Page 63 of Anything But Lonely

I press my head into the steering wheel, gripping the leather until my knuckles go white.

That night was supposed to get whatever I was feeling for my son’s nanny out of my system, yet it’s been seven days of either thinking about her or getting off to the thought of her.

I feel like I’m going crazy.

A honk sounds behind me.

I sit up, waving a hand in apology before driving through the stoplight.

After driving down to Chicago to see Crew this morning at Daniel’s parents’ place, I insisted to Talia that I didn’t need to stay for dinner. It was already more than enough for her and Daniel to extend the invite to join them for Christmas morning, so I could spend some time with Crew.

And of course I miss my son, but Talia deserves this time with him, especially since she’ll be back in Paris next week.

I told her I was just going to head home.

Yet here I am pulling into Emerson’s apartment complex.

I should just turn around and go buy some damn stamps.

I circle through the parking lot, deciding to cut my losses and head home before I embarrass myself more than I already have when I have to slam on my brakes.

Someone walks directly in front of my car without so much as glancing up.

My tires screech against the pavement as my heart lurches into my throat.

The woman freezes in the glow of my headlights, blinking against the sudden light like she's only just realized where she is.

Her head jerks toward me, eyes wide.

Green eyes I've seen in my dreams.

“Mateo?” I watch her lips form through the windshield.

Fuck.

For a moment, she just stands there. No biting remarks. No walls thrown up so quickly I can practically hear the bricks being laid. Just Emerson, looking almost caught.

Then she blinks, and it's like watching her come back to herself.

Her shoulders straighten. Her expression hardens. The surprise melts into irritation so quickly I'd almost think I imagined it.

“You going to tell me why you're tearing through my parking lot, rockstar?” she asks, crossing her arms as I step out of my car, leaving it running.

There she is.

A moment ago, she looked so distracted she could've walked into traffic without noticing—hell, she pretty much just did.

Now she's looking at me like I'm the problem.

I've seen her do this before—throw up her defenses so quickly you'd never know something was wrong if you hadn't caught the few unguarded moments beforehand.

“How did you not see my car?” I ask, my embarrassment over getting caught stalking where she lives fading to the back of my mind. The question comes out harsher than I intend, my pulse still racing from what could've happened.

Because she wasn't distracted in the way people usually are. She wasn't texting or fumbling through her purse or looking down at her phone. She'd looked like she was somewhere else entirely.

And who knows what would’ve happened if I wasn’t here to find her.

She was so lost in her own head she'd forgotten the rest of the world existed around her.