Page 38 of Writing Mr. Wrong

Her brows rose just before the front door swung open.

“Caffeine delivery for Ms. Stanton.”

Mason walked in with a tray of four drinks, plus a takeout bag hanging off each forearm.

He set the tray down and pointed to the cups. “Pour over, cappuccino, cinnamon latte, and Earl Grey tea.”

“Which one’s yours?”

“Depends on which you take,” he said as he tugged the bags from his forearms.

Her hand hovered over the cappuccino and then veered to the cinnamon latte.

“Good choice,” he said. “I’ll leave the capp as your second choice and have the pour over.”

He pulled foam boxes from the bags. “Breakfast burrito, egg sandwich, quiche bites, and ham and cheese croissant. Again, ladies pick first.”

“Single-handedly keeping your local café in business?”

“There are also…” He opened a box to reveal an assortment of pastries and cookies.

“Damn,” she said. “Thank you.” She reached in for a pain au chocolat. “I’m starving.”

“Shit. That’s right. You didn’t get dinner last night. I should have said to help yourself to my fridge.”

“You couldn’t remember your birth year, Mason. If I’d been hungry enough, Iwouldhave helped myself, as I did to your tub and bathrobe.” She made a face. “Sorry about that.”

“You were wearing a cold, wet dress, which was entirely the fault of the guy who made you leave your umbrella in the car. I’m the one who’s sorry. You were more than welcome to my tub and robe.”

She set down the pastry. “My dress should be dry by now. I’ll go put—”

“No rush. Finish your breakfast while it’s warm.”

Someone was feeling gallant today.

Gemma sipped her latte. “I imagine it was a little awkward to wake up to find me still here.”

He grinned. “Waking up to find a woman hasn’t fled in the night? That’s the opposite of awkward.”

She laughed. “Somehow I don’t think women fleeing in the night is a problem you’ve ever had.” She bit back the obvious segue to Camille. “It’s probably more awkward when you wake up to find them still here.”

“Nah. I’d need tobringwomen to my apartment for that to happen.” He stopped chewing. “That was a jerk thing to say, wasn’t it?”

She smiled. “But the first time you do bring one back, she sticks around, which proved your point. I’ll be gone as soon as I finish this. I’m sure you have a busy day.”

“Nope. Tomorrow’s game day, so today is all about chilling.” He stretched as if to make his point. “Might as well just get comfortable.”

When she hesitated, he said, “Seriously. There’s no rush. You have a lot of food to finish.”

She shook her head, but she did pop the recliner back. “So now that it’s light out, I can see your place properly. Quite the sweet setup.”

His nose wrinkled. “It’s fine.”

“You’ve got a view of the freaking Pacific, Moretti.Andthe park. How is that just ‘fine’?”

“I mean the decor, which is just…” He shrugged. “What it is.” He took a bite of his breakfast sandwich and said, words muffled by food, “No books. You probably noticed that.”

“Actually I didn’t.” She looked around. There was a built-in bookshelf, but it held trophies and photos. “I’d rather not see any bookcases than see one designed purely for show. Also…” She shrugged. “I know reading isn’t easy for you.”

---