Page 23 of Writing Mr. Wrong

GEMMA

A s Gemma led Grandma Dot into the busy arena, she checked her texts. The app opened a few messages above the one she wanted.

Gemma: Yes to tonight. I’m bringing my grandma

Mason had responded with a string of thumbs-up emojis that made her feel a little guilty for her underwhelming agreement.

Mason: I could meet you there, but I know you don’t want this to turn into a photo op

A pause, as if this were a question rather than the statement it seemed to be.

Gemma: Yes, please. Thank you

Mason replied with instructions, starting with where to park—a priority lot with a private entrance that meant they wouldn’t take an hour getting out of the arena later. He’d told her which door to enter and then to head for the special pickup window on her left.

She walked up to the window and double-checked the next text.

“Hi,” she said. “I have tickets set aside for… Edin Argyle?”

The young woman thumbed through a stack and was about to pass them over when her eyes widened.

“You’re the writer.” More widening as she looked around quickly and lowered her voice. “Sorry. I guess that’s why it’s under a fake name. But you’re her, right? Mace’s writer lady.”

Not exactly how she’d describe herself, but Gemma found a pleasant smile.

The young woman scrambled through a pile of stuff at her elbow. Then with a crow of victory, she pulled out a copy of A Highland Fling .

“I just started, but it’s so good.” She looked at the tickets. “Oh! Edin Argyle.” She grinned. “That’s a spoiler, right?”

“I think it’s just Mason being funny.”

Grandma Dot leaned over and whispered, “Offer to sign the book.”

“What?” Gemma said.

Grandma Dot rolled her eyes and pantomimed signing.

“Oh, uh…” Gemma looked at the young woman. “Would you like that signed?”

The girl’s eyes lit up. “Please!”

Gemma signed it and chatted until someone else came up to fetch tickets. When they were out of earshot, Grandma Dot said, “Wasn’t that exciting?”

“It would be… if Mason hadn’t set it up.”

Grandma Dot fixed her with a look.

“What?” Gemma said. “You think that young woman just happened to be reading my book?”

“No, I think that girl works for the arena where Mason plays, and she heard about you two and likes romance books and decided to check out yours.”

“Maybe.”

“I also think Mason knows he’s skating on very thin ice and wouldn’t risk doing something you might be embarrassed about later if you discovered he’d set it up. Also he’s not going through the trouble of using a fake name if he told her who you were.”

“So you think she was really reading my book?”

Grandma Dot squeezed Gemma’s arm. “Yes, dear. People are really reading your book.”

Gemma’s smile was so big she had to cough it away before she walked through the arena grinning like a fool.

Mason had suggested they arrive at the last minute, since she didn’t need to find parking or line up to collect tickets. It did mean she couldn’t stop for concessions, but she wanted to be in her seat when the game started.

They found their section—a private seat grouping at rink level—and had to show their tickets and be checked off a list. While the arena was packed—you didn’t just decide on game day that you wanted to see the Growlers play—their little area was half-empty.

“VIP seating,” Grandma Dot murmured as they went in.

Gemma was still settling in when someone bustled over. It was a young man, panting as if he’d run all the way around the arena.

“Ms.… Argyle,” he said. “M-Mr. Moretti sent me. To get your order before the game.”

“Order?”

“From the bar. Anything you like. On the house.”

“Oh, that’s very sweet, but we can get it ourselves—”

“No!” the young man blurted, and then cleared his throat. “I mean, there’s no need. I can get anything you want and bypass the lines. It’s what Mr. Moretti would want.”

Gemma looked at the poor kid, his eyes a little too wide, as if begging her to let him fulfill his assigned mission.

“We’d better get something,” Grandma Dot whispered.

“Okay, I’ll take, uh…” Gemma began.

The young man fumbled to pull out his phone. “I have the menu.”

“I’ll take a beer,” Grandma Dot said. “One of those fancy craft brews. And, since Mr. Moretti is paying, I’ll go all out and get a coffee, too.”

“Would you like a shot in it?”

Grandma Dot smiled. “Oh, that is tempting, but I’d better not. Just cream please.”

“I’ll take a beer, too,” Gemma said. “The same kind. And maybe an order of…” She skimmed the offerings. “Wings?”

The young man subtly shook his head.

“Nachos?” she said.

He lowered his voice. “That’s probably the best option. Anything else? Popcorn? Hot dog? Giant pretzel?”

Gemma smiled up at him. “We wouldn’t say no to giant pretzels.”

He smiled, relaxing. “Got it. I’ll be right back.”

As soon as he left, opening music filled the arena and Gemma’s head shot up, her gaze going to the Growlers’ gate. A moment later, the team skated out, one at a time.

“That’s him,” Grandma Dot said, poking Gemma’s arm. “Number twelve.”

As Mason appeared, the scoreboards flashed his mace animation, and the home crowd roared. Whatever PR problems he was having, any jeers were drowned out by that roar of happy fans.

Gemma watched Mason skate to his position at left defense.

Other things were happening, particularly at center ice, as the centers prepared for the puck drop, but she only saw Mason.

Once he was in his spot, he looked her way.

She thought he was just surveying the stands, but his eyes seemed to meet hers, and he lifted one gloved hand, smiling wide enough that she caught a flash of his mouth guard.

The young man hurried over with their food, delivering not two beers but four, along with two coffees, two orders of nachos, four pretzels, and a paper bag full of every necessary condiment and some extras—like pepper and vinegar—that he’d clearly just thrown in to cover all bases.

Gemma took the food and fished a twenty out of her pocket. “I know Mason is comping it, but this is for you.”

The young man backed away, hands raised like she was offering him a used tissue.

“It’s all covered,” he said. “That, too. Mr. Moretti wouldn’t want me taking more.”

“Then I’ll tell him you did an amazing job.”

The young man exhaled. “Thank you.”

Once the game started, Gemma forgot about the snacks. She couldn’t look away. Specifically, she couldn’t look away from a certain player with the number twelve on his back.

She knew Mason was good, but seeing him play live was another thing altogether. He was on . Really on. The guy didn’t shut down even while the action was elsewhere. He had his eye on everything, it seemed, watching for trouble.

If the other team’s goon even looked at Mason’s players, Mason was there.

It wasn’t all defensive work. He also blocked one of the opposing players in a way that earned him a penalty.

Gemma didn’t quite understand what Mason had done, but when it finished, he was back on the ice as if nothing happened, just part of the game.

By the end of the second period, he’d assisted in one of the Growlers’ two goals and kept the other team from scoring at least once.

“He’s so good,” Gemma said.

Grandma Dot only smiled.

“And he’s fast . I mean, I’ve seen him play on TV, but, wow.”

Mason skated past and did a quick turn in front of them as he had a few times, getting the crowd screaming.

“Someone is showing off,” Grandma Dot murmured.

Gemma shook her head. “It’s his signature move.” She motioned to the scoreboard, with a familiar graphic of a swinging mace.

“Mmm, maybe, but it’s odd that he’s choosing to do it right in front of us . Like a peacock with his mating display.”

“Yes, he’s showing off, but he does that. The crowd loves it. Can’t fault him for winding them up.”

“Hmm.” Grandma Dot took a drink of her beer. “He does cut a fine figure out there. Like a redwood among the spruce.”

Gemma rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. “He’s not that tall, Grams. Look at that guy on the other team. He’s taller. Oh, and how about that guy way over there. He’s on the Growlers.”

“That’s Mason.”

Gemma squinted. “Oh, er, right. Still…”

“Mason Moretti is one fine, tall drink of water. Makes a woman think she’d like to climb him like—”

“No!” Gemma glared over. “Do not finish. I hate that phrase.”

“Scale him like a sycamore? Mount him like a maple? Ascend him like an aspen?”

“Stop.” Gemma dropped her head into her gloved hands. “Please.”

“If I were twenty years younger, I’d give you a run for your money.”

“Twenty years younger and not married to my grandfather?”

“Oh, that’s nothing.” Grandma Dot waved a hand. “Mason Moretti is on my list.”

“Your what?”

“You know. A short list of celebrity figures that married people agree, if they ever got the chance to hit that, it’s a freebie.”

Gemma groaned and sank her head lower.

Grandma Dot patted her back. “I’m teasing, dear. I don’t have a list. However, if I did, Mason Moretti would definitely—”

“Stop.”

Grandma sighed. “All right. I’ll refrain from giving twenty reasons why you should take Mason Moretti up on what he’s very obviously offering. Changing the subject, I saw those photos from yesterday. Your mother says you went motorcycle riding with him.”

Gemma relaxed. “I did. We had a good time.”

“You had a motorcycle once, didn’t you?”

“Pre-Alan, yes. I might get another one. Mason gave me a lesson on his yesterday.”

Grandma Dot looked out at Mason. “I realize it’s none of my business, but would it be such a bad thing to climb that particular tree?”

“Yes.”

“Because he hurt you before.”

Gemma tensed.

Grandma Dot squeezed Gemma’s leg. “And that means, sadly, that you can’t just take him for a spin, as pleasant as that might be.”

“That’s not on the table.”

“Oh, it most certainly is, dear. He isn’t offering to take you away for three days because he really wants to learn how to be a better person.”

Gemma sighed. “He has an ulterior motive. As always.”

Grandma Dot’s lips pursed. “I said that wrong. I think he does want those lessons. If he hasn’t made a pass at you yet, then he’s not trying to trick you into a sexy getaway for two.

He’s just open to the possibility. A few days away to get to know him better and to see that he’s capable of changing. ”

Gemma groaned. “Which is what Alan tried to do. Change me. I’d never do that to someone.”

“But Mason’s asking . And Alan didn’t want you to be a better person. He wanted you to be a different one. Mason realizes he can be…” Grandma Dot shrugged. “Someone who scares the crap out of innocent young men he sends to fetch snacks. Fixing that isn’t about changing just to please you.”

Gemma took a bite of her pretzel and watched Mason fly around the ice. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t think anything. She just watched and felt, and that was enough.

“Ms. Stanton?” a voice said over her shoulder.

She gave a start and looked back to see the legs of a man standing in the row behind her.

“Mind if I…?” A gloved hand appeared, waving at the empty seat beside her.

She squinted up as she twisted, at first just seeing the lights, but then a face…

“Jesse Parnell,” the man said, hand still extended.

Gemma scrambled up, wiping nacho chip crumbs from her jacket before shaking his hand. She didn’t have a favorite Growler, but if there was a player she admired and respected for his work off the ice, it’d be this one.

“Mr. Parnell, yes, of course. Sit. Please.”

“Jesse, please,” he said as he swung one leg over the seat and slid into it with a soft thump. He leaned past her, extending a hand to her grandmother.

“Sorry,” Gemma said. “This is Dorothy Waters. My grandmother.”

“Dot,” Grandma Dot said. “Pleased to meet you, sir. I read a lovely write-up on your after-school program last month.”

“Thank you.” He turned to Gemma. “So, Mason finally got you out to a game, huh?”

Gemma lifted her brows.

He smiled. “He may have mentioned that he’s been trying since you guys were in school together. He’s in fine form tonight.”

“He’s really good.” She felt her cheeks heat. “Obviously.”

Jesse laughed softly. “Just don’t go telling him that. He hears it enough. But he’s playing very well, which made me wonder whether he’d gotten a certain author into the stands to watch him.”

Her cheeks definitely flamed, and she mumbled something unintelligible.

“Mason tells me you teach college English,” he said.

“I do. I’m off this term, writing.”

He leaned on one hip. “Favorite book to teach?”

She smiled. “Toni Morrison. The Bluest Eye .”

His brows rose. “Nice one. I took an online university course last year, and every last book on the syllabus was written by some dead white guy.”

“Which is why I like teaching at the college level. I get a lot more leeway to pick books I think the kids will actually enjoy.”

He settled into the empty seat beside her, and they spent a few minutes talking book lists and books in general. Gemma got the feeling it wasn’t about books at all. It was about Jesse talking to her. Vetting her?

“I should let you get back to the game,” he said, unfolding himself from the seat. “Good to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

He paused, not quite standing yet, and looked out at the rink as Mason ran defense against the other team.

“He can be a real dick but…” Jesse glanced over. “That’s not the whole story. Not even more than a couple of chapters.” Another look at Mason. “Doesn’t mean you need to put up with it.”

“Oh, I don’t.”

Jesse’s teeth flashed in a grin. “I figured that. Just… give him some wiggle room. He’s a good guy.”

“I know,” she said softly.

Jesse said his goodbyes, and after he left, Gemma turned back to the game.

Mason was a good guy. And that was the problem. She couldn’t write him off, not even to protect her own heart.

And maybe that was okay.

The thought hit her with a jolt, and she wanted to fold up against it, protect that bruised core Alan had left behind. Not let herself get hurt again. Not take a chance.

But she wasn’t going on a “sexy getaway” with Mason. She was taking time to be with him. To figure out how she felt, like her mother counseled.

Three days to risk being hurt again.

And three days to finally take a chance on a guy she’d been dodging since childhood.

She’d written an entire damn book trying to exorcise Mason Moretti, and all it did was conjure him back into her world.

Maybe this trip would exorcise him forever or…

Not.

She took out her phone and, while watching him on the ice, typed in the words.