Page 2 of Unromance

He had a good laugh, husky and deep. She wanted to make him laugh again so she could hear it one more time. But, like, some other time, when he wasn’t simultaneously trying to curb a panic attack. Didn’t elevators have a connection to the fire department or something? Why hadn’t anyone come over the speaker to console them? Whyhadn’tshe packed purse cheese?

The elevator shuddered, whirring back to life.

“Oh, thank God,” he groaned. He turned to her, tugging off his beanie and ruffling his hair. It was unfair how soft it looked. “Sorry, I have a thing about enclosed spaces.”

“Really? I love being trapped.”

“Funny,” he deadpanned.

The elevator dinged as they reached the fourteenth floor, the doors sliding open. She gestured for him to go first, given his lateness.

“Thank you. I owe you one,” he said sincerely. He doubled back. “Hey—if you have an ex you need to make jealous—”

“Absolutely not!”

He grinned mischievously before jogging backward, only turning when he rounded the corner, robbing her of a view of what she suspected to be a deliciously V-shaped back.

Sawyer laughed under her breath. If the romance gods wanted to dupe her into believing in happily ever afters again, they would have to try a lot harder than a pretty face and an elevator meet-cute.

She dawdled in the lobby to avoid that awkward moment when you say goodbye and then head in the exact same direction. Once she was certain Elevator Guy would be out of sight, she followed in his wake toward the restaurant that occupied most of the fourteenth floor. The first time she’d shown up with a tote full of books, the posh hostesses had side-eyed her. Now they waved her on, past the small queue of patrons waiting to be seated. When she reached the bar, she heaved her bag onto it with a relieved sigh.

The restaurant was far more swanky than Sawyer could afford, but when it was free, she could. Shoving all depressing thoughts of the budget she’d made to calculate how long she had until her advance ran out, she slid onto a barstool, her heart heavier than the sack of books.

“You’re an angel,” Alex crooned as he placed a napkin in front of her. “The ladies were harassing me for more books just last night.”

Sawyer beamed. “Happy to help. Plus, you’re saving me from ending up onHoarders, so thank you.”

Alex moved the bag onto the back bar before pouring her a double shot of her favorite bourbon. “Hungry?” he asked.

“Always,” she replied. “Surprise me.”

She’d met Alex last year when her best friend, Lily, dragged her here in an attempt to “casually” run into the cast ofDiagnostics, the Chicago medical drama that filmed at the hospital down the street. Lily didn’t rub elbows with any B-list actors that night, but Sawyer left with an unorthodox solution to her buried-alive-by-books problem. Sure, she could deliver the books to the nursing home herself, but at best, she’d leave with a pocketful of stale Werther’s. This way,she left with a full stomach and the buzz only free top-shelf whiskey could provide. She preferred this way.

As Alex rang in food for her, she shrugged out of her coat and tugged her current read from her backpack—a romance, one of the smutty ones she always double- and triple-checked didn’t end up in her donation piles.

“Another bodice ripper?” Alex said with a click of his tongue. “Who are you, and what have you done with the Sawyer Greene who lectured me for not reading more diversely?”

“Yeah, you exclusively read nonfiction. It’s unnatural,” she said with a crinkle of her nose. “Besides, this counts as research, thank you very much. And even if I wasn’t desperate for inspiration, happy endings are my favorite brand of fantasy.”

“Same,” Alex agreed with an impish tilt of his head. “But I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing.”

“Alex!” She smacked the back of his arm with her book.

He tugged on the corners of his mouth to conceal his grin. “How’s it going? The book?”

“Good,” she lied. “Had a call with my agent this morning.” That part was true, but the call was about how she most definitely wasn’t going to have her book done on time and was going to need another extension.

“That’s great,” Alex said genuinely. “I knew you could do it.”

That made one of them. Guilt twisted her insides at Alex’s misplaced faith in her. He laid a roll of silverware in front of her before excusing himself to check in on the couple at the other end of the bar.

She couldn’t see his face, but she recognized the guy as Elevator Guy. Next to him sat a very pretty brunette. His date did not look happy. He must have beenverylate.

“Sucks to suck,” she muttered. She thumbed her book back open and took a sip of whiskey, relishing the warmth as it spread through her body. Chicago winters were a bitch—but that’s what whiskey was for.

She ate her dinner without further fanfare, getting so lost in her book that she forgot all about the depressing call with her agent and her dwindling bank balance. She didn’t even notice when Alex refilled her whiskey, surprised to find it full again when she picked it up. She blinked away the story playing out in her mind’s eye to take in her surroundings. While she’d been reading, the restaurant had emptied, affording her an uninterrupted view of the grid of Chicago, lit up beyond the wall of windows.

She dog-eared a page in her book as it reached a steamy scene. She could never read those in public, too paranoid an innocent bystander would glance over, the wordcockorclimaxjumping off the page to alert everyone she was single and horny.

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