Page 7 of Unromance

“Are they those big, fancy spheres?” she teased.

He grimaced. “Only the regular kind from the freezer, I’m afraid.”

“Perfect,” she said genuinely. “I’ll take two regular-ass ice cubes, please.”

One corner of his mouth curved upward in bemusement as he brushed past her to grab the ice. She leaned a hip against the corner of his sofa, straightening when the leather groaned, as if offended by the touch of her thrifted pants. Thankfully, Mason returned before she could slight the ottoman, too, handing her a tumbler with a healthy pour of bourbon, and she clinked her glass against his.

“Cheers.” Notes of cinnamon, vanilla, and caramel danced across her tongue, and she hated that drinking good whiskey always made her think of her ex.

She wanted to send a picture of the drink with the skyline lit up in the background to her, knowing it would make Sadie froth at the mouth that she wasn’t drinking out of the “ideal glassware for optimal nose and palate.” As if they hadn’t met while drinking warm beer out of red Solo cups at a frat party, two queer redneck girls from southern Indiana bonding over living in “the city” for the first time. It was no surprise Sadie now worked at a distillery.

“You don’t like it?” he asked, misreading the scowl on her face.

Sawyer hastily slapped a smile on her face. “No—it’s delicious. My ex was just really into booze, and I hate that I acquired my love of fancy whiskey from her.”

“And an aversion to spherical ice cubes, I take it,” he deduced correctly.

She angled her drink toward him in confirmation before taking another sip. The bourbon burned less than memories of Sadie. It wasn’t fair how, years later, no matter how over her she was, her past resurfaced to haunt her in new and unexpected ways, like strong opinions about ice cube shapes. “She would probably keel over, roll onto her back, legs twitching in the air like a dying cockroach if she saw the bargain box of rosé currently in my fridge.”

Mason barked out a laugh as he leaned against the kitchen counter opposite her. “You have a way with words, you know that?”

She smirked. “Y’know, I’ve been told that before.” She wasn’t surprised he hadn’t recognized her name when she told him. Names on theNew York Timesbestsellers list weren’t given the same amount of reverence as the ones on movie posters or sportsball jerseys.

“How long ago did you two break up?” he hedged.

“You can just ask me if I’m also on the rebound. It’s fine.”

He smiled down at his drink, swirling the contents contemplatively. “I wouldn’t say I’m on the rebound…”

She raised her brows with a quirk of the head as if to say,Sure, bud.

He shook his head at the ceiling. “As far as I’m concerned, we broke up six months ago.”

“And did you see anyone else during your ‘break’?”

Sucking on his teeth, he visibly deflated. “No. But I was busy, okay?”

“Uh-huh,” she said skeptically.

He crossed his arms, giving her an assessing look that flooded through her, melting the chill in her bones. “And you’ve been living it up since your ex… How long ago?”

Tugging her beanie off her head, she fluffed out her hair and arranged her bangs before answering. “Three years. Haven’t dated anyone since, haven’t wanted to, best decision of my life.”

He tried to keep his face impassive, but his brows knit together slightly, creasing in the middle.

She knew people expected her answer to be something shorter, like six months or a year ago. But no, she lived this way on purpose, actually.

“So, let me get this straight: you read romance… but you hate romance?”

She aimed finger guns at him. “Nailed it.”

Mason ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it before throwing his hand in the air in defeat. “I don’t get it.”

Sawyer shrugged. “It’s a fantasy,” she said simply. “Like warlocks and elves and fairies. It’s nice to think about, but it’s not real. There is no happily ever after, fade to black, ride off into the sunset. The fact that we’re told to aspire to that—it sends us chasing our tails, looking for signs where there aren’t any, making us stay with the wrong person because we’re so scared of being alone that we tell ourselves we’re happy when we’re miserable. We willingly misinterpret things in the hope that it all means something, when really they’re not being secretive because they’re planning a surprise party or proposing but because they’re sleeping with someone else and somehow that’syourfault because you’re too focused on your work because it makes you happy and how dare you?They’resupposed to be what makes you happy. Your cup should runneth over simply because you belong to someone, right? It’s fucking bullshit.” She exhaled heavily, not having meant to ramble-rant. But this was her third whiskey tonight, so, oops.

Mason regarded her through narrowed eyes. “I don’t know if I want to clap or cry or…both?”

“Both.” She laughed. “Definitely both.”

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