Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

THE CONTRACT – When two characters make a pact, replete with rules, which they are totally going to follow.

S urely, running into Sawyer again was a sign.

So why, of all the restaurants in Chicago, had he suggested to meet up at Kuma’s, one of the least romantic places? Normally, he’d pick something like The Purple Pig, where they could cuddle in one of the tiny booths, sharing tapas—not a heavy metal bar that served burgers the size of his face.

Despite the decidedly unromantic choice, his sister had still given him the third degree about the woman in the “hideously yellow coat.” Margot might not have followed in their mother’s footsteps by going into acting, but she’d definitely inherited her primal need to meddle. He sometimes thought the universe giving her two hellions for sons was its way of humbling her—humbling all of them. Mason loved his nephews—how could he not? They were half his sister and half his best friend, but they were going to be absolute nightmares as teenagers. And while he loved spending time with them, he was always grateful that he got to leave them with Margot and Luis and go back to his apartment childless.

Or go to a heavy metal bar that served burgers the size of his face. He liked that freedom a lot. He also liked the sight of Sawyer waiting for him at the bar, glass of whiskey in front of her. She lifted her hand half-heartedly in greeting as she spotted him working his way through the crowd toward her. Kuma’s was always busy, which he hadn’t thought about when he’d picked it. Her yellow coat—which he found not at all hideous—was slung over the barstool next to her, saving his seat.

“Have you been waiting long?” he asked apologetically, even though he was ten minutes early.

She shrugged. “I can entertain myself,” she said with a prim sip of her drink. “Prime people-watching spot,” she added with a subtle nod across the bar.

He diverted his attention to the middle-aged couple across from them, hunched over their burgers as Metallica blared from the stereo. Sawyer leaned closer, and he caught the cloying spiced scent of the Christkindlmarket still clinging to her. It actually smelled nice when not so concentrated. Underneath it all, the smell he didn’t realize until now he associated with her: coconut. It was everywhere on her that night. On her skin and in her hair and he was pretty sure even in her lip balm.

“My guess is tourists who heard this was the burger spot but didn’t research what kind of place it was.”

Mason settled onto the barstool, assessing the couple for clues. “Locals from the suburbs,” he countered. “Downtown to holiday shop. He’s here to relive his glory days when his ZZ Top beard was trendy. She has tinnitus from the rock shows they went to in said glory days, so it’s hard for her to hear, but coming here reminds her of that first spark—their meet-cute at the Led Zeppelin barricade.”

Sawyer’s red lips pursed as if sucking on a lemon. “That is disgustingly romantic, but—” She half sighed, half groaned. “Also really good character building,” she admitted begrudgingly. “Could I borrow your brain to write my book?”

Mason laughed, the smile freezing on his face as an idea came to him. Could she borrow his brain—and he could he borrow hers?

A tattooed bartender surveyed them over the beer taps, jerking his head in Mason’s direction. He ordered the first IPA he saw, still mulling over her throwaway comment.

The bartender slid Mason his beer without looking, his eyes on Sawyer. “You good, hon?”

She smiled, red lips parting to reveal white teeth. “Yes, thank you.”

As the bartender tossed their tab into a cup in front of them with yet another glance at Sawyer, Mason realized she was completely oblivious to his attempts at catching her eye. If a hot bartender was making eyes at Mason like that, he would already be halfway done planning their perfect first date. By the time entrees arrived, he would’ve been three pages deep in a Zillow search, hunting for their dream apartment.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe running into Sawyer again wasn’t a sign that they were destined to be together. Maybe they were meant to help each other.

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. “I think us running into each other again is a sign.”

“Oh my God,” she grumbled before tossing back the last of her drink. “Mason,” she began gravely, leaning forward as if proximity would make letting him down hurt less.

“Not because we’re fated or soulmates or whatever the fuck,” he rushed out. She tensed, as if deciding whether or not to bolt. “I think we’re meant to cure each other.”

Her dark brows disappeared beneath her bangs. “I didn’t realize we were sick.”

He shifted sideways in his seat to look at her fully, mentally grasping at the hazy beginnings of an idea that was either genius or folly, only pausing long enough to figure out how to phrase it without having to get into the Mason West of it all. To her, he was still just Mason álvarez. He hadn’t realized how heavy being Mason West had become until, suddenly, he didn’t have to be.

He knew he needed to tell her who he was—he was keeping enough secrets from enough people already—but given the current media coverage, being Mason West wasn’t exactly a point in his favor. But that was why fate had brought Sawyer back to him. Because he wasn’t the person the tabloids depicted.

He couldn’t control what the tabloids wrote, but he could control what he did—or didn’t do. And he needed help from an expert. He needed Sawyer.

“What if we could borrow each other’s brains?”

Sawyer laughed in disbelief. “What?”

“What you said the other night—” It had been weeks since they slept together, but the memory felt like yesterday. “We’re taught that all these inane things are signs from the universe. That this person is our person because we got stuck in an elevator together or locked eyes across the coffee shop, when really, it’s a faulty elevator or accidental eye contact with a stranger. Yet, I always fall for it. I’m so worried about missing my own epic love story that I spend all this energy chasing down women in Christmas markets because what if she’s the one? But she never is, and… I’m exhausted.” Mason sighed heavily. “I need to stay single for a bit. So, I need to stop—I need to learn how to stop. Enter you, a romance expert with no interest in dating me. I want you to ruin me.”

Sawyer tilted her head to the side curiously. “What, exactly, are you suggesting, álvarez?”

He smiled at her switch to his surname. “Exposure therapy: Let’s do it all—all the cheesy shit no one does outside of a rom-com. Let’s do it and feel nothing for each other. Then, the next time I think, ‘This is a sign,’ I won’t fall for it because I’ve already been there, done that, and it didn’t mean anything.”

“You want me to ruin romance for you?” Sawyer said slowly.

“Yes. And in return, maybe you’ll get some more inspiration. That’s what you were looking for today, right? You keep me too busy—and too jaded—to date, and I’ll let you borrow my heart-shaped, rose-colored glasses.”

She chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip.

He really needed her to stop doing that, or he was going to have a hard time not kissing her—a harder time than he was already having. Which, he realized, was an unexpected bonus of doing this with Sawyer. There was no future for them, and he would have to learn how to squash an attraction rather than pursue it.

“What’re you so worried about, Greene?” he asked in challenge, smirking over the rim of his pint glass. “That you’ll fall for me?”

Sawyer batted her eyelashes. “Not in the slightest.”

“Good,” he said, leaning closer. “I’m gonna woo you so fucking hard, you’ll be writing a trilogy before you know what hit you.”

Sawyer snorted loudly. “So, you wanna show up outside my window with a boom box and play a crap eighties song I hate?”

“Sure.” He shrugged, holding up a finger. “But only if you’ll ruin the Spider-Man kiss for me.”

“Which Spider-Man?” she asked seriously.

Mason scoffed. “Upside down, in the rain, Tobey Maguire and Kirsten Dunst, obviously.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Do I have to wear the fake nipples?”

Mason was fairly certain his heart skipped a beat, his brain short-circuiting as his jeans suddenly felt too tight. He swallowed thickly. “Your real ones will do,” he mumbled before hastily taking a sip of his beer. He needed a cold shower but a cold drink would have to suffice.

Sawyer laughed under her breath but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I like where your head is at,” she began slowly. He had a feeling she didn’t mean the nipples. “I’ll do anything to jog my inspiration at this point. I’m in.” Definitely not the nipples.

He took another sip of his beer, unable to stifle a daydream of them reenacting that cinematic rain kiss.

“First trope—”

“Right now?” he asked in alarm, glancing around the packed bar. He was trying to keep a low profile—not that she knew that. If she burst out into a musical number now—

“A contract. Some ground rules.”

He exhaled slowly, relieved she was not about to attract the attention of every person in the room. Only the bartender paid them any mind, having given up all pretense of not checking Sawyer out.

Oblivious, Sawyer continued, “Rule number one: no falling in love or catching feelings of any kind,” she said as if it were obvious, staring at him expectantly.

“Naturally,” he agreed, a beat too late. This was why he was here, after all. Falling in love with Sawyer Greene had disaster written all over it on a normal day, much less when he was caught in the middle of a tabloid-fabricated love triangle and an impending cross-country move.

“And no sex.”

He choked on the sip of beer he’d just taken. It didn’t go unnoticed by her.

“It’ll only muddy the waters,” she said matter-of-factly.

Maybe the other night hadn’t been as good for her as it had been for him, but he was pretty sure it was. At least, he hoped it was. But fair enough. They’d agreed up front it was a one-time-only thing. Probably best if they stuck with that.

“No feelings and no orgasms. Got it,” he repeated back to her.

Her gaze snagged on his at the word orgasm , a ringing starting in his ears that had nothing to do with the Iron Maiden blaring from the speakers.

“We doing alright?” the bartender asked, tapping the counter in front of them with a tattooed hand.

This time, Mason was grateful for the interruption, exhaling heavily as Sawyer turned her attention to the bartender instead. She ordered another round and a burger. Mason drained the last of his drink before doing the same. Luis was going to kill him tomorrow for drinking beer and eating a burger twice the size any person had a right to eat. The downside of your best friend being your trainer was Mason couldn’t lie to Luis. The upside was Luis always forgave him—in fact, Luis was usually sitting right next to him, with a burger as big as Mason’s.

“Oh!” Tucking one leg underneath her and leaning over the bar top, Sawyer beckoned their bartender back over. He was in front of her in an instant. “Can I borrow a pen? And some paper?”

He had a feeling the bartender would give her literally anything she asked for. He could empathize. Mason smiled smugly to himself, imagining the bartender’s disappointment when the pen and paper weren’t so she could leave him her number.

“Okay.” Sawyer clicked the pen pensively. She wrote the number one and circled it, writing “no feelings,” then the number two and “no sex.” She pushed her platinum hair back over her shoulder. “What other safeguards should we have?”

“Can we see other people while we do this?” he asked.

Her brows disappeared beneath her bangs. “I thought the whole point was for you to stay single.”

Mason smiled. “I wasn’t asking for me. I was asking for that guy.” He jerked his head in the direction of their bartender, who was covertly watching Sawyer as he dried pint glasses.

The corner of Sawyer’s red mouth quirked up. She scrawled a phone number at the bottom of the paper before tearing it off. He expected her to surreptitiously slip it into the glass that held their bill, but instead, she tucked it into the front pocket of Mason’s jeans.

“You should probably have that so we can coordinate logistics.” She clicked the pen twice. “Now… what should we ruin first?”