Page 51 of Unromance

His friend clambered to his feet, extending a hand to Mason, which he took automatically. As Luis pulled him up, he felt like he’d left his stomach back on the mat.

Love?

Spilling everything out to Luis had left his mind empty for the first time in days, and that single word now clanged around inside his skull like a warning bell and a symphony all in one.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

LOUNGERIE– The undeniable intimacy of seeing a person in loungewear for the first time;see alsogray sweatpants.

It hadn’t been snowing this hard when Mason left his apartment. Fat globs of snow clung half melted to the sidewalk, his gym shoes struggling to find purchase. The pristine white powder would be covered in city grime in a matter of hours, but for now, the world was quiet—as quiet as the city ever got. There was a stillness to a snowstorm that Mason loved. He leaned into that stillness, a blissful calm after the roller coaster of the past few days.

There were still no texts from Sawyer when he retrieved his phone from the gym locker, but he was trying to make his peace with that. As he strolled down the slushy sidewalk, he drank in the skyline that had been his home the past few years. It was finally beginning to hit him. It was all happening. A big, wide future awaited him in LA, but amid the excitement was a tinge of panic. His time in Chicago was drawing to a close, and he didn’t quite feel done with it.

His hair was still wet from his gym shower, and he was freezing, but he decided to walk the long way home so he could stop at his favorite pho spot. How many more chances would he get to eat there? He hoped a stomach full of rich broth would drown out hisanxiety about the city—and the woman within it—that he didn’t want to leave yet.

It might have worked, too, had Sawyer not chosen that moment to text him back.

hey, sorry, finally came up for air, buttttttt 37,000 words, baby!!

He grinned down at his phone. He had no clue how many words were in a novel, but that sounded like a lot. Either way, she was writing and that warmed him more than a shot of whiskey.

AMAZING.

Before he could compose a second response, three dots appeared, and he froze in the middle of the sidewalk, waiting.

thanks, i’m stuck now but i’m gonna take the night off, refuel, eat?? i’ve heard feeding your flesh prison is necessary to function, apparently.

He laughed. He loved the way she texted. No capitalization, run-on sentences, either no punctuation or a plethora of it. He could hear her voice when he read them, the exact tone she’d say it in.

Who knew?! How do you feel about pho?

VERY positive feelings

Excellent.

He pulled up the menu on his phone and texted it to her. She responded in a matter of seconds with her order.

P3, B17, and split A6 with me pleaseeeee!!! you are an ANGEL i’d say you don’t have to but i fucking love that place and now nothing else will do

He would drive to Australia to grab her a snack if that’s what it took to see her. He’d been hoping for a text back, something to let him know they were okay after what happened on Christmas, and it seemed like they were, maybe? As the comfort of that thought sank in, a new fear unlocked inside his mind. Were they pretending it didn’t happen? Just like their all-night-and-the-next-morning stand? Though they hadn’t ever pretendedthatdidn’t happen. They both had made plenty of jokes about it. So what, exactly, the fuck was happening?

He still hadn’t decided by the time their food was ready, nor had he decided on the short drive to Sawyer’s, or the walk up to her apartment. So he did what he did when he forgot lines on set—improvised and prayed he didn’t stray too far from the script.

He exhaled heavily as he removed his beanie, shaking off the layer of ice that had formed, the snow really coming down now. He knocked, and she answered in a flash.

Her face lit up at the sight of the large paper bag in his hands, and he was grateful she wasn’t looking at him while he was looking at her.

Jesus Christ. She was wearing the tiniest shorts he’d ever seen. Not sleeping with her again would be a hell of a lot easier if his body didn’t react to her so readily. The joggers he’d changed into before grabbing his car did little to conceal, well, anything.

“How much do I owe you?” she asked, stepping aside to let him in.

“Nothing. We’re celebrating!” He hoped he didn’t notice the slight panic in his voice as he hastily adjusted himself, pointedly keeping his attention on the top half of her body and not those goddamn shorts.

Sawyer glanced over her shoulder, eyes widening in excitement. “Oooh! What are we celebrating?”

He blinked at her back as he kicked off his shoes. “You? Writing?”

She froze in the middle of opening a drawer, something unreadable crossing her face. “Oh.” She flushed, turning away from him and rifling through the drawer. “It’s not a big deal. It’s literally my job.”

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