Page 20 of Writing Mr. Wrong

GEMMA

G emma was cross-legged on the recliner where Mason had sat—was that only a few days ago?—and hatched this fake dating plan that was all about benefiting her and not at all about him. She’d stared at his hands and his thighs like a horny teenager, barely able to focus on what he was saying.

He’d lied about the PR being all for her. He’d promised her a dream date, only to arrange it without consulting her. When they’d discussed using photos from the motorcycle ride, she’d been clear that she had to approve his choices, and he’d readily agreed… only to send ones she’d never even seen.

She should give him a tongue-lashing that’d send him running for good. That was the obvious answer. That was definitely the Gemma Stanton answer.

So why was she hesitating?

Because Mason was a liar and a manipulator, but he was also…

More. He was also more, and that’s what made it so damn hard to cut him loose. Even her mother knew it, hesitating when Gemma said she should never see Mason again, gently suggesting maybe Mason was a question Gemma finally needed to answer.

A question about herself. About what she needed. And that answer might not be Mason Moretti, but if it wasn’t, then “definitely not Mason Moretti” was an answer, too, one she didn’t have right now.

She remembered how he’d talked about his mother earlier that day, and it spurred another memory.

Seventeen-year-old Gemma sitting at her editor’s desk, working on the latest issue.

The door opened, and Mason slipped in. He’d only just started his mentorship and they were still dancing around each other, uncertain, feeling the tug of childhood but also acutely aware of all the years between then and now.

“Your article isn’t due until tomorrow,” she said. “Do you need more time?”

He shook his head and gestured at the sofa. “Mind if I crash there?”

She frowned.

“Early practice,” he said, and then, as if realizing that wasn’t an excuse for a guy who had early practice almost every morning, he added, “Long night. My folks were fighting. You know how it is.”

No, she didn’t. But she wasn’t saying that.

She pushed her chair back. “Does that happen a lot?”

Mason collapsed onto the ratty sofa with a satisfied groan, as if dropping onto the finest pillow-top mattress. “Often enough. Dad comes home drunk. Mom thinks he wasn’t drinking alone, which he probably wasn’t.” Then he muttered, almost too low to hear, “Asshole.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged as he plumped a throw pillow under his head.

“I’m used to it. Mom’s used to it, too, which is the problem.

” He paused. “He doesn’t hit her. I’d step in if he did.

When I tell her she should leave, she just cries and says everything’s okay and she loves him, and there’s not much I can do about that, right? Can’t fix her shitty taste in men.”

He shut his eyes. Then they popped open. “Fuck. That was TMI, wasn’t it?”

“It’s fine.” She wanted to say she was here if he ever needed to talk, but that sounded trite and presumptuous.

“That’s why the couch is here. Like being in a shrink’s office.

Only cheaper. Of course, since I’m not qualified to be a shrink and can offer no useful advice…

” She shrugged. “You get what you paid for.”

He smiled. It was his real smile, one that warmed his brown eyes, and made him look, well, real . Not Mason Moretti. Just a guy.

He started to close his eyes only to pop them open again. “Uh, what I said, I’d, uh, appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone.”

“I might not be a shrink, but the rules of confidentiality still apply.” She sobered and met his gaze. “I don’t talk about anything you tell me, Mason. Anything.”

He frowned, as if genuinely puzzled. “Why not?”

Now she was the one frowning. “Do you want me to?”

“No, just… people usually do, you know? Last week, I bought throat drops in the caf, and by the end of the day, ten kids had asked how my throat was feeling.”

“It’s nice that people care.”

He gave her a sidelong look. “It was a game night, Stanton. That’s why they cared.”

He was partly right, of course. But they also cared because he was the school’s brightest star. Information on Mason Moretti was social currency.

Knowing that his dad screwed around and came home drunk? That was winning the gossip lottery. As much as kids loved polishing the golden boy’s crown, they loved tarnishing it even more. Gemma could bump her reputation up two levels with this story.

Instead, she wondered what it would be like, knowing people were watching your every move, hanging on your every word, not because they cared, but in hopes it could be mined for social currency.

That question seeped through time, settling in her mind now. If being high school golden-boy Mason Moretti had been rough, what was it like being the adult version? The bona fide hockey god?

The thought brought a dull ache, something that felt too much like sympathy.

Sympathy for the devil.

Mason could be an asshole. The problem was, even when Mason was being an asshole, he did it in a way that wasn’t cruel. It was…

Her mother called him careless, and that was it exactly. He didn’t hurt others because he was an asshole. He hurt them because he was careless.

That didn’t make it okay. It didn’t mean his rough edges couldn’t cut her. They had already. So she should run, right? Cut him loose and count herself lucky.

She looked at the pile of takeout boxes. Yes, he could be careless, but he could also be incredibly considerate.

Telling Gemma to take off her coat for photos on a freezing night… and then tripping over himself to make sure she had everything she needed to stay warm today.

As if he’d realized his mistake and made sure he never did it again. Which was better than any apology, right?

I don’t know Mason, but I get the feeling he’s a lot more complicated than he seems.

Gemma looked at the photo still on her laptop, the two of them at the beach, Mason smiling his real smile, Gemma smiling hers.

Cut him loose and count herself lucky?

If only it were that easy.

MASON

Mason thought he had this book figured out.

Okay, yes, Laird Argyle was clearly based on him, but that was okay because it was what they called a redemption arc.

Mason had read romances before, and it was one of his favorite storylines.

The heroine sees past the worst in the hero and helps him become a better person, worthy of her love.

Worthy of her trust, really, because that was even more important.

This meant, following the pattern, that Lilias was the heroine. You take a guy who can be a jerk, and you pair him with a woman who won’t put up with that shit, a woman who doesn’t gently show him the error of his ways but kicks his ass until he wakes up.

This was probably why he liked this kind of story so much. Because it reminded him of Gemma, who’d never taken his shit.

But that wasn’t how this story went. Laird Argyle sniffed around Lilias, only to be firmly rebuffed. It seemed he hadn’t really been all that interested in her anyway. The true object of his desire was… Edin?

In Edin, Argyle apparently saw a sweet innocent virgin who would…? Hell if Mason knew. Clear up the venereal diseases he must have caught dipping his wick in all those women before the age of condoms?

Apparently, it was one of those stories where the love of a good woman makes a man better.

Those stories were bullshit. His mom had been a good woman, and she’d loved his dad, and look where it got her.

Mason’s father just took advantage, walked all over his mother, and made them both miserable, dragging Mason down with them.

It seemed that Lilias’s role was the voice of reason. She kept trying to tell Edin that she was making a mistake. Sure, Laird Argyle loved his children, but that wasn’t enough. He could be a strong warrior and a good lord without being a complete douchebag.

Edin didn’t listen. She was in love. Or at least in lust, because that’s when the sex started. And, hoo boy, once it started it didn’t stop.

At first, Mason had fast-forwarded. If Argyle was him and Edin wasn’t Gemma, it felt really awkward “watching” Argyle and Edin have sex.

But eventually he was able to separate himself from Argyle and enjoy really hot sex scenes that made him temporarily forget he’d been the role model for an asshole.

Even knowing that romances required a happily ever after, Mason couldn’t help hoping that this happily ever after would involve Argyle’s untimely demise, freeing both Edin and Lilias to make proper matches in book two.

After all, Lilias was continuing her crusade to stop Edin from marrying Argyle, and it seemed to be working. Maybe—

What the fuck?

Lilias just fell off a cliff.

Mason sped up the audio. He’d already started listening at 1.5x speed, except for the sex scenes, which sounded really weird in chipmunk voices.

Lilias had definitely fallen off a cliff, which meant Edin would nurse her back to health, and in their time together—away from Argyle—Lilias would convince her—

What the fuck ?

Lilias was presumed dead. She fell off the cliff into the ocean and died ?

Now Mason was fast-forwarding because he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Lilias was dead, which didn’t make Edin realize her friend had been right all along.

It didn’t even make Argyle realize he was a jerk and vow to change.

Lilias’s death only removed the obstacle between Edin and Argyle, which allowed them to declare their love and make plans to marry.

There was no ass kicking. Not even a gentle nudge in the right direction. The only change was that Argyle wasn’t just “not an asshole” to his kids. He’d pulled Edin into that sacred sphere. She was special, and so he would no longer be an asshole to her, and what the hell was that?

Not the story he’d expected.

Not the story he’d wanted .

Not one little bit.