Page 73 of Writing Mr. Wrong

“No, that’d be fine. I wouldn’t want you cooking anything you can’t eat yourself.”

“That’s food squared away then. What else do you need?”

“I’d like at least four hours a day, in chunks—I can’t write for four hours straight. During those chunks, though, I can’t be interrupted. That sounds rude but…”

“It’s not. I get it. I can leave the room or leave the whole suite.” He took a chug of his beer. “What else?”

“That’s it, I think.”

“So are you ready to answer? Or do you need more time? I wouldn’t push, but this is my last stretch off until the bye week in February.”

“Yes,” she said, blurting the word and then inhaling and saying slower, “Yes, let’s do this.”

Mason swung through the back door of the bar where he was meeting Jesse and a couple of the others. When he spotted his friend, he pulled Jesse aside.

“She said yes,” Mason said.

Jesse one-arm embraced him, his beer held out of spilling range. “And you’re asking me to be your best man? Honored, buddy. Honored.”

Mason rolled his eyes. “Not that.”

“Ah, she said yes to your weird getaway idea. What did you call it? Reform school for assholes?” Jesse waved his beer. “You know, if you really wanted lessons in that, you could have asked me.”

Mason waved him off.

“But you didn’t,” Jesse said, “because I’m not the woman you’ve been crushing on since kindergarten. It’s almost as if this getaway isn’t so much about de-asshole-ifying Mason Moretti as giving him an excuse for three days alone with his crush, trapped and unable to escape.”

“Of course she can escape. If she wants to.”

“Which she won’t because you’re Mason Moretti.”

“Damn straight.”

Jesse shook his head. “Would you like an anti-asshole lesson right now?”

“Nope, I’d like a beer.”

Mason spotted a server with a tray of them and grabbed one. She looked over, scowling, and then saw who it was and smiled.

Jesse sighed. “At least no one can claim you don’t need the lessons.”

“What? She smiled at me. It’s fine.”

“Because you’re Mason Moretti.” Jesse sighed. “I like Gemma. I feel bad for Gemma. The woman has her work cut out for her.” He sobered and looked at Mason. “Please tell me the asshole reform school isn’t purely a ruse to make her go away with you, Mace.”

“Like I said, when I read her book, I saw myself and didn’t like it. I legitimately want to do better.”

“For her.”

“Nothing wrong with that, and sure, I want the getaway, too. Impress her, let her get to know me… maybe…” He shrugged. “Whatever.”

“Yeah, it’s the ‘whatever’ that I’m worried about. If this is a scheme to seduce her, she will see through that shit—”

“It’s not.”

Jesse shook his head. “Would you like me to tell you all the ways this could blow up in your face?”

Mason sipped his beer. “Not really.”

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