Love Letter Duet: The Encore Edition

by Callie Anderson

  Marc and I had met several weeks prior when Leslie had a happy hour after work and begged for me to meet her there. It was Labor Day weekend and I didn't have to go back to the late night show. We’d sat at the high top tables of Sho, a rooftop bar. Marc was there with his friend, doing the exact same thing we were doing, when his chair backed into mine.

  “I'm sorry.” His hand reached up and touched my shoulder. The sparks didn't fly like they had with Weston, but there was enough reaction to keep me interested. Over time I discovered he worked as a sales representative for a pharmaceutical company. He was fun, a good time in the bedroom, and had no problem leaving without that awkward conversation the next morning. Our relationship was purely physical. It was temporary, we both knew that, and it worked.

  I was curling my hair with the diffuser, letting curls form naturally, when Leslie walked in my room. “How do I look?” She struck a pose. She had on skinny jeans, a loose, sparkly gold top, and her hair was tied up high in a ponytail. She looked stunning.

  “You look freaking hot,” I responded.

  “Thanks!” She turned and shook her ass at me. “You look like you want to get some tonight with that hair.” Leslie motioned her hands like a cat and silently roared.

  My hair was big with volume, my red curls all over the place—wild and untamed. I applied one last coat of lip-gloss, found my clutch and followed Leslie out the door.

  We’d decided to go to Sessions, a lounge in Santa Monica. Axel knew the guys working the door, so I’d be able to get in even though I wasn’t yet twenty-one. Sessions was like most lounges in LA, dark and smoky with long leather couches and low, tea light candles were scattered through the tables. Red drapes made for wall decor.

  Marc was driving down from Glendale to meet us. He and I had seen each other a couple of times since we met at happy hour. Tonight was the first night he’d meet my friends, and only because Leslie refused to drop the fact I had been seeing him for over a month and she still hadn’t met him.

  I valeted my car and walked around to meet Leslie on the sidewalk. Axel was outside Session’s, waiting for us with a cigarette between his lips. In true Axel form, he draped his arm over my shoulder and walked me in. The bouncer didn't ask for my ID when we passed him. Leslie clenched onto Harry and the sparkle in her eyes told me I would either be going home solo or with Marc.

  Axel guided me towards his table which was already covered with bottles of champagne and other hard liquor. He introduced me to a few of his friends, but the music was loud and hard to hear, so I was unable to make out any of their names.

  Leslie filled a champagne flute and passed it over to me. Sitting on Harry's lap, she raised her glass to mine. “To the good life, Emmy.”

  The Moet was sweet and tickled my throat as I swallowed. My head bobbed to the music as I scanned the room for Weston. I kept telling myself that I didn’t care if I ran into him, but that was a big lie. Deep down, a part of me wanted to. I hadn’t seen him since I'd been back, and a part of me wanted to ask Axel or Harry, but that would be cause for an inquisition. I didn’t have any siblings, but the way Axel acted towards me felt very much like a protective older brother.

  My phone lit up.

  Marc: They won't let us in.

  Lifting one finger to Leslie, I mouthed I'll be right back as I hit the call button. I walked over to the ladies room and stood in line. “Hey,” I shouted into the phone.

  “Hey,” he greeted me. “They won't let us in.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I didn’t know this place had a dress code and I don’t have the proper shoes, according to the bouncer.” His voice was laced with irritation.

  Shit. He drove all this way to see me and now he couldn’t get in?

  “Crap … Let me talk to my roommate. I'll let her know I’m leaving with you.”

  “No, don't do that. You're out with your friends. I'll meet you after. I'll have Cooper drive my car home and then you can give me a ride, sound good?”

  I smiled. “Yeah, that works.”

  After I’d used the bathroom, I reapplied my lip-gloss and headed back towards our area. Just as I reached our table, my heart sped and my mouth dried instantly.

  Weston.

  He had joined our group, and his broad shoulders filled his blazer as he sat next to Axel. I watched his mouth curl into a smile at something Axel said. His jaw line was firm even with his boyish smile, and his presence was compelling.

  Would he remember me?

  The deejay had switched the tempo of the music to a softer bass song so you could actually hear the person you were talking to. Axel was in a deep conversation with one of the guys, his eyebrows scrunched together, and he nodded his head every chance he could. Knowing Axel, it was probably a conversation about his passion for writing his own music. The majority of the time that was all he wanted to talk about. His adoration for music was astonishing. He didn’t care about the money or the fame; he cared about the music and his love of making it. He wanted to take the band away from cover songs and begin to write their own music. His devotion permeated from his soul.

  I took a deep breath, gathered oxygen in my lungs for courage, and walked over to drape my arm over Axel. He scooted over on the couch, which allowed me to sit in on the conversation. Weston didn’t acknowledge me, nor did I bat an eye at him.

  I hadn’t noticed the blonde girl sitting at our table until the music changed and she squealed.

  “Oh my God, Wes! Remember this song?”

  He must have a thing for blondes. The song that blazed from the speakers was a top forty selection that the deejay had turned into a club mix. It was cheesy and our radio station played it every twenty minutes. The first week the song landed its spot on the rotation, I’d loved it. Sang to it every time I heard it. But now that I knew his pretty blonde had a thing for it, I loathed it. Weston must have felt the same way I did towards the song because he didn’t respond to her statement.

  When the deejay scratched the CD and changed it to some Latin music, I began to dance in my seat. My mother had taught me at a very young age how to salsa. Though in Brazil we had samba and forro, I had picked up on the Latin dance and loved every beat. The heels of my sandals tapped against the granite floor.

  I was humming the first melody along with Willie Colon when a hand appeared in front of me.

  I looked up and was greeted by Weston. “Dance with me.”

  I gnawed on my lower lip as butterflies of excitement grew in my belly. I placed my hand in Weston’s and he led me to the dance floor, twirling me around as he brought me closer. His hand rested on the small of my back, his cheek pressed against the side of my head, and his masculine scent mixed with cinnamon coiled around me.

  His lips were mere centimeters from my ear as he whispered, “Hi.”

  I looked up at him and smiled. “Hi.”

  “You’re back.”

  “I am.”

  “Missed me?” His smile grew across his face.

  I felt my breath catch in my chest. We still hadn’t moved. The bodies around us twirled, twisted and pressed against each other, but we stood there with our eyes locked on one another.

  “No. Why did you miss me?” I asked and instantly didn’t want to know his answer. “Did you ask me to dance or to talk?”

  He brought me closer, our bodies flush against each other. He chuckled in my ear and my skin rose with goose bumps.

  “Show me what you got.”

  Consumed by the music, we let the drums and trumpet lead our paths. The dance floor became ours as we moved to the beat. He twirled me, dipped me, brought his body close as he pushed his pelvis against to mine. I was high on the music, drunk off his scent, and lost in his moves.

  He pulled me to him and my body went willingly.

  He tugged and I turned for him.

  We were in sync.

  When Weston brought me close, I closed my eyes, imagined us moving together in bed. I wondered if our bodies would react togethe
r this beautifully. The ache between my legs didn’t go unnoticed.

  Weston wrapped my arms around his neck, our feet moving to the pace of the song. His forehead rested on mine, and I nearly brought my mouth to his. Licking his perfect and delectable top lip in the most seductive way, he brought me closer, hugged me along his rock hard body. I whimpered when his fingernails dug into my back.

  In his arms, I was mercifully his.

  I wanted more, so much more, but our time together was short-lived as a tap on my shoulder yanked me away from him. The pretty blonde girl stood with a smile on her face.

  “My turn, Wes. Teach me how to dance like her.”

  I pushed my damp hair behind my ears. The moment we shared was gone and reality set back in. He was still Weston, the womanizing musician whom I refused to get involved with. And hell, for all I knew, he wasn't interested either. I didn't have the blonde hair he seemed to like so much.

  “Thanks for the dance.”

  I didn’t wait for him to respond. I held my shoulders high and walked back to Leslie. It was hard to hide my disappointment when Weston stayed on the dance floor with his Blondie, especially since she didn’t have much rhythm; something you needed when dancing salsa.

  I refilled my glass with something stronger than champagne and avoided Weston. He was here with her and I had Marc waiting outside.

  After a few hours, the deejay shouted last call and the lights flashed on. I had a nice buzz and enough pent-up need that I was ready to jump Marc. It was desire that Weston created, but Marc would be the one I used to alleviate the ache.

  We had all moved to the front of the club, sorting out our belongings and getting ready to leave. I kissed Axel goodbye on his cheek before he climbed into his car.

  Leslie had her hand entwined with Harry’s. “You good?” I asked.

  “Peachy.” She hugged me with her free arm. “I’ll see you, manha.”

  Harry ushered her into his car and kissed me goodbye. I waved goodbye and waited for Marc to show up while the valet collected my car.

  Strong hands wrapped around my waist from behind and drew me against a strong chest. I thought it was Marc and pivoted. Weston! I jumped and wrenched away from his affectionate embrace. My palms flew over my heart, my words lost. Where was the blonde?

  He took my hands in his. “Come on.” He tugged on my hand and brought it to his lips. “I’m going to take you home to meet my mom.”

  My eyebrows furrowed and my lips puckered like I had taken a shot of tequila. Ready to give him a piece of my mind, I heard my name called out.

  “Emilia?” Marc stood next to my car.

  I yanked away from Weston’s hold. He had been here with someone else, yet he was asking me to go home with him? I shook my head as I strolled towards Marc. I wanted to give Weston a piece of my mind, but I figured leaving with Marc was a better fuck you.

  “Do you know that guy?” Marc asked as he pulled the car door open for me.

  I shook my head. “Just some asshole.”

  My stomach turned as I thought about Weston one last time . . .

  And then climbed into the car with Marc.

  8

  WESTON

  When Axel told me he was going out with Emilia, I told him I was tagging along. There was no way I wasn’t going.

  The last time I saw that beautiful girl was a year prior when she’d kindly informed me that my first strike was being a musician. I was taken aback at first, but still… something kept pulling me to her. Maybe it was her red hair that was as carefree as her personality. Or it could have been the way she put me in my place, setting her apart from other girls. Either way, I knew I liked her, but it didn’t matter because she was leaving. So I’d let her go.

  But a month after she was gone, I still couldn't get her out of my mind. I found myself thinking of her when I was in the studio, and when I dug further and found out she was the daughter of the lead singer of Vengeance, it only added to my obsession. She was the legacy of a musical legend. Deep in her veins was the same musical blood that I had in mine. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but she felt like yellow gel. And with that, she became my muse. She became the girl in the lyrics, in the beat, and in the rhythm of every song in my head.

  Four songs later, Emilia was back, and I had to see her again. It went deeper than just wanting to see her. I needed to.

  According to Axel, she was back for good which only solidified that Emilia Darcy would be mine whether she liked it or not. But first, I'd have to play it cool and set the bait before I made my move. She was fiery, just like the color of her hair, and since she wasn't like most girls, this would be different. I’d have to work at this one, and that thought alone made me grin. She didn’t fawn over me, and the one time we did talk she seemed downright pissed. But I wasn’t giving up hope. Not yet at least.

  Axel texted me where they were meeting, and I began to set my plan in action. After I showered and got dressed, I grabbed my cell phone and called Macy. I was known for having a few more female friends than most, and we’d hung out on occasion, but that's all she was—a friend. But Emilia wouldn’t know that. That’s what made this call so important. I needed Macy. Because if Emilia seemed pissed at the sight of my arm wrapped around her, then I’d know she had some kind of interest in me. Sure, it was a game but wasn’t that what relationships were all about? The more successful you were at them, the better of a player you were.

  “Hey, baby!”

  Macy was beautiful and lean with golden blonde hair. Her only dent was that she had a habit of falling for studio executive’s while their wives were out of town.

  “What are you doing later?” I grinned at my master plan.

  Macy sighed. “No plans yet. I was thinking of hitting up Kress. Jamie’s working the bar there.”

  “Want to come out with me instead?”

  “Uh, yeah!” Macy giggled.

  “Okay, I'll be there in thirty.”

  Emilia Darcy had no idea we were about to play a very interesting game.

  Emilia was stubborn.

  Hard headed.

  And more beautiful every time I saw her.

  But my game had failed. I’d tried to woo her with some dancing, asked her to come home and meet my mother, and yet she’d simply swatted my hand away.

  She didn’t fall for my plan, and trying to continue to fight for something that was clearly never going to happen was killing me. So I told myself that letting her go was for the best. Maybe she wasn't the girl I'd thought.

  Unfortunately, there I was, two weeks later and I couldn't get her out of my damn head. Her bright smile, the way she looked up at me through her long lashes… Hell, even the way she danced had me all over the place. It had gotten so bad that when I screwed up for the fifth time on the chorus, Axel hit the pause button on the track. We’d been in the studio all morning, trying to lay a new track down to add to our demo.

  “What the hell, West?” His voice echoed through the headphones. “Are you not feeling it?”

  I yanked the headphones off and shook my head. “It ain’t working. Let’s try this tomorrow.”

  I hooked the headphones over the mic and walked out of the booth in the studio. Axel sat at the soundboard with his arms crossed at his chest. He eyed me with a raised brow. I knew from his stance and the way he looked at me that he wanted to talk, but there was nothing to say. Nothing I wanted to say.

  “Let’s take twenty. I need to eat,” I stated, avoiding telling him anything.

  He raised his hands in defense. “Sure.”

  Hopping in the car, we made our way toward Axel’s favorite Tai restaurant. The food was great, but the reason it was Axel’s favorite was the beautiful waitress who fawned over his British accent.

  The waitress took our order and left. I grabbed my water as Axel looked down at his phone and laughed.

  “What is it?” I asked, setting my glass back down on the table.

  He relaxed back in his chair, swinging an arm over t
he back. “Emmy is going to work at Sparrow. Looks like I have a new place to drink.”

  I shrugged, trying like hell to make what I was about to say as casual as possible. “What's the deal with her?”

  He cocked his head at me. “Why do you care?” His tone was defensive. Over the past year, I’d learned that Axel had an overprotective brother relationship with Emilia.

  A defeated sigh flew from my mouth. “She’s always rude to me. And I can never catch a break.”

  “Are you interested?”

  My mouth grinned shamelessly. “Have you seen her? She’s gorgeous. Of course I’m interested, but I want to get to know her first, and every time I peel back a layer and get a step closer she shuts me down.”

  “She doesn’t date musicians,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  “I know. Doesn’t mean I’m giving up.”

  Axel leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Emilia was an only child, and her parents died when she was young, so I feel like it’s my job to say this. You break her heart, and I’ll break your fucking face. I don’t care if it’s the face of the band, I’ll crush it.”

  I chuckled. Axel had always been the teddy bear of the group. “I’m not going to break her heart. I’ll keep chasing after her as long as she lets me.”

  “As long as we’re clear.” He smiled. “But if you want, I can get you her work schedule at Sparrow. Maybe then she’ll be forced to talk to you.”

  I grabbed my water and felt my pulse pick up. “That’s not a bad idea.”

  9

  EMILIA

  Late November

  Gravel scattered from underneath the tires as I shifted Leslie's car into park. The massive warehouse-looking building before me stared back, its windowless white walls seemingly endless. Popping the visor mirror open, I gave myself one last look over. “You need the money,” I reminded myself as I reapplied lip gloss.

  My piece of shit car had broken down on me. A hose blew and the car was overheating, or at least that's what the mechanic said. He also said it would cost me over two thousand dollars to fix it. Of course, I didn't have that kind of money laying around. The radio station only paid enough to cover my half of the rent and utilities; it left me very little wiggle room. I needed cash quickly if I wanted my car back. I could call my aunt and ask for a loan, but when I left home to take a job in a different country, I’d assured her I could handle it. Calling her now would only result in the infamous 'I told you so.’ A second job was my only option.