Page 21 of Unromance

Sawyer turned right suddenly, letting go of his arm as she circled a tree as tall as her—aka not very tall.

“Alright,” Sawyer proclaimed, hands on her hips. “This is it.”

Mason screwed up his face. “It has a giant hole.”

Sawyer frowned, ruffling the gap in the branches affectionately. “Don’t we all,” she said sagely. “I’ll tuck it away where no one can see it, and cover it in cute ornaments. You’ll never know the difference.”

Somewhere, a therapist shuddered.

Kneeling down, he shoved the bottom branches aside to find a good spot to start cutting. “I guess if you don’t take it home, who will, right?”

Sawyer hummed in agreement. “My good deed for the year.”

Mason glanced up at her through the branches as he made the first cut. “It’s not the New Year yet.”

“I know,” she said brightly. “I meant for this year. Was really worried I wasn’t gonna be able to squeeze it in.”

Mason shook his head, focusing on sawing. “Because you’re such a horrible person.”

“A true Grinch.”

“Except you love Christmas,” he pointed out. He was nearly halfway through the base of the tree now, so he couldn’t see her expression when she took a beat longer than usual to reply.

“It’s everything else that my heart is three sizes too small for.”

She said it so quietly it was a miracle he heard it at all, and he had a hunch she hadn’t meant for him to hear, so he didn’t comment on it. He especially wasn’t going to comment on the fact that her being so against romance and feelings was evidence that her heart was not too small at all, but she, like him, had given it to the wrong person. He was definitely not pointing that out. He wasn’t here to change or “fix” her. He was here to learn from her.

With the rumors that Kara was leavingDiagnosticsconfirmed, investors had already started blowing up Alissa’s phone, concerned that Mason’s tendency to date coworkers would destabilize production. As if every set wasn’t incestuous. You spent all day, every day with the same crew. Who else were you supposed to date? Nonetheless, he’d already gotten a call from his manager, echoing Alissa’s idea to stay single and let it all blow over.

Mason channeled all his frustration with the tabloids into each stroke of the saw, making quick progress. Each time the saw’s teeth snagged, he pushed harder, the sensation cathartic. Maybe he should work with his hands more often. Once he was over halfway, he paused, sinking back onto his knees.

“Alright.” Grabbing hold of the trunk, he gestured for Sawyer to join him on the ground.

Coming to stand before him, she picked debris out of his hair before smoothing it back, the sensation of her hands in his hair shooting straight to his dick. His gaze flicked unwittingly up to hers, her red mouth smirking. “You look good on your knees.” She punctuated her sentence with a wink.

He ignored her comment—he couldn’t acknowledge it so long as “Rule #2: No sex” was still on the table. “Just get down here,” he growled with a jerk of his head.

She sank to her knees obediently, making a show of wiggling her ass as she situated herself beneath the boughs.

Two could play that game. He draped himself over her, his front pressed to her back as he helped her position the saw, like he was a pool shark teaching his date billiards. “A few more strokes should do it.”

Sawyer laughed throatily at the wordstrokes, and Mason extricated himself from the tree before she could become aware of what the sound did to him.

As Sawyer went to work on the tree, he watched the kids running around with reckless abandon, so bundled up in coats and scarves that they looked like padded poufs with legs as they wove between trees, laughing gleefully. His nephews had convinced Margot to put up their pre-decorated fake tree the day after Thanksgiving, so it was too late for this year, but he made a mental note to convince Margot to get a real tree next year. He knew she’d gripe about the mess—Margothatedmess—but the boys would love it.

All thoughts of his nephews flew from his mind as Sawyer began sawing, the vibrations of the blade cutting through the trunk shooting up his arm and to his already misbehaving dick. Good God. Wasevery outing with her going to be like this? He wasn’t going to survive. Gritting his teeth, he attempted to wrangle his hormones under control.

Flirting with Sawyer was effortless. Inspiring romance seemed an easy task when he agreed to it, but just like when he had to act out an emotional scene on set, the real trick was convincing his body that all of the emotions weren’t real. He wasn’t actually an ER doctor saving lives, and Sawyer wasn’t actually his.

This was his problem. Sawyer Greene was the last woman in the world he should be lusting after. She had no interest in dating him and he had no business dating anyone right now. Tabloids notwithstanding, he was moving to LA in a few months. Yet, here he was, mooning over her like she’d been his first one-night stand. She wasn’t. Though, come to think of it, most of his attempts at casual flingshadescalated into relationships. Not on purpose—but regardless, he needed to break the cycle. The falling was fun, yes, but the problem with falling was you eventually hit the ground. Mason had yet to stick the landing, and his partners always hit the ground running—running off to the next exciting thing while Mason was left bruised and wondering where the hell he’d gone wrong.

With a shudder, the tree came loose, and Sawyer whooped.

When she reappeared from the boughs of the tree, she was beaming. “I did it!” she exclaimed, flexing her arms and kissing her biceps.

“All by yourself,” Mason drawled. “Very impressive.”

She poked him in the side as she straightened. “With the help of my handsome lumberjack, of course. My Hallmark heart is all aflutter,” she gushed. She wrapped a leg around him, placing a hand on her forehead and swooning like a heroine on the cover of a bodice-ripping romance novel. Did that make him Fabio?

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