Page 63 of Writing Mr. Wrong

The journalist’s mouth opened and shut. Mason fixed her with a look.

“Yeah, I read books,” he said. “Shocking, right?”

“Did you like it?” another called.

“How could I not?” Mason said. “It’s about a guy who looks like me.”

“Is Ms. Stanton coming to the game tonight?”

He was about to say he’d invited her, when he stopped. He’d promised this wouldn’t be a photo op. “She’s got a deadline,” he said as he skated backward. “Maybe when we’re in the playoffs.”

That got them off and running, asking about his thoughts on their chances, and he dove into that for the rest of the session.

GEMMA

The words weren’t flying as fast as they had last night, but by noon she’d written just as much. Which meant, if she kept going, she’d be tapped out by three.

Writing was like teaching that way. She couldn’t stand in front of a class and talk for eight hours, no more than she could write for eight hours a day. She’d be mentally wiped out.

So she had no excuse for rejecting Mason’s offer.

She remembered when he used to invite her to games. In elementary school, it’d felt like just Mason being Mason, the popularguy charitably inviting the less popular kids. Then in high school, it felt like a reward. She was helping him, and he’d repay her with first-rate seats to his games. Yeah, no thanks.

No thanks because she wasn’t interested in hockey? Or because she’d tried so hard to block outthatMason and focus on the one she saw in private, as if the hockey-star Mason didn’t exist.

When her phone rang, she tensed, hoping it wasn’t Mason pestering for a response. Then she saw the number.

“Hey, Grams,” she said when she answered.

“Do you have time to talk, dear? You seem very busy, getting all over the society pages with your new beau.”

Gemma sighed. “Yeah, yeah. He’s not my beau, Grams.”

“Sure looks like it in those photos. You two are adorable.”

“Are you and Mom running tag team to check on me? Making sure I don’t do anything stupid with Mason Moretti?”

“Certainly not. I am on your side, dear,cheeringfor you to do something stupid with Mr. Moretti. If you do, feel free to confess to me. All the details.”

Gemma could fairly hear Grandma Dot’s eyebrows waggling.

Her grandmother continued, going serious now, “I’m calling in case you want to talk to someone who isn’t your mother.” She quickly added, “I know you have plenty of girlfriends, but it’s the weekend and they might all be busy.”

Gemma slumped into her chair.Nice save, Grams.Apparently everyone knew the sad state of her postdivorce social life.

“Tell me about Mason,” Grandma Dot said. “I’ve heard some from your mother, and I’ve read plenty of chatter online, but I’d like your version, dear.”

Gemma hesitated. Then she took a deep breath and told her grandmother the whole sordid tale.

“Now he’s invited me to his game tonight,” she said as she wrapped up. “And I don’t know what to do about that either. I can’t figure out why he’s asking.”

Silence. Then: “Because he wants you to see him play hockey, Gemma.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s good at it. Very good at it. And he wants you to see that.”

Gemma sighed. “He wants to show off.”

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