Page 94 of Anything But Lonely

Once I’m dressed, I throw my trench coat on before grabbing my purse.

The anticipation of seeing Mateo’s face when I knock on his door and pretend like nothing happened last night is enough to have me forgetting all about the exhaustion or the therapy sessions I keep pushing off—or how hard it was to get out of bed this morning.

It actually even puts a pep in my step.

When I knock on Mateo’s hotel door, he answers much faster than I thought he would.

He looks surprised to see me before he schools his features. He crosses his arms, leaning on the door frame, but the movements look forced—like he’s trying too hard to look unaffected.

“Hey,” he greets, his eyes scanning over me.

I’m dressed in leopard print jeans and a cropped vintage T-shirt I thrifted years ago. I threw my hair up in a ponytail and slung my trench coat over my arm before heading to the elevator.

February in New York is snowy and cold, similar to what it is back home, and the sun is out today, making it the perfect day to explore the city.

“Hi,” I offer.

“What can I do for you?” he asks, and I raise a brow.

What can I do for you?

What is he, the concierge?

I didn’t know exactly what to expect with Mateo, but I didn’t expect him to be acting so…

Composed?

“Wanted to see what your plans were for the day?” I say, surprised at my own words.

With Crew with his mom and the next show not being until tomorrow night in New Jersey, there’s no need for me to be here, asking what he’s doing today.

It’s my day off. It’s his day off. There’s no obligation to spend it together.

Yet I find myself eager to hear his answer anyway.

“I don’t have any plans,” he answers, trying to hide the suspicion in his voice. It’s about the only hint that he isn't as calm, cool, and collected as he’s acting. “What about you?” he adds after a beat of silence.

“I was going to go find a coffee, maybe breakfast too, and then see where the day takes me.” I rock back and forth on my heels, contemplating asking if he wants to join but having a hard time gauging his interest.

“Sounds like fun,” he says, and from the corner of my eye, I catch the restless bounce of his leg.

“It will be.”

The silence that follows stretches a little too long, and I can’t remember the last time I struggled to find something to say. I’m not the kind of person who rushes to fill every quiet moment—I’m perfectly comfortable sitting in silence—but this feels different. Weird.

Awkward.

We're both waiting for the other to make the first move, both careful not to reveal too much too soon.

It's like a game of chess where neither player actually knows the rules because we're making them up as we go—each move a guess, a pause, a calculation.

“Well,” Mateo finally says, pushing himself off the door frame, “I’ll leave you to it.” He doesn’t sound disappointed.

Actually, the opposite.

The small curve to his lips tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.

It’s like he’s calling my bluff—he knows I came here with the intent to get a reaction out of him, especially after what I did last night.