Page 27 of Writing Mr. Wrong

MASON

M ason was very aware of their time together ticking away. By the time they reached the new place—if they got one—it would be dark. He’d been so pleased with himself for flying back last night to squeeze an extra day into their trip, and they’d lost it to this fuckup.

There was also another problem, which had required a text to his coach.

Mason: Can’t make it back until game day

Mason: It’s a shit show here. They completely fucked up the travel arrangements

Mason: I was booked to fly out for the evening before the game, but we had to stay somewhere else, and they can’t fly us out until the next morning

Mason: I will make the game, though. Guaranteed

When a reply didn’t come, he presumed that meant it was fine.

Then, as they were settling onto the charter boat, he realized he had a missed call from his coach. He motioned to Gemma that he needed to make a call inside the cabin. Only, when he got there, he saw that he’d already lost signal. He checked his messages. Nothing.

Well, if it was urgent, he’d have gotten a “Call me back now” message.

As he pocketed his phone, he looked out the cabin window.

Gemma stood at the bow like one of those wooden mermaids on old ships, leaning into the wind, her hair whipping.

She’d changed into an outfit from their new luggage, a tank top and denim shorts.

As the boat roared along, mist had already soaked the tank, fabric clinging to her body.

Water glistened on her arms. He could only see her from the back, but he knew she was smiling.

He was getting a second chance with Gemma Stanton.

That’s what this trip was about. Yes, he meant it when he said he wanted those lessons, because he wanted to do better for her.

And he absolutely meant it when he promised time for her to write.

That was part of showing her what he could be—a partner who understood his high-flying career wasn’t the only important one.

He might not have planned the trip himself, but from here on out, it was all about giving Gemma what she needed. Proving he could be the guy she needed.

He’d lost her once, and he wasn’t doing it again.

Lost her? Or thrown her away?

He’d fumbled the puck. He’d seen it right there and, instead of gently stickhandling it to the net, he’d turned and skated away, as fast as he could.

Why? Even thinking the question made panic rise up and his defenses slam down.

Don’t look over there. Look here, at everything you’ve accomplished.

Look at your trophies. Look at your fan groups.

Look at your condo and your bank portfolio.

Look at Nonna Jean’s and Nonna. You did good there.

Made your grandmother’s dream come true.

Whew. Focus on that. The other stuff doesn’t count.

Except it did. It really did.

Gemma turned from the bow then, and she was smiling, hair blowing in her face, green eyes dancing.

He tucked the doubts into his pocket. He’d figure this out. He’d figure it all out. He smiled back and headed to join her on the deck.

GEMMA

Their destination was indeed going to be a surprise.

Such a surprise, in fact, that they weren’t quite sure what it was even after they arrived, because it was already pitch dark.

All they knew is that it was an island. They had the sole villa on a private island. Well, she had said “isolated” was fine.

They reached the dock, and the crew helped them unload and then carried their bags up to the villa.

Gemma and Mason let the crew go on ahead as they enjoyed an incredible walk along a solar-lit path, hearing only the lap of water and the crunch of sand underfoot.

Soon the crew was heading back to the boat.

Mason tipped them as they passed, and then they were alone.

Gemma could make out a huge front deck, with multiple options for seating, including loungers and club chairs. Down on the sand was a circular canopied daybed and, as Gemma imagined curling up there with her laptop and a cold drink, she decided this would do nicely. Very nicely indeed.

Oh, who was she kidding. This was already the nicest place she’d ever stayed, and that included vacations where Alan shelled out for the sort of fancy hotels that always made her feel underdressed.

Then they stepped inside, and Gemma whistled.

This wasn’t fancier than those five-star hotels, but it was definitely more her style.

Cozy and casual, with an emphasis on comfort.

In front of her was a full kitchen with stainless steel appliances.

To her right sprawled a living room with a couch, two recliners, and huge windows.

There was even a fireplace, in case nights got nippy.

“Wow,” she said.

“Is this okay?” Mason said, his eyes dark with genuine worry.

“Did you miss the ‘ wow ’?” she said.

“Yeah, but… we should have specified a living room separate from the kitchen, so you can have privacy for writing. And from here, I see what looks like three doors—two bedrooms and one bath. You probably want your own bathroom.”

She smiled at him. “We’ve already shared a bathroom, even if I didn’t ask permission first. This is fine. As for the living room, I have noise-canceling headphones.”

His eyes widened. “Shit! No, you don’t, because you weren’t the one who packed. I didn’t think of that. You can use mine.”

“I actually do have my headphones. They’re always in my laptop bag.” She hefted it. “I’m set.” She stepped forward. “Is that a bar?”

She walked over to the small bar between the kitchen and living room. Someone had left fresh fruit and bottles of liquor on the counter, and when she opened the fridge, it had mixers and ice.

She rubbed her hands. “Can I make you something?”

He smiled. “That’s right. You were a bartender.”

“The best bartender, if I do say so myself.” She pulled out glasses. “I know we should be responsible and unpack first, but I’m starting with a drink on that deck. Join me?”

“Right after I get the perishables in the fridge.”

Mere hours ago, Gemma had given this vacation up for lost. Now she was on a lounge chair, listening to the lapping of the ocean and the chirp of night birds as she stared into a sky full of stars. While sipping a mai tai. Did it get better than that?

The glass door whispered open behind her.

“Snacks?” Mason said as he came out.

Okay, it could get better.

Mason walked around her carrying a tray.

He’d finally changed out of his travel clothes, and he was wearing shorts and a tank top, with his feet bare.

The shorts afforded Gemma her first look at his thighs, which…

damn, were they worth the wait. Thick and muscled and pretty much exactly as she’d imagined.

Yep, her night had definitely gotten better.

It was like one of those divorcée dreams, where you ditch the toxic hubby and have a hot guy in a tank and shorts serving you snacks on a tropical beach.

“No?” Mason said.

She gave a little jump and realized he was still holding out the tray. He’d cut up fruit and added cheese, nuts, and little spirals of what looked like thin fried dough, dusted with sugar.

“Manicotti,” he said. “My grandmother insisted on sending a care package.”

“Manicotti?”

He waved at the fried dough. “It’s mostly for Purim, but I like it.”

Gemma laughed. “Okay, now I feel clueless. I kept seeing manicotti on the dessert menu at Nonna Jean’s and thinking it was someone’s idea of a joke. Those look delicious.” She took one and a piece of cheese. “Thank you.”

He set the tray on a table between them and stretched out on the lounge chair beside hers.

When he picked up his mojito, she said, “I went light on the alcohol. I know it’s not your thing, and if you ever want your drinks booze-free, just say so.”

“Going light is fine. I can have a drink or two, but any more, and you’ll be abandoning me on this lounge chair.”

“I will, because I cannot get you to bed.”

Silence. Then he burst out laughing.

She reached over to swat his biceps. “You know what I mean. You’re too big.”

More laughter, snorted now.

“Fuck.” She rolled her eyes. “And I’ve only had a few sips of my drink, so I have no excuse.”

“Hey, I just want credit for avoiding the very obvious response that getting me in bed isn’t that tough.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Ouch.”

She grinned over at him. “The real challenge, apparently, is getting you back in bed.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

She glanced over at him. “Don’t point out my unintentional double entendres, and I won’t bring up your very generous… soul.”

He sputtered a laugh. “So am I allowed to point out your unintentional double entendres, at the risk of you mocking my generous soul?”

“As long as you accept the penalty, you can take the shot.”

“Works for me. So can I get a lesson tonight?”

She sighed. “Asshole reform already?”

“Nah.” He squinted up and pointed. “I want to know what that group of stars is. The constellation.”

“And you think I know?”

“You’re the smart one.”

“I’m an English major, not an astronomer. I have no idea what that is, but I could make something up. That is what I do, after all.”

He smiled over at her. “Even better. Make something up for me.”

MASON

Gemma had fallen asleep, which was perfect really, after they’d joked about him doing that.

He was totally going to razz her in the morning.

For now, he made sure she really was asleep, because while it was romantic—and hot—to carry her to bed, he didn’t particularly want her waking and punching him in the gut.

She was definitely asleep, so he scooped her up and carried her inside. As he shifted her in his arms, she snuggled in.

“You smell so good,” she murmured.

He went still.

“I smell good?” he ventured.

“Like oranges and cloves.”

Oh, that was his soap. He liked the smell, which was mostly why he bought it, even if he’d had at least one woman wrinkle her nose and say he smelled like mulled Christmas wine, which was apparently not a good thing.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have that soap here—no, wait, he brought it. Along with most of his toiletries, because he liked his own things.

He paused as he realized what he was saying. He liked his own things.

And Gemma would like her own things, too.

He winced.

She snuggled into him again, which made the guilt ebb. Also made him wonder where else he could carry her, just so she could keep cuddling against him.

Sadly, if she woke to him randomly carrying her around, he’d deserve that punch in the gut.

He settled her into her bed. As he tugged up the coverlet, she caught his hand and held it.

“I like your hands,” she mumbled, her eyes still closed.

“My hands?” he murmured.

“Hot,” she said.

“My hands are too hot?”

“All of you. Definitely too hot.” She sighed in her sleep.

He finally realized what she was saying, and a slow grin spread across his face. Okay, that was not what he expected. He’d made the dumbass move of looking up a photo of Gemma’s ex, and since then, he’d been reminding himself that looks weren’t everything and maybe she’d be up for a change of pace?

But she’d just called him hot.

Gemma Stanton thought he was hot.

Too hot.

He grinned. Oh, he could use that. He could definitely use that.

He tucked her in, and she immediately burrowed down into the bed. Then he leaned over and whispered, “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” before slipping from the room.