Invisible Love Letter (2 page)

“It’s seriously nothing. And besides, I leave tomorrow. What would be the point?” I lifted my beer to my cheek to cool off my heated flesh.

“It would be nice to go home with a bang, pun intended!” Kate shouted over the emcee who had appeared on stage to introduce the first band. Her Boston accent was thick over the speakers. Kate was from Irish decent, we had that in common, and her red hair was a lighter shade than mine.

The bartender lined up another round of shots in front of us. I looked over at Leslie, who pushed hers towards me. Why the hell not? It was my last night, after all.

The crowd roared when Nose Deaf, a local alternative band, appeared on stage. Axel’s band was fourth on the roster and the only cover band for the night. The first three bands were great, but I was excited to finally see Axel perform. As Flagpole, an all-female band, exited the stage, we moved from the bar to our usual table. I climbed on top of the picnic table so I could see the boys on stage.

The emcee tapped the microphone. “All right, everyone, let’s give a big welcome to Elephant Room!”

My hands burned as they slammed against each other. Kate, Monica and Leslie all followed, hollering at the top of their lungs, but then my voice trapped in my throat—like someone had squeezed my neck.

It was
him
.

The guy who had been running laps in my mind was now standing on stage with Axel.

Fuck.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?”

His voice erupted from the speakers and caused chills to run down my spine. Los Angeles was filled with millions of people. What were the chances?

“We’re Elephant Room, and tonight we have some special songs for you.”

Axel’s drumsticks rose over his head. Slamming them against each other, he counted to three.

I didn’t know his name, but when he sang it was as if I had known him all my life. His voice was soothing, yet hoarse. It pulled you in and made you focus on the lyrics. I couldn’t sing, nor could I play an instrument, but I knew talent when I heard it. He was the real deal, and soon I would be watching him perform all over the world—I knew it. I had this feeling in my gut that music executives would be lined up at his feet to sign him. He had that look about him, the look that most mothers would warn their daughters to avoid. The look that screamed trouble. The look that sucked me in.

Love, music, and me: the perfect, deadly combination.

“
T
hey’re really good
,” Leslie shouted.

I couldn't speak.

I was unable to utter a sound because I was captivated by his voice.

According to Axel, this was their first time performing as a band, but the way they rocked out, you’d never know. Pete was the lead guitarist and backup singer—Axel had introduced me to him in the common hall. I had met Harry, the bass player, a bunch of times, he and Leslie had a thing. But the singer …
him
… he stole the show with his voice.

Any chance I had of removing him from my mind had gone to shit. I didn't want to walk in my mother’s footsteps, but that didn't stop me from wanting him any less. His voice lulled me, coiled around my body and held my attention through each melody.

It was only for one night.

He was born to be on stage. The way he got the crowd involved wasn’t something you could teach a person, it had to be buried deep inside you. He took his time, singing and moving around the stage to jam with the other guys. He had a sound the media would love, he could sing live and hold a note, and …

Well, he was fucking hot.

Thirty minutes and six songs later, Elephant Room said goodbye to their screaming fans and left the stage. My throat ached from yelling and cheering. The house deejay began spinning his mixed tracks and my mind raced. Axel would come find us, and he would want to know what I thought about his performance, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away from Starbucks-sexy-singer
guy to even notice him playing.

Still standing on the picnic table, I spotted them headed towards us from behind the stage. Leslie tugged on my hand, drawing my focus to her. “You okay? Are you fucked up already?”

I didn’t want to admit what I was thinking, so I jumped off the table and landed next to her. “Who’s that?” I pouted behind Leslie and drew her focus from me. Axel had his arm around a lanky bleach blonde girl. She wore a white mini skirt, high strappy sandals and a tube top that pushed her breasts together. I’d seen her here plenty of times, but we’d never actually met. She was in a different guy’s arms every night. “That’s Back Alley Sally. The bar groupie you can usually find in the back alley fucking whoever was just on stage. And by the looks of it, Axel is her next target.”

I watched as Axel led her towards us. My heart began to race and my mouth grew dry as I noticed
he
had his arm wrapped around Monica.

Why did it feel as though I had been punched in the gut?

My eyes darted towards our wooden table. I located my lukewarm bottle of beer and chugged it. The hops tingled at the back of my throat. I squeezed the empty glass bottle to calm my nerves.

“So?” Axel’s voice boomed over the noise. “What did you think?”

“Y-You were great!” My voice seemed shaky. My gaze locked with Axel’s. “You guys were really awesome.”

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Monica drape her arms around
his
neck. I didn’t understand why it bothered me. There were plenty of nights when Monica’s moaning kept us all up, and the morning walks of shame seemed endless. So why was I surprised she’d hopped on the finest piece of ass in this club? And who was I to claim him as mine? I had nothing with him. I didn’t even know his freaking name.

“Thanks to Weston.” Axel raised his free hand and grasped his shoulder. Our eyes locked and my anger with Monica vanished.

Weston.

“He was a natural up there,” Axel continued.

I pulled away from his gaze and looked over at Leslie to distract me, but she had drifted into a conversation with Harry.

“Axel?” Sally dragged out his name like a child who was about to pout. She lifted up on her toes and whispered something in his ear. A lopsided grin spread across his face; he pulled her close and whispered something in her ear. Sally giggled and began to walk towards the exit sign. Axel winked at me and mouthed,
I’ll be right back.
I shook my head and giggled at him.

My back rested against the table. Scraping the label from my empty beer bottle with my polished purple fingernail, I contemplated my next move. Why the heck was I worried about him? He had Monica to keep him occupied.

I set my empty bottle on the table and walked over to Leslie. “Come on. Let’s go get some drinks.” The buzz I had prior to them being on stage had vanished.

“No way!” Harry rested his hands on my shoulders. “Beers are on me tonight. I’ll go grab us some pitchers.” He took Leslie’s hands and pulled her towards him. They had a weird relationship. She was his girl when it was convenient for him, though she didn't seem to mind while she was drunk. However, the following mornings usually consisted of heartache and tears.

My heart began to beat louder than the blasting speaker.
He
was still behind me. Inhaling the stale smoke from the fog machine and sweaty air, I twirled around. To my surprise, Monica was no longer hanging all over him. She and Kate had disappeared—probably to the bathroom, and he was staring at me with his stormy eyes.

A bead of sweat from my neck dripped down my spine, and it felt like an ice chip melting in the process. I was suddenly parched, and my mind screamed that only he would quench my thirst. My tongue ran across my lips.

“Emilia, right?” My name on his tongue caused the goose bumps on my skin to rise.

“Weston.” His name felt like silk between my lips. He took a step forward, closing the gap between us. I remembered how my skin electrified when I touched his hand. “You were really good—”

“West!”

My body was shoved into the table when a platinum blonde sashayed passed me.
Had
Hugh Hefner lost one of his bunnies?
Her long hot pink acrylic nails ran down his chest and he chuckled at something she said.

Minutes prior he had Monica at his fingertips, and now her.

Anger.

Hatred.

Disappointment.

Less than five minutes ago my friend was in his arms and now a new girl had taken her place. Groupies were like fruit flies. You could swat them away, but there would always be another one.

Damn musicians.

“Sorry about that.” He nodded towards the bunny who was now walking away. I shook my head in disbelief, and a grin grew on his face. “What?”

“Strike two!” I said to him in disgust. He was a musician—strike one—and a player—strike two. There was no way I was going anywhere near that.

“Two already?” He held two fingers to his chest and looked at me with a sly smile.

I couldn’t hold my tongue. “Is it safe to assume Monica’s perfume is still lingering around you?” My arms crossed over my chest. “And that Baby, Honey, Sugar or whatever her name was, is simply filling in until Monica gets back?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “You shouldn’t assume.”

“Whatever.”

Harry and the gang returned with the beer. I grasped the handle of a pitcher and filled a cup. Chugging the crisp beer until it hurt, I looked over at Leslie. “I want to dance. Wanna come?” She nodded eagerly.

I passed in front of Weston with my head held high, refusing to even glance at him. Harry, Pete, and Kate joined us on the dance floor. Leslie handed me a drink every time mine was empty. I was drinking my feelings, but I didn’t care. Every time I looked over at our table, his eyes were on me and Monica was on him. I watched as she moved from his lap to his side, to finally sitting on the table and rubbing his back. I was green with envy, but I couldn’t let my jealousy show. I tossed back a shot Pete handed me and bounced my head to the beat.

Tomorrow he would be nothing but a memory.

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?”

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.”