Page 25 of Unromance

“You’re covered in mud, sweetheart,” she reminded him smarmily.

Mason grunted, tossing back his whiskey with one hand and unbuttoning his jeans with the other. He hesitated before lowering his fly, brows raising in question.

“What?” Sawyer laughed.

“Turn around,” he requested.

Sawyer choked on her own spit. “I’ve already seen you naked!”

“Seeing me in my boxers is not a surface-level privilege.”

Sawyer pressed her lips together, shaking her head as she turned around. “There’s a robe on the back of my bathroom door thatmightcover—” She gestured vaguely in the air. “Something.”

“My modesty thanks you,” Mason sniffed, pressing his muddy jeans into her waiting palm.

She started the laundry and had begun decorating before he reappeared. But when he did—

Sawyer nearly swallowed her tongue.

“Shirt was dirty, too,” he called from the kitchen, adding the flannel to the wash.

Sawyer tittered softly. She opted not to point out that the brightly patterned chiffon robe was barely long enough to cover his ass, his modesty still in dire straits. Still, she was grateful he’d done it. Mason in a red flannel and boxers would be hard to resist, and it would be all too easy to throw Rule #2 out the window and fill the void with him. Hanging out with him like this, as friends, was already pushing the limits of their “surface level” rule. The robe added a much-needed air of silliness.

This wasn’t on their list, but the boyish joy on Mason’s face when he asked to help decorate, the same joy now on his face as he inspected each ornament curiously, carefully selecting the ideal branch to hang it from—she couldn’t deny him this. She’d allow this deviation from their mission, but it was better, safer, if they kept to the list—and their rules—from now on.

They decorated in silence for a bit, dancing around each other in the cramped corner of her apartment, their limbs occasionally brushing as they sought the perfect spot for each ornament. When Sawyer unwrapped the Polaroid ornament of her and Sadie hosting their first Queermas dinner, she surreptitiously hid it between two books on the nearby shelf, a hollow feeling in her gut. She hadn’t decorated with anyone since Sadie, the traditions they’d crafted together now the Ghost of Christmas Past.

Mason placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her still as he reached around to hang a particularly heavy reindeer ornament on a top bough. The heat of him as he pressed up against her… She coughed to conceal an involuntaryhnng.

“So what’s wrong with you?” she blurted.

Mason laughed. “What?”

Spinning around, she tilted her head back to take him in. “You’re attractive, employed, tolerable to be around, and want to settle down. You’re, like, the ideal partner, for people who are into that sort of thing.”

His mouth quirked up at the corner. “So why can’t I keep a girl?”

Sawyer shrugged. “I mean, I’m all for ruining romance for you. I’m grateful for the opportunity, truly. But eventually, once all this tabloid nonsense blows over, you’re going to date again, right?”

He nodded slowly. “And even if you successfully shatter my rose-colored glasses and I pick the right person, will I still fuck it up?”

She tried to look sympathetic, but she was fairly certain it looked more like a grimace. “I mean…” She frowned. “Have you ever thought about it? Or asked?”

“Like, track down my exesHigh Fidelity–style?” He did that sexy one-eyebrow-quirked thing before leaning down and whispering in her ear, “LikeWhy We’re Not Together?”

Sawyer shivered. Her books were so incredibly personal—and so incredibly steamy—that she normally wanted to crawl into a hole and die when people she knew read her books. But there was something endearing about Mason reading hers after they met, with no expectation they’d ever see each other again. “Yes, like that.” She cleared her throat to rid her voice of the odd strain it’d taken on. “It’s a solid cliché–plot device–trope thing. We could add it to the list and then cross it off?”

Mason leaned back, twisting his mouth off to the side, thinking. Tugging his phone from his pocket, he tapped through a series of screens.

“I—oh, I didn’t meannow,” she stammered. Why was she nervous? This had nothing to do with her, but the mere idea of reachingout to any of her exes made her want to break out in hives. She hovered her hand over his screen to stop him from hitting dial. “Maybe you should tackle this one on your own? I’m supposed to be spoiling your hopeless romanticism, not—” She gestured to the phone. “Whatever that’s going to be.”

He nodded, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

Sawyer exhaled slowly, heart hammering in her ears. Taking a sip of her whiskey, she banished the vision of calling up Sadie and hearing all the reasons why they hadn’t worked. She already knew the answer to that question.

Mason grabbed her phone from the hutch, holding it out to her so she could enter her passcode. Once unlocked, she watched as he interrupted Ariana’s rendition of “Last Christmas” in favor of “Thank U, Next.”

Humming along with Ariana’s gratefulness for her exes, they shoved the ugliest of her ornament collection into the hole in the tree’s boughs, and hid it from view.

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