on October 21, 2015
Buy on Amazon
Love is fatal; a snake that slithers into your life, poisons you with its venom, and leaves you there to die.
I swore I wouldn’t be my parents.
I swore I would stay away from the limelight.
Falling in love with a musician was definitely out of the question.
Weston Carter was all kinds of wrong for a girl like me. He was musician, a womanizer, and a first class heartbreaker.
I didn't know a love like this could exist. Our love was epic, the kind people wrote stories about. We fell into it hard, unable to control our feelings.
I set myself up for a shattered heart.
A broken life.
A fucked up love story.
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.
“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, and wished 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.