Page 3 of Writing Mr. Wrong

MASON

M ason was not lying in wait to ambush Gemma. Sure, it felt a bit like that. Sure, he was just outside the building exit, tucked behind a pillar, waiting to hear the click of her heels—

“I can see you there, Mason.”

He peeked out at her.

She shook her head. “If you’re trying to hide, you need a bigger pillar.”

“I was just getting some air.”

Damn, she looked good. He hadn’t known what to expect, whether he’d even still recognize her, but that was silly. No matter how much she’d changed, he’d have known her in an instant. And he had.

In the studio, he’d taken one look and seen the Gemma who’d rolled her eyes at him in the kindergarten cloakroom, the Gemma who’d told him she was not writing his school newspaper article, the Gemma he’d kissed behind the school just before graduation.

Oh, she was older now. They both were, but she wore it a hell of a lot better. Eyes like summer grass. Hair like autumn wheat. Teeth that could snap you nearly in two and a tongue sharp enough to finish the job.

Okay, so the last part wasn’t quite so poetic, but he remembered how it felt when she’d give him a look that said she saw right through him and wasn’t putting up with his bullshit.

He used to remember how that felt, and think it’d been hot. Maybe a little bit “schoolboy and teacher.” Except now, seeing her again, it reminded him that he’d liked her attitude long before he’d been old enough to even think like that.

He’d liked that she’d called him on his bullshit because it meant he didn’t need it around her.

She looked at him and said, I see you . And what she saw wasn’t a kid on his way to stardom.

It was just a boy with a girl. A girl he wanted to be with.

A girl who’d sometimes seemed like she wanted to be with him too—be with him , not “the Mace.”

He shook that off. He was getting sentimental.

Too much going on in his life, upsetting the smooth flow he fought so hard to keep.

Seeing Gemma again was good. Great even.

Seeing her again when she clearly didn’t harbor any ill will?

Fucking amazing. But that was all. No need to analyze it and get all maudlin, like he’d lost something all those years ago.

They’d connected, briefly. It hadn’t worked out. They’d moved on, him to his career and…

His career. What more did he need? An incredible career, good friends, women when he wanted them. Life was a little rocky right now, but in general, it was all anyone could want. Right?

He pulled away from those thoughts and focused on the woman in front of him. He’d moved on to the NHL, and Gemma moved on to being an author. What had she been doing with her life? He suddenly felt desperate to know.

“I’m sorry about all that,” she said. “Ashley clearly thought it was hilarious. You shouldn’t have gotten dragged into it.”

“There’s no such thing as bad publicity, and being the inspiration for a romance hero is definitely not bad publicity. I really am flattered. I can’t wait to read the book.”

She hesitated. “You don’t need to do that.”

“No, seriously, I want to.” And he did. He’d just need to wait for it to come out in audio, which is how he read, never having really gotten comfortable with words on a page.

A look flitted over her face. Something almost like panic. “Really, Mason. Don’t read it, okay?”

He smiled. Gemma Stanton, nervous about people reading her stuff? That was new. Or was she just nervous about him reading a book where she was the heroine and he was the hero?

“We should catch up,” he said. “Let’s go grab a coffee.”

She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m under deadline.”

“All the more reason why you need coffee. Or brunch? There’s a little place just around the corner.”

“I really can’t.”

“It’s literally on the corner. We can see it from here.” He smiled wider. “My treat.”

“It was great seeing you again, Mason, and I appreciate that you were decent about this whole mess.” She looked up at him. “Really. Thank you.”

A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, despite the autumn chill. He was doing this wrong. What was he doing wrong? He needed to figure out what she expected and change course.

“You don’t like coffee? There’s a bubble tea place just—”

“I really need to go, Mason. Again, it was good to see you, but the deadline for this second book is kicking my ass. I’m already late.”

Ah, that was it. Gemma had always been super responsible, and the missed deadline was stressing her out.

“Give me your number then,” he said. “I’ll call later, and we can celebrate after you finish the book. Go for dinner. Catch up.”

“That isn’t necessary, Mason.” Gemma reached out and squeezed his forearm. “Again, thank you. It’s good to see you, and I’m glad to see you got where you wanted to be.”

He found his grin. “Was there ever any doubt?”

That slight roll of her eyes, the old Gemma surging, and then she turned and walked away, and it was only as she disappeared that he realized what he should have said.

I’m glad to see you got where you wanted to be, too, Gem.

Mason skated backward as fast as he could and then executed a perfect stop, feeling a rush of satisfaction at the shower of shaved ice. That never got old.

He had most of the suburban rink to himself, a weekly treat.

It wasn’t about practice. It was about just getting out and skating, like he had when he was a kid.

He’d barely been old enough to lace his skates before he was sneaking out of the apartment at dawn to skate alone on the pond behind their subdivision.

At thirty-six, Mason had hit his NHL senior years.

Hell, for an enforcer, he was a freaking dinosaur.

“Enforcer” wasn’t his formal position, of course.

After the 2004 lockout, the rules changed to emphasize speed and scoring, and there wasn’t as much room for guys whose primary role was fighting.

Also, the game had changed—for the better, Mason thought—with less of the dirty play of slashing, hooking, checking, high-sticking and the like.

Oh, Mason liked a good brawl, but he’d always been exceedingly careful with his health and safety, terrified of ending up like the old-school enforcers, with CTE from too many blows to the head.

Mason didn’t mind spending time in the penalty box if it helped his team.

Nor did he mind getting cursed out by fans of the opposite team.

He was supposed to be an asshole. That was his job description.

A professional asshole who’d do whatever it took to protect his team and help them get the goal.

It meant he was one of the lowest scoring players on the Growlers, but he had a wall full of MVP awards to make up for it, and when it came time to meet the fans, he had the longest line for photos and autographs.

Or he used to have the longest line. For the past month, he’d been skipping those meet and greets, at the coach’s insistence. No one on the team blamed Mason for what happened. Not even Denny.

Except…

He heard his coach’s voice. Maybe you should speak to Dr. Colbourne about this one, Mace.

That’d been three weeks ago. When he’d ignored the hint, the coach obviously took the direct route because Mason now had two voicemails from the psychologist herself.

Two unreturned voicemails, which really wasn’t like him. He might be the designated asshole on the ice, but in real life, he didn’t do shit like ignoring calls from someone who was just trying to help. That was rude.

But it’s also exactly what he was doing.

Mason shook it off and skated faster. He had no problem speaking to the team shrink, but he didn’t need her this time. He’d get past this on his own, and he’d tell her that. Soon. When, you know, he remembered to return the call off-hours so she wouldn’t pick up and he could just leave a message.

People thought Mason had intentionally failed to protect Denny because he was jealous of the young and popular player. Dr. Colbourne would know that wasn’t like Mason. At all.

You didn’t agree to be an enforcer unless you were a team player.

Mason liked Denny. The last thing he wanted was for the kid to bounce on and off the injury list until he finally had to quit hockey.

That happened too often with the rising stars, and Mason didn’t want it happening to a good kid—and a good player—like Denny.

So what had gone wrong that night?

Mason had seen what was coming, started to intercede and… froze. He still didn’t know why.

Mason pushed into a hard skate, and his right knee whimpered. He glared down, as if he could shame it into submission. After thirty years of hockey, he pretty much had to expect a bum knee, but it still frustrated him.

A girlish shriek pulled his attention to the far left.

He always shared his ice time with a figure-skating group who couldn’t afford the rental.

The kids were wee ones, none coming past his waist, all of them zipping around, shrieking and giggling.

He was glad to see a few boys in the group.

There’d been a time when he’d wanted to figure skate.

Hockey was his passion, but he’d seen girls whirling and zigging and zagging in figure skating, and it had always looked like fun.

He’d asked his dad, who nearly had a heart attack.

“You want to do what ?” his father had said with that same look he’d given when Mason had said he wanted to go to college.

“You want to do what ?”

“Get a college degree,” Mason had said. “Maybe kinesiology. Something to fall back on when I retire from hockey.”

“And how the hell will you get into college?” his father had said. “You’re barely passing high school.”

“The recruiter said they can get me in. On a scholarship even. I could get my grades up, if I tried harder—”

“No, you couldn’t.” His father had planted his hands on Mason’s shoulders, though he had to reach up to do it.

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll keep saying it until it gets through that thick skull of yours.

God gave you one gift. One incredible gift.

That is what you are good at. Focus on hockey, and don’t embarrass yourself by trying to do more.

” Dad had shaken his head. “College. You can barely read.”

Mason skated faster to banish the memory. He executed a perfect set of crossovers, and that helped lift his mood.

Yep, still got it.

He moved into position for an explosive start and then took off down the ice and pivoted fast, his signature move against guys who figured Mason was too big to skate with any speed or agility.

One of the little figure skaters whooped and shouted, “Swing that mace!” and he lifted a hand to a round of cheers.

Yep, definitely still got it.

“Mason!” This voice came from his side of the rink. He looked to see one of the staff gesticulating wildly.

“Your phone’s ringing!” the guy shouted. “You left it over here!”

“Yeah,” Mason snapped as he skated closer. “You know why I left it over there? Because it rings.”

The young man colored and stammered, “I-it keeps ringing. It might be urgent.”

Mason grunted and reached out a gloved hand. The guy lifted the cell phone gingerly, as if afraid of smudging the screen.

You don’t want to piss me off? You let me skate in peace. That’s why I pay a fortune to rent the whole ice. Because the only sound I want to hear is those kids having fun.

He answered the phone with a growled “What?” as the staff member slunk off.

“It’s Terrance,” said the caller.

“I know. I’ve got this fancy feature on my phone. Call display. Ever heard of it?”

“Have you checked social media today, Mason?”

“I never check social media. That’s why I have you.”

“You really are in a mood. Well, maybe this will help. You’re trending.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I want to hear. I’m trending, again, because I’m the world’s biggest asshole, who let a kid get put in the hospital. And if you say all publicity is good publicity, I will—”

“It’s not about Denny.”

Mason went still. “What’d I do now?”

“It’s about your appearance on Van This Morning . People loved it. You and the writer were adorable. That Ashley is a world-class bitch, and you deflected her like a pro. Better yet, you did it in defense of a lady.”

“Yeah, yeah. I just didn’t like seeing her do that to Gem.”

“ Gem , is it? So you do know her.”

“It’s been a while, but yeah, I know her. She’s good people.”

“Better and better. You like her?”

Mason’s hand tightened on the phone. “What’s this about?”

“Do you like her well enough to go out with her? On a date? With some specially chosen media there to snap pics? People loved seeing that side of you, Mason, and they loved the idea of a classmate basing her romance hero on you. They’re hoping this is the start of something. So… maybe it could be? On paper?”

“You want me to go out with Gemma as a promo op? To polish my rep at her expense?”

“She’s a brand-new author with a brand-new book. She’ll appreciate the buzz.”

“So I’d come clean with her. Tell her it’s for publicity.”

“Uh…” Terrance cleared his throat. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Yeah, it is. Like I said, Gemma’s good people. I’m not doing anything that might hurt or embarrass her.” Been there, done that. “I know her. We were friends.” Bit of a stretch… “I’ll put it to her straight up. She’ll see how it benefits her.”

“If that’s what you think is best.”

“It is. I just need her number. Get it for me.”

Mason hung up without waiting for an answer. Then he smiled to himself. Part of his bad mood had been about Gemma turning him down for coffee. He hadn’t known how to ask again without sounding creepy. Now he did.