firsts with her: the period talk, the sex talk, and here was another one. For the first time I thought I may be in love, and she wasn't here. I buried my head between my knees. I’d gone from not knowing what to do about Weston, to missing my mother terribly. This was a crap day.
The waves crashed in the background and soothed my heart, but they didn't alleviate my pain. I didn’t know if it was my need for an answer, but it was as though the waves crashing on shore made a sound like a word my mother always said to me. When I was a kid, my mother would say juizo anytime I left the house: use your judgment. I lifted my head from my knees, a few seconds passed, and I heard it again. I laughed and wiped my tear stained cheeks. I was so desperate for any sign from my mother that I believed the ocean was talking to me. The sound was enough to wake me up, though. It was all I needed.
I grew happier with each passing second. “Use your judgment, Emilia,” I spoke back to the ocean. Falling in love with Weston didn’t mean we would have the same life as my parents. I would use my judgment to make better choices.
Or so I thought.
Reaching into my purse for my cell phone, I sent Weston a quick text message.
Me: Hey, I got out of work early! Did you eat?
I hadn’t heard from him since this morning, which was odd. Usually, he would have texted me that he was going into the studio. When he didn’t respond, I took matters into my own hands. Stopping at a deli, I picked up sandwiches and headed over to his house.
I tapped on the front door and waited a few seconds. No answer. I texted him again. No answer. His car was parked in the driveway, so I walked around to his studio and called him one last time. Still nothing.
A weird feeling washed over me.
I turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open. Music played and Weston’s voice streamed from the speakers. His eyes were closed until the sunlight hit his face in the glass booth. I looked around the room and spotted his phone sitting on the charger. Relief replaced whatever anxiety I’d felt only seconds ago. Had I really expected to catch him doing something?
“Hey, beautiful,” he said over the song.
“I brought lunch,” I mouthed, and held the white paper bag up for him to see.
Weston removed his headphones and left the booth. He marched right up to me and captured my lips with his. “This is a nice surprise. Come on, let’s go eat inside.” He shut down the soundboard and led me into the house. Weston and I sat at the kitchen table to share our lunch. I hadn’t realized how famished I was. After I’d wolfed down my sandwich, I balled up the parchment paper.
“Hungry?” Weston joked before he ate his last bite.
“Today was a sucky day.” I threw my head back and rubbed my temples.
Weston took my hand in his and led me to the couch. “Tell me about it?”
I rested my head against the cushion and closed my eyelids. “Leslie and I argued this morning.” I kicked off my shoes and rubbed the soles of my feet.
Weston took my feet in his lap and began a relaxing massage. “Why did you and Leslie fight?”
“Because of you,” I moaned. “It was dumb. It’s not even a big deal anymore.”
“So that ruined your whole day?” He pressed his thumb on the arch of my foot.
“Yes, but none of that matters anymore because your foot rubs are making me forget my crappy day.”
“Anything to make you smile, Em.”
I opened my eyes and faced Weston. We had been together for almost two months, and he hadn’t once pressured me to sleep with him. Everything I wanted was sitting right in front of me. If this was love, I wanted to dive into it head first. Loving him would be effortless.
I pulled my feet from his hands and sat upright on the couch. His eyebrows furrowed. “What’s the matter?”
My tongue slid across my lips as my hands found the first button on my shirt. There wasn’t a single ounce of doubt in my body. I was ready to let him take me. Make me his; all of his.
My fingers were steady as they unbuttoned my shirt and exposed my bra. Weston’s eyes grew dark with desire when he realized I was discarding my top. “Em . . . “ He moaned before he leaned in to kiss my collarbone.
My greedy hands reached for his T-shirt. With one swift movement, Weston stripped it off and tossed it aside. I ran my hands over each rigid muscle on his abdomen. His forehead rested against mine. Gazing into his eyes, I whispered, “Make me yours.”
Within seconds, my black pencil skirt was bunched around my waist and my legs were wrapped around his torso, our mouths hungry for more. Weston carried me from his living room and down his hallway where he pressed my back against the wall and bit my neck. His fingers dug into my bare bottom.
“Weston, please,” I moaned. He growled against my neck.
He kicked his bedroom door open and lay me on the bed. His body towered over me as I reached behind me and unzipped my skirt. Weston slid it down my legs, tossed it behind him and eyed my body from top to bottom. He placed his lips on my thigh and began to lick. My heart felt as though it would beat out of my chest.
My hands reached for the zipper on Weston’s jeans as he tugged each bra strap off my shoulders. I lifted again and let his hands reach behind me to unclasp the one thing keeping my chest from touching his. Yanking it off, my breasts spilled out and I welcomed his lips as they covered my nipple. He moved to the other side and repeated the tender kiss. By the time his hands moved down my ribs to remove my thong, I was panting.
Starving.
Desperate.
My hips rose from the bed, and Weston slid the tiny scrap of cotton down my legs. His half-lidded eyes scanned my naked body. They told me exactly how much he wanted this. Weston removed his boxers, and my mouth dried. His arousal stood tall and thick against his belly.
Weston lowered his body to mine and then pulled away. “Do I need a condom?”
I bit my lower lip to contain the whimpers of desire and shook my head. “I’m on the pill.”
“Alrighty then.” A boyish grin appeared on his face. “I’ve never had unprotected sex before.”
Neither had I, but with Weston it wasn’t simply sex—it was so much more. His lips kissed my belly button, my ribs, my sternum. My legs spread wide for him. Weston rubbed his heavy erection over my core, and I whimpered.
“You’re so beautiful, and all mine,” he whispered against my lips, driving his hips forward.
This was the shortest distance between our souls.
My hands gripped Weston’s biceps as he molded our bodies together. Every thrust was better than the last. My toes curled as my release rushed through every vein, every limb, every square inch of me. A sheen of sweat coated our skin. Seconds, minutes, hours of pure bliss passed unheeded. I couldn't breathe; I was incapable of doing anything but moan in sweet ecstasy as I relinquished all control.
Weston was tender, attentive, and caring as he drew out every whimper from my body. His pace was steady as the rhythm of a heartbeat, and his lips kissed every possible inch of bare flesh as he made love to me.
Weston’s hips moved in a slow circular motion as he brought me to the most powerful and euphoric climax I had ever experienced. His arms caged my head, holding me close as I moaned versions of his name. He buried his head in my neck, his grunts loud with each thrust, and I locked my legs around his waist, holding him close as he found his own release.
With our bodies tangled together, we stayed in that position until our breathing became regular. Weston lifted his head from my neck, his lips kissing my ear, my chin, my cheek. As the aftershocks of our orgasms faded, my heart began to speed up again. It was as clear as day: I was falling in love with Weston. No, I was hopelessly already in love with him. Ne
ver had I experienced something so powerful, so meaningful as the past hour. Holding me in his arms, I realized that I never wanted to be anywhere else.
But I knew—without a doubt—that Weston would destroy my heart.
He would be the second man to break my heart; my father had been the first. Weston would shatter it to pieces, but I didn’t care. Apparently, love made me doing insanely stupid things. And he was my love, my stupidity. Walking into the tiger's den with my eyes closed, I welcomed the pain, the heartache, and the hours of crying I knew were to come. That’s how love worked. It was all clear now. I would fall mercilessly at its feet because the joy it brought promised to outshine the heartache. My eyes pooled with tears at the realization that I loved Weston more than I loved myself.
“Hey.” His voice was soft. “What's the matter, babe? Did I hurt you?” His eyes scanned mine for some type of answer.
“It's nothing.” I brushed away the tears that rolled down my face. “I'm fine, I swear.”
“Emilia, talk to me.”
My words lodged in my throat. I took my finger and traced an invisible love letter over his sternum. With trembling hands, I wrote the letter I. My finger then traced a heart, followed by the letter U.
A crooked grin grew on his face. “I love you, too,” he whispered before he kissed me fervently.
His lips created a path towards my neck, his voice husky when he spoke. “I'm going to have to do that all over again,” he joked with his mouth on my neck, his hips pushing against me.
“I was counting on it.”
Weston and I stayed tangled in each other's arms until the sunset was on the horizon. Sore from our afternoon under the sheets, I pushed off him and crawled out of bed. “Are you working at Sparrows this weekend?” Weston asked as I grabbed my clothes from the floor.
“I have a shift tomorrow night. Why, what's up?”
Love Letter Duet: The Encore Edition Page 12