Page 23 of Unromance

They managed to tie the tree to the top of her car by looping the twine through the windows and around the bumper, Sawyer laughing as she darted around the car while Mason held the tree steady—a true feat, as Sawyer was determined to spank him with the twine every time she lobbed it from one side of the car to the other. He rested his head against his muddy, sap-covered forearm, unable to stop laughing as Sawyer tied off the tree. He hadn’t laughed this much in a long time.

He hoped she was feeling inspired, because they weren’t ruining this trope for him at all.

CHAPTER NINE

“JUST FRIENDS”– The ancient romance myth that you—a mere mortal—can be platonic acquaintances with the sex god who blew your back out a fortnight ago.

Even with the help of the tiny wine corkscrew knife Sawyer kept in her bag for emergencies—Mason gracefully not questioning the validity of a wine emergency—Sawyer’s fingers were frozen by the time they managed to free the tree from the top of her car. She’d managed to find parking around the block from her apartment, and was immensely grateful Mason’s ridiculous physique was good for more than just ogling as he hefted the tree overhead and followed behind her on the gray, slush-covered sidewalk.

Regardless, she couldn’t help but ask, “Is it really necessary for a doctor to be that in shape?” Glancing back, she caught the cocksure smile he flashed her.

“Oh yes, Dr. Santiago does all his surgeries shirtless.”

“As one does,” she quipped, opening the door to her building for him. When they reached the tight corner of the stairs and Mason paused to reposition the tree, she unbuttoned his peacoat to reveal the red plaid flannel straining at the buttons. “Better?”

Mason shook his head down at her. “You’re shameless.”

She winked at him before flouncing up the stairs and gesturingfor him to follow her down the hall. As she unlocked her door, she panicked. Her place wasn’t nearly as nice as Mason’s. Her only view was of the gore special effects artists across the street, dismembered body parts casually resting on their windowsills. Well, that’s the story she’d made up for them. She had stories for all her neighbors.

At least all of her time spent Not Writing meant her apartment was clean. Swinging the door wide, she followed him inside. Unlacing her boots, she watched him take in her space while kicking off his own shoes. His eyes scanned over her cerulean velvet couch, the emerald, leaf-shaped pillows that were the closest Sawyer would ever get to keeping a plant alive, the gallery wall overhead of framed stick figure drawings and watercolors from Lily.

Her TV stand was still sans television, all the cubbies bursting at the seams with books. Even with her monthly donations to Alex, there were some she could never part with. She kept them close by so she could thumb back through them, reliving highlights of her favorite characters’ lives or revisiting perfect turns of phrase that had left her breathless.

Mason’s gaze lingered on the mustard-yellow hutch where she stored her extensive mug collection. His mouth quirked up as he spotted her favorite, a white mug with a pattern of tits of all shapes and sizes.

“In the corner?” he asked, gesturing to the tree stand she’d dragged out of her storage locker earlier that morning.

She nodded, following him over and holding the tree steady as he tightened the screws into the base. As he worked, she was hit with how strange this was. This wasElevator Guy. He was the one-night stand she was never supposed to see ever again. Yet, here he was, in her apartment that was a quarter the size of his, on his knees, screwing in her tree.

Glancing down, she could see Mason’s red flannel had ridden up, revealing two dimples on his lower back that she wanted to dip her fingers into. Before her mind could wander further, she cleared her throat.

“What did you do before?”

“Before what?” he asked distractedly. He gave the tree a jostle to assess his handiwork, grinning softly when it stayed upright.

Backing up to check that the tree was straight, she smiled to herself. It was slightly crooked, but Mason seemed so proud of himself that she couldn’t bring herself to have him fix it.

“Before resuscitating coma patients with your hotness onDiagnostics.”

He straightened, nearly too tall for her low ceilings. “A bunch of indie movies with my friend Alissa. We met on the set ofThe Heir Apparent(ly), but after Disney we both wanted to prove ourselves as ‘serious artists.’” Mason made a mock gagging noise. “So we moved into the indie space and ended up falling in love with it—her with directing, me with acting. There was more freedom there, and everyone I worked with was invested and passionate. The creative process was so different and collaborative—sorry, I’m rambling,” he mumbled.

Sawyer shook her head. “No, I—that sounds amazing, but YOU WERE INTHE HEIR APPARENT(LY)?”

Mason’s eyes fluttered shut as he nodded in resignation. “Yes.”

“Who?!” Sawyer exclaimed. Preteen Sawyer hadlovedthat movie, yet she couldn’t place Mason anywhere in the cast. His friend Alissa, on the other hand, she knew immediately. She’d only been Sawyer’s bi awakening, after all.

“I was the quirky older brother. I had green hair.”

She gasped. “Oh my God! Thatwasyou!” She resisted the urge to ask more about his Disney days. “So, why the switch to TV?”

“I was tired. When you live on location, you form these intense relationships with the cast and crew—” She had a hunch Mason was skirting around mentioning a specific type of relationship. “These people become your family, and when it’s done, you all just move on to the next thing. And then Margot had Max, and even though my family exhausts me, all I wanted was to be closer to them.” He blinked, as if not meaning to say so much. “And the pay’s not bad either.”

Sawyer couldn’t understand wanting to be close to family, but money, she understood. It’s why she sold her first book’s film rights. Yeah, she’d wanted to see her characters brought to life, but she was also a broke college student. A blindly trusting college student that hadn’t asked enough questions, too blindsided by the zeros on the check they cut her for handing over her debut characters.

Had it allowed her to write full-time? Yes.

Would she do it again? No.

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