Page 6 of Writing Mr. Wrong

GEMMA

H ours later, Gemma stumbled back to her apartment, a little tipsy from a dinner that may have involved more drinks than she’d had since celebrating her divorce.

Gemma had won the lottery with her family—close-knit, caring, and endlessly supportive.

Oh, they weren’t perfect. Chris had gone from annoying little brother to the guy who had all his shit together when Gemma absolutely did not.

Dad worried about Gemma too much, and Mom was prone to musing about all the ways she’d like to make her former son-in-law pay for hurting her daughter.

Grandpa Thomas always had to take Gemma aside for a pep talk about how Alan had never been good enough for her.

Then there was Grandma Dot, who always had photos of eligible single men—grandsons and grandnephews of her wide social circle.

So, yep, every member of her family could be a pain in the ass, in their own unique ways, but so could Gemma, so she fit right in.

She got home just before midnight, flying so high that when her phone rang, she thought it was Mason and answered, an impulse she was too drunk to analyze.

Instead, an even more familiar male voice said, “You’re dating Mason Moretti ?”

She blinked, some of the champagne-induced euphoria fading. “Alan?”

“You went to high school with the Mace? And you never told me?”

There was genuine hurt in his voice. Was it the champagne that made a little giggle tickle up her throat?

Her bastard of an ex had just discovered that she knew his favorite hockey player and never told him?

Clearly a betrayal on the same level as screwing around with his PA and getting her pregnant.

Alan didn’t wait for an answer. “I saw the interview. Everyone is sending it to me. What the hell did you do to him?”

“What?”

“He was nice . To you. The Mace can be a decent enough guy, but he was actually nice .”

Huh, must be that blow job I gave him before the interview.

“Mason was nice because we’ve known each other since kindergarten.” And then, because she was tipsy, she couldn’t help rubbing it in. “You should have seen him back then, always toting around his skates. The janitor used to make a rink out back, just for Mason. It was so annoying.”

“How?”

“Because Mason kept bugging me to bring my skates and join him at recess.”

Dead silence. Then: “That’s a joke, right?”

Gemma collapsed backward onto the love seat. “I wish. So annoying.”

“Mason Moretti wanted you to skate with him, and you said no ?”

“I don’t like skating. You know that.”

While Mason had asked a few times, he hadn’t persisted after two—three?—refusals. Yet if Alan envisioned little Mace Moretti with a schoolyard crush on his ex-wife…

Hey, it wasn’t as evil as most of her mother’s revenge plans.

“So you two grew up together?” Alan said.

That suggested they’d been close, which was an exaggeration, so Gemma gave a noncommittal “Sure.”

“And you were just friends.”

“Hmm?”

“You weren’t ever more than friends, right.”

It was the “right” that pushed her over the edge. That “right” didn’t ask a question. It made a statement. And she was not letting that statement pass.

Gemma stretched out on the love seat, her feet dangling. “Mostly. I mean, there was that one kiss. He wanted to tell me something in private, and the next thing you know… it was high school. These things happen.”

“You… kissed Mace Moretti?”

“More like made out with him. Behind the school. I couldn’t help myself. He’s such a good kisser. Like, amazingly good.” She sighed, deeply.

She was going to hell.

Alan seemed to hang there, suspended in shock.

Gemma continued, “Sadly, I didn’t see a future in it. I mean, good kissing isn’t everything. We both had dreams. Big dreams that would take us in separate directions. Two ships passing in the night. Well, more like two ships colliding. That kiss… wow.”

She was so going to hell.

“So you are seeing him?”

“You’re my ex , Alan. It’s none of your business who I spend my days with…” She waited a beat. “Or who I spend my nights with.”

She continued, “Thanks for your concern, though. I gotta say that, as hard as our divorce was, you did the right thing walking out. You freed us both to find the right person, you with Melinda, and me with… whoever.”

Yep, she was going straight to hell, and as she hung up, she couldn’t stop smiling.

Damn it, Gemma was never going to get this book written if her phone didn’t stop ringing. Okay, fine, she knew there was a Do Not Disturb setting, and if she wasn’t setting it, was that because she was hoping to hear from someone else? Someone with the initials MM?

She’d told Mason not to call. So why hadn’t she blocked his number? Why was she jumping every time her phone rang?

This was so high school. Worse, even in high school she wasn’t like this.

She’d said no, and she had meant it. So why was she watching her phone?

Gemma hadn’t been playing hard to get. Her parents had taught her better than that. If you make a guy chase until your no turns to a yes, what have you taught him? That “no” really means “try harder.”

What she wanted from Mason was…

She swallowed.

On the simplest level, she wanted an apology.

She’d been honest with him about what he did and how it hurt, and then she’d closed the door because she hadn’t wanted some knee-jerk insincere apology.

Even more, she hadn’t wanted to take the chance he’d slough it off.

Make excuses. Tell her she was overreacting.

That he’d be a jerk.

That he’d be like Alan.

Except Mason wasn’t Alan, was he? Mason was the anti-Alan.

No, Gemma was going to be honest. Alan had been the anti-Mason.

Not that she’d fallen in love with Mason in high school.

She’d never be so foolish. Girls like her only ended up with guys like Mason in those teen movies—the star jock and the valedictorian, together forever.

Forever? Hardly. In reality, smart girls don’t fall for guys like Mason, because they know they’ll get their hearts broken.

So she hadn’t fallen for him. She’d just… stumbled. Took a chance on an unattainable guy and got her heart—No, not her heart. Got her ego broken. Her pride broken.

In the aftermath, she’d steered away from any guy who reminded her of Mason Moretti. And then along came Alan—Mason’s polar opposite.

Which worked out so well.

While she wanted an apology from Mason, more than that, she’d wanted him to acknowledge he’d made a mistake. Which he did. Because he wasn’t like Alan. Except he had hurt her. But also…

But also she wanted him to call.

She pressed her fingers to her temples.

Her phone rang again. And again, it wasn’t Mason. It was a New York number that almost certainly belonged to the publicist whose calls she’d been dodging since the interview.

Damn it.

Gemma needed to write, which was a fine excuse, except she wasn’t writing, was she?

She was lost in thoughts of Mason Moretti, like she was seventeen, sitting in the newspaper office after he’d stopped by—again—with some question about his article that ended up with him hanging around for an hour, talking, until she finally kicked his ass out, reminding him he had practice, and then she’d sit there, wishing…

Wishing she hadn’t reminded him. Wishing he was still there, still talking, still making her laugh and—

Damn it, she did not have time for this.

Her phone was still ringing. She leaned back in her desk chair, pushed away her laptop, and answered with the chirpiest “Hello” her non-chirpy vocal cords could manage.

“Gemma! It’s Ava, your publicist. Sorry for calling without setting up a time first, but that interview yesterday was amazing, and I think we need to strike while the iron is hot.”

“Uh, yeah. So, about that, I didn’t actually base my character on a hockey player.” Liar. “There are just resemblances. But I couldn’t exactly say that on live TV, not with Mason right there.”

“Mason, huh? You two are on a first name basis already?”

“It’s not like—”

“People love this story. And you two are so cute together. That’s what really sells it. All those photos of you two on the sofa, the big hockey player leaning to defend you from the evil host. That’s what he does, right? On the ice? He’s a defender.”

“It’s usually called an enforcer but—”

“Even better. ‘Enforcer’ is a hot word. People are loving those photos, turning them into the most adorable memes. I’ll send you some.”

“That isn’t necess—”

“And you knew each other in high school. That’s amazing. Everyone loves a second-chance romance.”

“It wasn’t really a romance. There was just the one kiss—” She stopped short and squeezed her eyes shut. Why did she say that?

“Even better !” Ava’s voice vibrated with excitement. “They met as teens and shared a single kiss, but circumstances intervened.”

Those circumstances being that Mason let the entire school think he’d kissed her only on a dare? Terribly romantic.

“Any chance of a reunion?” Ava said.

Gemma wanted to say no. She planned to say no. Instead, she heard herself saying, “Well, he did suggest we should pretend to go on a date. To promote my book.”

A long pause. Then: “Please tell me you’re serious. The hockey star you kissed in high school is now suggesting fake dating ? After a meet-cute reunion on live TV? Can I book you guys a hotel room with only one bed?”

Gemma had to laugh at that. “Sure. All the tropes. But no, I’m not fake dating Mason Moretti to help sell my book.”

“Would you fake date him just for fun?”

An image flashed. Mason, outside her apartment, leaning against the wall, looking hot as hell. Would she fake date him for fun? Depended on whether that fun included—

No. Stop.

Gemma forced a laugh. “Nice try, but no. I’m glad the interview brought some attention to the book. I’m happy to spur that along by doing anything… except fake date Mason Moretti.”

It was just past ten that morning when the rap came at Gemma’s door. She looked out the peephole this time before swinging it open to see, once again, Mason Moretti on her doorstep with coffees.

“Someone let you in again ?” she said.

“I’m Mason Moretti.”

“No, you’re a damn bullheaded jock who thinks any wall will crumble if he just keeps charging it.”

That cocky grin faltered, and she cursed inwardly. She should feel a thrill of victory at getting a jab to actually pierce his thick hide. Instead, it always left her feeling as if she’d punched a puppy.

His face went serious as he said, “This is the last time, Gem. I promise. One last offer, and if you say no, I’ll be gone.”

Damn it. What was worse than an unreasonable Mason Moretti? A reasonable one.

She sighed. “Fine, come in. But if I ask you to leave, you will, right?”

“I will.”