Page 14 of Unromance

CHAPTER SIX

THE CONTRACT– When two characters make a pact, replete with rules, which they aretotallygoing to follow.

Surely, running into Sawyer again was a sign.

So why, of all the restaurants in Chicago, had he suggested to meet up at Kuma’s, one of the least romantic places? Normally, he’d pick something like The Purple Pig, where they could cuddle in one of the tiny booths, sharing tapas—not a heavy metal bar that served burgers the size of his face.

Despite the decidedly unromantic choice, his sister had still given him the third degree about the woman in the “hideously yellow coat.” Margot might not have followed in their mother’s footsteps by going into acting, but she’d definitely inherited her primal need to meddle. He sometimes thought the universe giving her two hellions for sons was its way of humbling her—humbling all of them. Mason loved his nephews—how could he not? They were half his sister and half his best friend, but they were going to be absolute nightmares as teenagers. And while he loved spending time with them, he was always grateful that he got to leave them with Margot and Luis and go back to his apartment childless.

Or go to a heavy metal bar that served burgers the size of his face.He liked that freedom a lot. He also liked the sight of Sawyer waiting for him at the bar, glass of whiskey in front of her. She lifted her hand half-heartedly in greeting as she spotted him working his way through the crowd toward her. Kuma’s was always busy, which he hadn’t thought about when he’d picked it. Her yellow coat—which he found not at all hideous—was slung over the barstool next to her, saving his seat.

“Have you been waiting long?” he asked apologetically, even though he was ten minutes early.

She shrugged. “I can entertain myself,” she said with a prim sip of her drink. “Prime people-watching spot,” she added with a subtle nod across the bar.

He diverted his attention to the middle-aged couple across from them, hunched over their burgers as Metallica blared from the stereo. Sawyer leaned closer, and he caught the cloying spiced scent of the Christkindlmarket still clinging to her. It actually smelled nice when not so concentrated. Underneath it all, the smell he didn’t realize until now he associated with her: coconut. It was everywhere on her that night. On her skin and in her hair and he was pretty sure even in her lip balm.

“My guess is tourists who heard this was the burger spot but didn’t research what kind of place it was.”

Mason settled onto the barstool, assessing the couple for clues. “Locals from the suburbs,” he countered. “Downtown to holiday shop. He’s here to relive his glory days when his ZZ Top beard was trendy. She has tinnitus from the rock shows they went to in said glory days, so it’s hard for her to hear, but coming here reminds her of that first spark—their meet-cute at the Led Zeppelin barricade.”

Sawyer’s red lips pursed as if sucking on a lemon. “That isdisgustingly romantic, but—” She half sighed, half groaned. “Also really good character building,” she admitted begrudgingly. “Could I borrow your brain to write my book?”

Mason laughed, the smile freezing on his face as an idea came to him.Couldshe borrow his brain—and he could he borrow hers?

A tattooed bartender surveyed them over the beer taps, jerking his head in Mason’s direction. He ordered the first IPA he saw, still mulling over her throwaway comment.

The bartender slid Mason his beer without looking, his eyes on Sawyer. “You good, hon?”

She smiled, red lips parting to reveal white teeth. “Yes, thank you.”

As the bartender tossed their tab into a cup in front of them with yet another glance at Sawyer, Mason realized she was completely oblivious to his attempts at catching her eye. If a hot bartender was making eyes at Mason like that, he would already be halfway done planning their perfect first date. By the time entrees arrived, he would’ve been three pages deep in a Zillow search, hunting for their dream apartment.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe running into Sawyer again wasn’t a sign that they were destined to be together. Maybe they were meant to help each other.

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. “I think us running into each other again is a sign.”

“Oh my God,” she grumbled before tossing back the last of her drink. “Mason,” she began gravely, leaning forward as if proximity would make letting him down hurt less.

“Not because we’re fated or soulmates or whatever the fuck,” he rushed out. She tensed, as if deciding whether or not to bolt. “I think we’re meant to cure each other.”

Her dark brows disappeared beneath her bangs. “I didn’t realize we were sick.”

He shifted sideways in his seat to look at her fully, mentally grasping at the hazy beginnings of an idea that was either genius or folly, only pausing long enough to figure out how to phrase it without having to get into the Mason West of it all. To her, he was still just Mason Álvarez. He hadn’t realized how heavy being Mason West had become until, suddenly, he didn’t have to be.

He knew he needed to tell her who he was—he was keeping enough secrets from enough people already—but given the current media coverage, being Mason West wasn’t exactly a point in his favor. But that was why fate had brought Sawyer back to him. Because hewasn’tthe person the tabloids depicted.

He couldn’t control what the tabloids wrote, but he could control what he did—or didn’t do. And he needed help from an expert. He needed Sawyer.

“What if wecouldborrow each other’s brains?”

Sawyer laughed in disbelief. “What?”

“What you said the other night—” It had been weeks since they slept together, but the memory felt like yesterday. “We’re taught that all these inane things are signs from the universe. That this person is our person because we got stuck in an elevator together or locked eyes across the coffee shop, when really, it’s a faulty elevator or accidental eye contact with a stranger. Yet, I always fall for it. I’m so worried about missing my own epic love story that I spend all this energy chasing down women in Christmas markets becausewhat ifshe’s the one? But she never is, and… I’m exhausted.” Mason sighed heavily. “I need to stay single for a bit. So, I need to stop—I need tolearnhow to stop. Enter you, a romance expert with no interest in dating me. I want you to ruin me.”

Sawyer tilted her head to the side curiously. “What, exactly, are you suggesting, Álvarez?”

He smiled at her switch to his surname. “Exposure therapy: Let’s do it all—all the cheesy shit no one does outside of a rom-com. Let’s do it and feel nothing for each other. Then, the next time I think, ‘This is a sign,’ I won’t fall for it because I’ve already been there, done that, and it didn’t mean anything.”

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