Page 48 of Anything But Lonely

I remember wondering what he was doing there.

I remember falling into his arms before I could even register what was happening.

Careful, baby.

And then the panic.

Another wave of hunger passes through me, emanating throughout my entire body, making my head feel like it has a heartbeat of its own.

“Emerson,” Mateo says, enough concern in his voice to have me meeting his eyes. “When was the last time you ate?”

My brows furrow, confused as to why he’d be asking me that. “I–I told you, I’m n–not feeling well,” I stumble out, immediately embarrassed by the fact that I can’t remember the last time I ate more than a few bites of whatever meal I made Crew, or a tiny candy bar, or a handful of Cheetos.

But I don’t tell Mateo that.

His eyes bore into mine, like he can somehow find the truth hidden in my irises.

After a moment, he says, “You need to eat something.”

I sit up, running a hand over my hair before finger-combing through my bangs. “I’m not hungry. I just need rest.”

“Emerson,” Mateo starts, still kneeling beside me. “I know we don't know each other that well yet, so I'm not going to push if you don't want to talk about it. But people don't pass out because they need a nap.”

“You don't know that,” I argue. “Your kid has been keeping me busy,” I try to tease, but it comes out stilted.

Mateo’s expression softens, but he doesn't smile. “I know he does, and I also know that people who are taking care of themselves don't usually end up unconscious on a hotel room floor.”

I roll my eyes, but it makes my head pound even more. “I wasn’t on the floor.”

“Okay,” Mateo says with a dry laugh. “They don’t usually end up passing out into their employer’s arms.”

The image rips through my memories: the warm arms, the strong embrace, the soft voice…

Careful, baby.

Mateo pauses before adding quietly, “And I saw the untouched dinner in your room.”

I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out.

“It isn’t my business, so I won’t push. But for right now, I don't care if it's the flu, exhaustion, or something else entirely,” he continues. “I'm not asking you to tell me anything you're not ready to tell me. I'm asking you to let me take care of you for five minutes and eat something.”

His hand comes to just below my mouth, lightly tapping my chin to close my mouth for me.

Did I pass out and wake up in an alternate universe?

Because who is this man, and do I even know him at all?

“Tell me again that you weren’t hungry.” He pushes the bottle of water on the table towards me—for the third time. I’m surprised he’s not holding me down and pouring it down my throat with how many times he told me to take a sip.

I cock my head to the side, finishing the last bite of my Italian beef before washing it down with a sip of his chocolate milkshake instead.

He watches my lips curl around his straw, and while I’m doing this more to piss him off, I’ve been eyeing the milkshake since our food got delivered.

“I know you’re a famous rockstar and all, but how the hell did you get this food so fast?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Ordered it when you texted me. It got here just as I got you settled on the couch and before the bus left the hotel.”

I take another sip of his milkshake, raising a brow. The image of Mateo carrying my unconscious body through the hotel lobby has the food in my stomach feeling like rocks all of a sudden, cringing less at the thought of strangers seeing me and more at the thought of him seeing me like that. Vulnerable. Helpless. Completely exposed.