31. Mateo
MATEO
Something’s not right.
It’s been a week since I basically outed myself about not only stealing Emerson’s underwear but using them.
I lean my head back against the wall of the green room of our New York City show, completely in my own head when I should be getting in the right mindset to be on stage in an hour.
The muffled roar of the crowd seeps through the walls as Sugarcoated Lies starts their set.
Theo and Silas are camped out by the snack table, tearing through bags of chips and candy like they haven’t eaten all day while Eddie watches them with a borderline-scared expression, a drumstick twirling between his fingers.
“Crew and Emerson aren’t coming tonight?” Eddie asks.
I shake my head, offering a curt “no,” rather than explaining that Talia was able to work out some time off with her job so she could fly out to spend some time with Crew for a few days.
He’s spending the weekend with her and then meeting us in New Jersey with him before she flies back to Paris.
“What’s up your ass?” Theo asks. He and Silas are staring at me now, and I’m surprised they looked away from the basket long enough to notice me.
“None of your business, jackass,” I reply, standing straight up and walking over to them.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Theo teases, “after this many years, you should know that your business is ours.”
“Just tell us before you brood too long and your face ends up staying that way,” Silas adds before tipping a near-empty bag of pretzels into his mouth.
I press my palms to my face, groaning into them as heat creeps up my neck.
They’ll never let me live this down.
But I need to get it off my chest.
“Emerson caught me—” I raise my brows, trying to communicate the words without saying them out loud.
“Caught you what?” Eddie asks, snatching the bag from Silas to stop him from obnoxiously trying to get all the remaining crumbs. He crumples it up, tossing it into the trash can—all while ignoring Silas’ complaints
Understanding dawns on him when I gesture down to my dick before fisting my hands and sticking them in the back pockets of my cargo pants.
Eddie’s eyes go wide as Theo bursts out into laughter.
“Wait, caught him what?” Silas asks, looking back and forth between them before looking back at me. He must read my expression because he presses his lips together, but the laugh escapes anyway.
I roll my eyes. “Okay, it’s not that funny.”
“It’s fucking hysterical,” Theo barks, followed by more laughter.
I turn to Eddie, his shoulders shaking as he laughs into his fist—doing a shit job of hiding it.
“Anyway,” I say, drawing out the word over their laughter, “and it’s been over a week since, and she still hasn’t said anything about it.”
“Well, what the fuck is she supposed to say?” Silas asks, wiping a tear from his eye before blowing out a breath. “Damn, I haven’t laughed that hard in years.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap.
“No, he’s right,” Eddie intervenes. “Is she acting weird?”
I exhale, thinking of how the last week has gone by in that comfortable familiarity the three of us have fallen into this last month since coming back on tour.
January has faded into February, and the days have settled into a predictable rhythm—loading onto the bus before sunrise, killing time at soundcheck, grabbing whatever food is available between cities, and piling into green rooms before spending the rest of the night on stage.
Emerson and Crew are a part of that rhythm, whether they’re waiting in the wings or settling into whatever hotel we’re calling home for the night.
During rehearsals and soundchecks, she’s close by, keeping Crew entertained by finding quiet corners for him to color or play and making sure he still has some sense of normal—usually with a coffee in one hand and Crew’s little backpack of toys and snacks in the other.
And sometimes, I catch her watching me. A smirk on her face like she knows something I don’t know.
Other times, she’s the one who catches me. But when I think she’ll strike with her sharp tongue and snark, she just lets her gaze linger for a moment before turning away.
And it’s driving me fucking crazy.
“No, it’s not that,” I answer Eddie, racking my brain for a way to explain that she’s not acting weird—but she’s definitely not acting like her usual self.
The two of us have been in this weird limbo since we met, even more so since the night we had sex.
And then there were those soft moments at the fire station or when she waited up for me to tell me Crew needed his mom.
And then the fucking night she accused me of having someone in my hotel bedroom.
I interlace my fingers behind my neck, shifting my weight from left to right.
“Well, then maybe she’s letting you pretend that nothing happened. Saving you from the embarrassment or an uncomfortable conversation,” Theo offers, and I immediately shake my head.
“You don’t know Emerson,” I answer, and it’s like the reminder I need.
She’s fucking up to something. Waiting for the right moment to strike.
It’s the only explanation.
Emerson has always been good at getting under my skin. She knows exactly which buttons to push, exactly how far she can go before I push back.
But this time, she’s not pushing.
She’s just watching. Waiting.
And somehow, that’s worse.
Because lately, I don’t know what game we’re playing anymore.
And somehow, she’s still winning.
Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I shake out my hands. We’re minutes away from stepping out on stage, and I can feel the crowd’s energy buzzing through my veins.
We switched up our setlist for these few shows to keep things fresh and keep the crowd guessing.
Rather than the four of us coming out together in the dark, Theo, Silas, and Eddie hit the stage first and open with a new version of the intro to our first song, creating a little suspense and anticipation.
Then I come out; the lights rise as I reach center stage, and we dive right into our first song.
“Five minutes,” one of the stage managers announces, and I tilt my head to each side, cracking my neck and releasing the tension in my shoulders.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it.
Emerson texted me just before Sugarcoated Lies finished their set. She said Talia picked up Crew, and they were headed to Talia’s hotel. I sent off a quick thank-you before pocketing my phone, needing to get my mind off my nanny if I wanted to make it through this show tonight.
Since I know Crew is taken care of, I don’t bother checking my messages.
But then a string of them come through, my phone vibrating over and over again enough to have me backing out of the wings, heading to a quiet corner to make sure everything’s okay.
Emerson
Hey, rockstar
I’m sure you’re getting ready to go on stage
The show must be starting any minute now
Figured I’d send you this for some good luck
Don’t make a mess ;)
Make a mess?
A mess of what?
I figure she’s probably just throwing a jab at me—calling back to the time she told me not to break anything when I accidentally called her my nanny in front of everyone.
As I finish the thought, ready to pocket my phone, a text with a video comes in.
I can’t tell what it is by the freeze-frame, so I click open the video.
Pressing play, there’s some movement, like the phone is being set down. I hold my phone up to my ear, but all I hear is shuffling.
Then, it’s Emerson’s voice.
Hi, rockstar.
More shuffling. And then a buzzing sound.
I’m trying to place it, figure out what it could be, and then Emerson is moaning into my ear.
I rip the phone from my ear, turning the volume all the way down as I hold my phone against my chest, hiding the screen as I look over my shoulder to make sure no one heard.
Luckily, the crew is too busy preparing for us to go on, the chaos being a perfect veil.
“Mateo!” Eddie shouts, waving his hand at me from the stage wing. “What are you doing? We’re on!”
I power off my screen, making sure it’s off before holding it up and pointing at my phone. “I–I need to take a call.”
Eddie’s jaw drops. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
Nodding my head, backing up to head to the greenroom. My mind on one thing and one thing only—needing to know what this video is.
“Stall!” I yell out, “Just repeat the walk-on intro an extra time—I promise I won’t miss my cue!” I disappear down the hall behind the stage—but not before I see Eddie lift his arms in frustration before turning to Theo and Silas.
I’ll deal with them later.
I just need a minute.
Slamming the greenroom door behind me, I unlock my phone, finding the video paused.
On Emerson.
Naked.
In my bed.
I know it’s mine. That’s my suitcase on the foot of the bed, and the hoodie I took off when I woke up this morning laying across the comforter.
Emerson is naked. In my bed.
The video paused on her on her knees, her dark hair falling in waves over her shoulders, stopping just above her tits, the familiar spiderwebs on full display, along with her dusty pink nipples.
My mouth waters, my dick instantly going hard.
I’m no better than a teenager who just discovered porn.
I hover my thumb over the “Play” icon.
And before I can convince myself otherwise, I click it.
My eyes are glued to the screen as Emerson stares directly at the camera, holding a fucking red silicone vibrator to her clit, her mouth opening as she tips her head back.
Clicking the volume button, turning it up loud enough for me to just barely hear the moan she makes.
The seconds feel like hours as I watch her hold the toy against her pussy just before she reaches behind her, grabbing the fucking pillow behind her and settling under her hips before pressing the toy back to her clit.
Her hips start moving, riding my pillow. Her tattooed thighs move against my bed, her fingers fisting the pillowcase below her. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, but the moans escape anyway, growing louder as she rocks her body.
I’m frozen. Watching. Waiting.
Needing her to come.
And then she looks directly into the camera.
A knock on the door sounds, and my entire body jumps, my phone flying out of my hand.
“Mateo!” one of the stage managers says through the door. “You’re on!”
Bending down to pick it up, my fingers fumble over the screen, clicking out of the video and back to our messages, where two more texts come.
A parting gift for my favorite panty thief ;)
Followed by a picture—Emerson standing next to my bed with a thumbs-up.
Posing next to a red thong laid on my pillow.
Wearing my fucking hoodie.
More knocks sound at the door. “Mateo!”
And that’s when the world around me returns, and I’m no longer trapped in Emerson’s.
My heart rate returns to normal, and I hear past the beating in my ears—I have about fifteen seconds until my cue. I power off my phone, pushing it into my back pocket.
And I’m about to go on stage with a fucking hard-on.