Page 5 of Unromance

That, and he felt indebted to her. She’d attempted to distract him while the elevator was stuck, and though her efforts were questionably effective, they had been amusing once he’d calmed down enough to appreciate them.

He thought he’d buy her a drink to thank her—somewhere other than the bar he’d just been dumped in, but when she misinterpreted that as him trying to get her back to his place andagreed—well, he wasn’t going to say no. It wasn’t that he’d been holding out for Kara to return, he just hadn’t had time to date anyone during the offseason. At least, that’s what he told himself and anyone who asked, a story that would be a lot more convincing if he could tell literally anyone what hehadbeen doing these past few months. And yeah, he was more than a little intrigued by the romance aficionado who seemed to want nothing to do with romance.

“Is your place close?” she asked, glancing up at him as she shoved a maroon beanie onto her head.

She was the most colorful person he’d ever seen. She wore army-green pants tucked into brown leather boots, and he knew under her mustard-yellow coat she wore a conservative cream-colored turtleneck that clung to her curves in a way that had Mason questioning his previous aversion to turtlenecks. In contrast to her clothes, everything about her was understated. Her hair was so blond it was practically white, fringe framing her face like a 1970s rock groupie. Her brows were heavy and dark by comparison, arching over startling light green eyes.

“What?” she asked uncertainly, wiping the corners of her bow mouth. “Do I have food on my face?”

Whoops. He’d been staring far too long. He worked with beautiful actresses every day, and yet, there was something about this tiny, sour woman that struck him.

“Eyelash,” he improvised, wiping the imaginary lash from her cheek. “And yeah, my place is close,” he answered, her words finally registering.

“Is it covered in plastic tarps?” she asked, her eyes trained forward.

“LikeDexter?”

She nodded.

He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. “No tarps. Not a serial killer.”

“Sounds like something a serial killer would say,” she said dubiously as the elevator dinged, the doors sliding open.

He couldn’t hold back the laugh this time, his shoulders relaxing as they exited the elevator. “My name is Mason, by the way,” he told her as he opened the lobby door for her. Biting Chicago wind wrapped around him as they stepped outside, stealing all his warmth.

“Hey!” she cried incredulously.

He cringed internally, anticipating the uncomfortable conversation to come.

“We said no names.”

He glanced at her sidelong. “You said that, not me.”

She frowned, sighing in resignation. “Sawyer Greene.”

“That’s definitely fake,” he teased.

“All real, baby. I’m just blessed like that.” As she spoke, she did an adorable little dance. She nudged him with her elbow as they waited for the crosswalk light to change. “What’s yours, then?”

Mason chewed on the inside of his cheek before making a split-second decision. “Mason Álvarez.”

Sawyer snorted, rolling her eyes. “Okay, that’sdefinitelyfake. Sounds like a soap opera star.”

He blinked down at her in surprise. So she really didn’t know who he was—didn’t know how close her guess actually was. Well, fuck if he was going to tell her. Being anonymous for a night sounded amazing.

Somehow, telling the truthfeltlike a lie. His last name was Álvarez, but he could count on one hand the number of people who knew him as such. He’d tried to stay out of the family business, but he’d been sucked in all the same, and his soap star mother’s name held more clout there, so most people knew him as Mason West. Mason West couldn’t have casual hookups. Mason Álvarez, however… Smiling to himself, he gestured for her to follow him.

Her eyes darted to his mouth, and he had goddamn butterflies. It had been so long since he’d done this—flirted. The “break” with Kara was probably the longest he’d been single since he was prepubescent.

His building came into view, and his steps slowed. Sawyer glanced back the way they’d come. Barely two blocks.

The tabloids often accused him of being a simp for his partners—though Mason was pretty sure that said more about them than him—but he did havesomepride. Kara had let him pick the location for their meeting, and he’d be damned if he went out of his way to get dumped. Re-dumped? On-a-break breakup?

Luther, his building’s doorman, held open the lobby door, and Mason watched as Sawyer stepped inside wordlessly, eyes wide as she took in the space. He spent more time on set than here, and he forgot how nice it was. Sawyer stomped the snow out of her boots, Mason doing the same before leading her over to the elevators. He’d boughtthis place before the nightmarish day on set that left him with an aversion to elevators. In a few months, when he moved to LA, he would make sure his new place was a walk-up.

Mason tolerated elevators on a good day—they were unavoidable in a city full of skyscrapers, but after the near incident earlier, it took a concerted effort to step into yet another one. Though he supposed the odds of being stuck in an elevator twice in one day were rather astronomical. He tried to take comfort in that and not focus on the shiny, immovable metal walls, tried not to picture them closing in on him…

“Hey,” Sawyer called quietly.

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