Page 29 of Writing Mr. Wrong

Jesus, Mace. Even in your drunken, self-pitying hallucinations, you’re still checking her out.

Gemma slid into the seat across from him. “Oh, you got me a drink already. How sweet.”

She sipped the whiskey and made a face. “Rye? I thought you had better taste than that.” She lifted the empty glass. “You’ve been gone fifteen minutes, and you’re already down one and working on the second? Please tell me those aren’t doubles.”

He tried to drop his head into his hands, but again, the table wasn’t made for dramatic gestures by a guy over six feet tall. His face hung a few inches over his hands. He lifted them up to cover his face, and he was pretty sure Gemma sputtered a laugh.

“Mind if I get my own drink?” she asked.

“You should go home. You almost got knocked out for being with me.”

She glanced around. “That’s very gallant, Mason, but I think I can take on anyone here. Also, no one is paying any attention to you.”

“Maybe we should have comeherefor dinner.”

“You think they have steak?”

“Wouldn’t want to eat it if they did.”

She smiled and patted his arm. “Let me get a drink.”

A moment later she returned with a bottled cooler. “Something told me this was safest.” She uncapped it and drank straight from the bottle. “Okay, so as dates go, that one was memorable.”

He snorted, and the sound turned into something between a snicker and a sob. He quickly cleared his throat and straightened.

“I messed up,” he said. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that. I misjudged.”

“Misjudged the possibility of running into an ex who’s really not happy with you?”

“No, that happens.”

She sputtered a laugh. “You’re a little drunk, aren’t you, Mason?”

“It’s the other stuff. Why that guy tried to punch me and probably why the kid refused to serve us. I realized earlier that you must not have heard what happened, and I should have told you. Warned you.”

“Okay, so tell me now.”

“Uh… so there’s this player. On the Growlers. Denny.”

Her head shot up. “Denny Fowler. Right. I knew the name sounded familiar. Top draft pick, right? My ex went on about it, how the Growlers paid too much for him, blah blah.”

“Your ex-boyfriend?”

“Ex-husband.”

He blinked. “You were married? You didn’t tell me that.”

She shook her head. “We haven’t exactly been having those catch-up conversations, Mason. Yes. I was married. Nine years. Recently divorced.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

Huh. Well, that was good, right? She wasn’t pining over this guy, whoever he was. But still, the thought that she’d been married…? For nine years, no less. It seemed as if only a few years had passed since he last saw her.

More like two decades.

Did Mason know her ex? What did he do for a living? What didshedo for a living?

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