Page 62 of Writing Mr. Wrong

Mason:Just letting you know I made it to pregame practice

Already? Damn, thatwasearly. He did say he had a full day.

She sent back a thumbs-up and addedHope you aren’t too tired.

Mason:I’m fine. I go home after lunch and nap

Mason:Just wanted to let you know, if you’d like to see the game, I can get tickets. I know a guy ;)

Mason:I realize you’re writing, so no pressure

Mason:Also, not a photo op. Just an invite. You and a guest or two

Gemma bit her lip. She really did plan to write all day, but he was being considerate, which made it hard to outright refuse.

Mason:I can promise great seats and priority parking

Mason:Also watered-down hot chocolate and stale popcorn

Gemma smiled. Her fingers hovered over the keys before she ducked both options and went down the middle again.

Gemma:When would I need to decide?

Mason:Anytime before the game. Just let me know

MASON

Game day started with a practice, which was partly about warming up and partly about providing photo ops for whichever members of the media were currently favored enough to get this “exclusive” invitation. Lately, after the practice drills, the coach had been sending Mason to skate around the far end of the rink. That provided photo opportunities but not interviews. Today, though, when Mason started for his media-doghouse end of the rink, the coach called him back.

“You can stick around if you like,” he said. “Test the waters with the friendlies.”

“You sure?”

The coach considered, tilting his head as he peered at Mason. “Up to you, but you don’t need to take off.”

Mason settled for somewhere between the two. He didn’t exile himself to the far end, but he didn’t hang out at the boards either. He skated fast, turning sharp, and it might look like showing off, but mostly he was just enjoying himself. He stayed close enough to the side boards that he could field questions. Once the journalists realized Mason wasn’t making for deep water, it was like enjoying the harbor seals and sea lions until an orca swam past. The crowd surged his way.

“Mason!” someone called.

He lifted a hand in greeting. Friendlier than usual, but not skating over for interviews either.

“Mason!” another called. “How does it feel to be the star of a romance novel?”

Good thing he wasn’t facing them. He recovered his game face fast, though, and slow-skated past them. “If Gemma was even slightly influenced by me, it’s very flattering. But writers pull from a lot of sources. Mostly, I’m just glad it gave Gemma and me the chance to reconnect.”

A moment of silence, as if that wasn’t the answer they expected. Mason Moretti should be grabbing the credit in his teeth and shaking it for everyone to see.

Hell, yeah, I’m a romance hero. Was there ever any doubt?

He skated out and did a quick turn to power back past them.

“Have you read the book?” one called as he went past.

“Finished it last night.”

“What did you think of Ms. Stanton’s decision to have Laird Argyle’s castle burn down?”

He stopped sharp, ice shaving up. “You read the same book I did? It was theneighbor’shouse that burned down, and the guy tried to blame Edin, who’d been with Argyle all night but they couldn’t admit to that, so it was a problem.”

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