Page 112 of Anything But Lonely

Every touch, every glance, every stolen moment felt like another spark feeding a growing flame, and I didn’t know how much longer I could pretend I wasn’t burning. I needed to get Mateo alone. There was a conversation waiting for us—one I’d been anticipating all night, along with everything it would lead to.

And I was dangerously close to the edge of my patience.

Because Mateo Lane wants to be mine.

I didn’t realize how much I wanted to hear him say the words.

Or how much I wanted to be his.

And now we’re finally alone.

There are words to be exchanged—we need to talk about what this all means. Us. Together. What the fuck we’re doing.

But all of that is pushed to the back of my mind as Mateo presses his body against mine, trapping me against his hard chest and the front door of his house.

Mateo’s mouth curves against mine. “I don’t want to give the neighbors a show,” he whispers against my lips.

“I do,” I tease, sinking my teeth into his bottom lip, the growl escaping his throat going right to my core as I press my hips forward, feeling him hard against me.

His fingers dig into my hips, his hold strong enough to keep me in place when I try to do it again.

He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his keys. He unlocks the door, turning the knob and urging me inside. Reluctantly, I do, and I’m immediately greeted by dark wood floors, exposed brick walls, and oversized windows that fill the space with moonlight. As the door shuts behind us, automatic lights come on, and walls covered in vintage guitars and concert posters come into view. There are bookshelves packed with records, books, and knickknacks lining the open living room, along with a leather couch that would take up my entire apartment.

The living room flows into a designer kitchen with marble counters and warm lighting, the smell of lemon strong as if the house was just cleaned from top to bottom.

“And I thought the tour bus was nice,” I say on a sigh, my eyes taking in the space.

Mateo shrugs his shoulders, shy all of a sudden.

“It’s not that big,” he says.

I turn slowly to look at him. “Mateo.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, did you actually just say this isn’t that big?”

His mouth quirks like he knows he’s losing this argument. “I mean, comparatively.”

“Right, like compared to a smaller mansion,” I deadpan.

He rubs the back of his neck, already flustered. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what did you mean, rockstar?” I step closer, liking the way I make him squirm.

“It doesn’t bother you,” he pauses, waiting for my answer even though he didn’t ask a question. “Because if anything, it just means if there’s something you want, it’s yours.”

I look at him. “I would hope so,” I deadpan. “We’re literally standing in a house with a living room bigger than my apartment.”

His mouth opens, then closes.

“And before you get all red,” I add, glancing around, “I liked you before I knew how rich you were.”

A small laugh slips out of him, but he still looks unsure.

I smile. “Relax. I’m not going to start handing you a shopping list.”

“You could.”