Page 42 of Anything But Lonely

Half of me thinks I might have taken this conversation too far.

The other half of me thinks that this job just got a lot more interesting.

CHAPTER 16

MATEO

It’s been a week since our Nashville show, but it could very well be months with the amount that’s happened.

We’ve played four venues in seven days, slept in just as many hotel rooms, traveled a total of almost two thousand miles, and we still have another week of shows before we finally have a few weeks off for the holidays.

“Go Fish,” Crew says, the words swallowed by a yawn that takes up half his face. He and Emerson had a busy day of exploring downtown San Diego, and I’m surprised he’s been able to stay awake until bedtime. Usually, on the days they go out and find something to do in whatever city we’re in, he’s fighting to stay awake through dinner. “Do you have any twos?” Crew asks Emerson, holding his cards with one hand and rubbing his eye with the other.

Emerson takes a card from her hand, passing it to Crew, who takes it with a sleepy smile. Her bangs are clipped back by two small clips, and I’m embarrassed to say how many times I’ve snuck a look at her—her green eyes even greener in her purple pajama set.

I shake my head, but I can’t fight the grin on my face. “How did you two manage to find anything Halloween two weeks before Christmas?” I ask, my eyes still on the notes in front of me, even though I haven’t even made it past the first bullet point.

I’ve been trying to focus on tomorrow night’s set notes, but it’s impossible when my son and his nanny are playing their Halloween-themed Go Fish in matching jack-o’-lantern pajamas.

“Daddy,” Crew says, turning to me. “Halloween is cooler than Christmas,” he says matter-of-factly, like it’s enough of an answer to my question. He looks to Emerson. “Right, Ems?” he asks, using his version of her name.

Emerson nods her head. “Right, champ.” She looks at her cards. “Now, let’s see.” She taps her chin dramatically, making Crew giggle. “Got any fours?” she asks him.

Crew eagerly shakes his head, but another yawn escapes.

“Why don’t we pick this back up in the morning?” she asks, posing it as a question as she sets her cards down on the tour bus table they’re sitting at.

Crew must be too tired to ask for one more round because he nods, setting his cards down too.

“Teeth, potty, bed,” she says, just like she has every night this week.

Whether we’re in a hotel room or on the tour bus, Emerson has quickly established a daily routine for Crew, and he’s thriving—minimal meltdowns, good rest, and just enough boredom that he can find entertainment without his tablet or TV aside from the thirty minutes of screen time she gives him in the morning and then again before dinner.

Emerson goes to stand, but I stop her. “I got it,” I offer, standing up.

On nights Cross My Heart isn’t playing, I try to take advantage of my open time and spend it with Crew. Whether it’s bedtime or making his waffies, I don’t care. As long as I can spend time with him.

Emerson looks at me, her lips parting, probably to make some joke or give me some smartass comment, and that’s when I notice that my hand is on her arm, just below her shoulder. My fingers lightly grazing her skin, my body reaching for her on its own, and before my mind can catch up.

I snatch my arm back, shoving my hand into the pocket of my jeans as heat crawls up my chest and settles in my neck.

“Did I burn you, rockstar?” Emerson asks, crossing her arms. There’s a smirk on her face as she waits for me to respond.

“Sorry,” I mutter, surprised I can get the word out at all.

“No need,” Emerson answers coolly, but she watches me in a way I’ve come to associate with her—she watches me like someone watches a car crash. Like she knows this is going to end badly for me, but she can't quite bring herself to look away.

The worst part is, I'm starting to realize I can't either.

I clear my throat, but my mind goes blank, and I have no idea what to say.

Our conversations have only been about Crew or logistics for the tour and traveling. And thankfully so, considering the last time we talked about something other than my son, it was my sex life—or lack thereof.

“You got it?” Emerson offers, and that’s when I remember that I said I was going to help Crew brush his teeth. That’s why I’m standing here in front of her in the first place.

“Right,” I say quickly, trying to catch my bearings, but my feet don’t move.

I need to get a handle on myself when it comes to Emerson, but it’s like one step forward and one-hundred steps back. It’s like I’m back in that hotel kitchen, admitting the most embarrassing part of me to her. Back in the shower, pretending it’s her hand instead of mine.