Page 55 of Unromance

He felt rather than saw her twist her head, momentarily pausing her perusal of movie options. He had a vague inclination that she’d asked him something. “What?” he mumbled.

“Are you about to fall asleep on me?”

The last thing he remembered was uttering an adamant “No” before sleep dragged him under.

“Mason.”

He blinked awake, the dull light from the street barely illuminating Sawyer’s apartment. A few inches of snow had accumulated on the narrow window ledge, and more poured steadily down. He was still on Sawyer’s couch, a thin blanket thrown haphazardly over him. He laughed to himself. Of course she hadn’t woken him up and offered to share her bed. She’d probably say she was ruining “only one bed” for him. Though maybe she had tried to wake him up. He was so goddamn tired after not sleeping for two days that he had no sense of how long he’d been out. It could have been minutes or days.

“Mason.”

He tensed, eyes straining in the darkness. Sawyer’s door was slightly ajar, the sound of rustling bedsheets coming from the other room. Had she heard him wake up? Maybe she would share her bed after all. The couch was far too small for him to stretch out comfortably, and his muscles ached from the gym and the cramped position he’d passed out in. His feet had barely hit the cold hardwood when he heard Sawyer moan.

The realization hit him like a brick wall. Sawyer was touching herself, and it was his name on her lips while she did it.

He brought his fist to his mouth, clamping down. This woman was going to be his undoing. Every muscle in his body went stiff as he willed himself not to move.

A vibrating noise joined the soft moans coming from the next room, and Mason was so turned on he was seeing spots. Listening seemed wrong. Interrupting seemed worse. Joining her sounded best, but Luis’s cake-milk metaphor rang in his head. He’d already broken Rule #1: No feelings. Rule #2 had to stay in place.

He tried not to eavesdrop, but there was no mistaking the little gasp Sawyer made when she came. He gripped the edge of the couch so hard, he wouldn’t have been surprised if stuffing oozed out the seams.

It was an effort to control his ragged breathing, almost missing Sawyer’s quiet murmur.

“Thank you, Mason.”

A drawer opened and closed, and he heard her sheets rustle as she settled in for the night.

He shook with silent laughter.

Was her vibrator named Mason?

Half-delirious with lust, he felt hope bloom in his chest. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who was too far gone.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

SHOPPING MONTAGE– In the wise words of Donna Meagle and Tom Haverford, “treat yo self.”

Sawyer was fairly certain she’d hailed the only taxi driver in the city who drove the speed limit. She drummed her fingers along the back of her phone case anxiously, willing him to go faster. He braked for the yellow light rather than running it, and she fought back an aggravated scream. It wasn’t his fault. She was going to be late all on her own. She’d finally found her writing flow an hour before she was due to leave, and she cursed herself for not getting ready earlier.

Being late was only half of her frustration. She’d finally hit the midpoint of her incredibly messy draft, and her characters were starting to fall for each other again. She’d written them a steamy sex scene that was so long she’d definitely have to cut it back later, but she was so goddamn horny herself that she wantedsomeoneto get some release. Before she could finish the scene, she realized she was running late. For the second time in as many days, she was left hanging.

After Mason crashed on her couch, she’d planned on suggesting they take Rule #2 off the table. Things were good with them. If they could remain friends after a one-night stand and car sex, it seemedsilly for them not to keep the benefits—and orgasms—coming. But when she came out of her bedroom to state her case for morning sex, Mason already had his shoes on. He kissed her on the forehead briefly before leaving her to write, which was, well, annoyingly considerate.

She wasn’t easily deterred, however. She was so tightly wound after writing smut all morning that if his hair was doing that cute floppy-ends thing, she may throw herself at him. God forbid he gave her a hug and their hips touched and—Sawyer gripped the taxi seat as her vision swam, squeezing her legs together to provide a modicum of relief. She may have named all her vibrators Mason, but they paled in comparison to the real thing. And she wanted the real thing. Soon. Today, preferably.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, and she was so grateful for the distraction that she’d already swiped to accept before realizing it wasn’t Mason calling to see where she was.

“Hi, Tess,” she said in surprise.

“Sawyer!” her agent exclaimed. “Sawyer.”

She laughed nervously. “Is this a good call or a bad call?”

On the other end of the line, Tess snorted. “Please. You know I save bad calls for after the holidays.” Sawyer filed that away under Things to Be Anxious About Later. “I just finished your proposal and had to call you. Iloveit. Emily’s going to love it, too. It’s so fresh and so you, and I’m dying to read the rest.”

Sawyer’s eyes stung, and she blinked rapidly, swallowing thickly to dislodge the unexpected swell of emotion stuck there. Her writing group chat had exploded with praise for her pitch, their support picking right back up as if she’d never disappeared. It had buoyed her, silenced her impostor syndrome, but she hadn’t realized how much she’d been dreading Tess’s verdict until now.

“Wow, um, well, I guess I should finish writing it?” She still needed her publisher to accept the proposal, but Tess’s enthusiasm was like a balm. She had more people in her corner than she thought.

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