Page 58 of Unromance

“Champagne always goes straight to my head,” he mumbled once they were on the sidewalk, his cheeks slightly pink from the cold and the bubbles. “Wanna grab something to eat? Do you have time?”

She leaned against his front, propping her chin on his chest. “I need to get back to writing, but I have some time. Buuuut,” she drawled with a sly smile up at him.

His gaze met hers, mirroring her smile hesitantly. “But?”

“But I don’t want to eat.” She arched on her tiptoes to bring their faces closer together. She wrapped her arms behind his neck as his came around her waist. She nudged the tip of her nose against his, brushing her lips across his in the barest hint of a kiss. “I spent the whole morning writing about orgasms and could really fucking use one.”

Mason pulled back slightly, not meeting her gaze.

She guided him to look at her, her smile faltering. His eyes were flat and tight where before they’d been soft and molten. “I thought we needed the rules so it didn’t get complicated, but we’ve slept together twice and nothing’s changed, right?” she asked with a forced lightness.

He took a step back, out of the circle of her arms, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

It wasn’t that cold today, mild by Chicago winter standards, but suddenly Sawyer felt like her very bones were shaking, the expression on his face speaking volumes before he even opened his mouth.

“I can’t do it,” he said quietly.

“Okay.” It was a wonder how her voice cracked so many times in the span of two syllables. “We don’t have to sleep together. Let’s just—let’s get some food,” she suggested clumsily, embarrassment stinging her cheeks. Had she really misread things so badly?

He pressed his lips together, taking a controlled inhale. “No, I—I need to say this.”

Sawyer’s bones were shaking so violently, she wasn’t sure how she was still standing. “Okay. I—should we go somewhere to talk?”

His eyes fluttered shut, and he shook his head jerkily. “No. Because we’ll go, and you’ll say something witty and make me laugh, and I’ll forget why this is important.”

She nodded for him to continue, absently wondering if this was what it felt like to die by quicksand—slowly, knowing it’s futile to struggle, accepting the end.

“I hate shopping.” He glanced behind them to Celia’s boutique. “I hate IKEA. I hate crowded public places like the Millennium Park ice skating rink. But doing them all with you—I don’t hate.”

“I don’t hate doing them with you either,” she admitted, her voice barely audible above the wind coming off the nearby lake. “I’m sorry. I know I’m doing a terrible job at upholding my side of the list.”

“Forget the list.”

Her brows shot upward at the edge in his voice.

“This—” He gestured between the two of them. “Isn’t about some list for me. It hasn’t been for a long time. Rules or no rules, thisis already complicated, Sawyer.Everythinghas changed.” He stared at her imploringly. “What happens when we’re done with the list? What are we then?”

She knew what he wanted her to say, that the reason she kept adding items to their list was to buy more time with him, to write off the way they couldn’t stop finding excuses to spend time together.

“We’re friends,” she said weakly.

Mason’s gaze softened. “Of course we are. But we’re notjustfriends. Friends don’t name their vibrators after each other.”

Sawyer’s cheeks burned. She knew it had been risky to do that with Mason in the next room, but if she was being honest with herself, she’d been half hoping he would catch her. And he had, but she’d underestimated his self-control.

Before she could come up with a response, Mason took half a step closer. He was so close, a hairbreadth away, purposefully not touching her. “Don’t be embarrassed. I think about you, too. All the time. Trust me—I want nothing more than to go back to your apartment right now, but if I do, I’m not going as your ‘friend.’ I’m not going to fuck you like we’re friends or a one-night stand or whatever that was on Christmas. If we have sex again, we have to be on the same page about what it means, and right now…” He shook his head, taking a controlled inhale.

Her heart was pounding in her throat, as if when she opened her mouth, it was going to jump ship.

They were in a standoff. They had only two rules left, and they each wanted to take a different one off the table. But it didn’t really matter, did it? Sex or no sex, feelings or no feelings, this was always the way it was going to go with Mason. He was leaving. LA was always there, looming on the horizon. Better now than later, when she’d grown even more accustomed to his presence in her life.

“So, we’re done,” she said flatly. “With the list.” She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to clarify, other than it was easier to focus on that than the fact that she was losing yet another friend.

Mason turned away, taking a jolting step backward. When he met her gaze, his normally expressive face was unreadable, PR Face firmly in place. She’d seen him do it plenty of times, but never for her. It was like a kick in the gut.

“I… Yeah. I think I’m done. I mean, it’s clearly not working. I’m still hopeless, but the tabloids are moving on at least, and you’re writing again, so—” His voice was detached, like they were business partners concluding a deal. He ran his hand over his face, though it only seemed to further wipe all emotion from his features.

The quicksand was up to her chest now, pressing in on all sides, making it hard to breathe. She wanted to bolt, but she was stuck.

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