Page 70 of Writing Mr. Wrong

Jesse’s teeth flashed in a grin. “I figured that. Just… give him some wiggle room. He’s a good guy.”

“I know,” she said softly.

Jesse said his goodbyes, and after he left, Gemma turned back to the game.

Masonwasa good guy. And that was the problem. She couldn’t write him off, not even to protect her own heart.

And maybe that was okay.

The thought hit her with a jolt, and she wanted to fold up against it, protect that bruised core Alan had left behind. Not let herself get hurt again. Not take a chance.

But she wasn’t going on a “sexy getaway” with Mason. She was taking time to be with him. To figure out how she felt, like her mother counseled.

Three days to risk being hurt again.

And three days to finally take a chance on a guy she’d been dodging since childhood.

She’d written an entire damn book trying to exorcise Mason Moretti, and all it did was conjure him back into her world.

Maybe this trip would exorcise him forever or…

Not.

She took out her phone and, while watching him on the ice, typed in the words.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

MASON

Gemma had said yes.

Okay, it wasn’t exactly yes. She said she’d like to “discuss parameters,” which meant she’d passed the puck his way. He just needed to get it into the net.

He texted back inviting Gemma and her grandmother out for a drink. As exhausting as a game was, he was always too wired to go straight home. The Growlers had won, which meant a celebration, but with Mason being the team’s old-timer, no one blinked if he bowed out.

Mason gave a few sound bites to the media and then shed his sweaty padded uniform, showered, dressed, and took the side door to where Gemma promised to wait for him. One of the rink rats would drive Gemma’s car home for her, then swing by the pub and take Mason’s truck to his place, leaving them to call a driver after they’d had their drinks.

Mason met Gemma’s grandmother, who was adorable and would probably cut him for saying so. But then Mrs. Waters decided it was past her bedtime. Mason insisted on driving her home while bracing for Gemma to declare she’d had a long night, too. She didn’t. She was quiet, though, and he wasn’t sure how to read that.

They finally reached the pub, a little place where Mason could find privacy after a game. When he walked in, he got the obligatory backslaps and high fives and “Mace!” and “Good game!”

The regulars and the staff formed a shield to keep them from being harassed by other patrons. If a phone rose for a photo, someone would stick their hand in front of it. The pub wanted the cachet of having Growlers stop by postgame, so they needed to make sure it was a safe space.

When one young couple tried to sneak a photo, Mason spun on them with a growled “Hey!”

The young woman took the guy’s phone so fast you’d think Mason was about to throw a punch. He snorted under his breath. He never hit anyone who didn’t hit first. A growl was enough, along with the scowl he fixed on the couple, making them both shrink back.

“Sorry,” the young woman mumbled. “It was for my little brother. He’s a big fan.”

Mason was about to keep walking. Then he saw Gemma, and her expression was impassive, no judgment, but if he said he wanted to be less of an asshole…

“Take it,” he said, stepping away from Gemma.

The young woman shot the pic and then glanced at Gemma and motioned, asking her to get into the picture. So she’d recognized Gemma, and maybe she did want a shot of Mason for her little brother, but she also wanted a shot of Mason and Gemma for social media.

Mason shook his head. “She didn’t sign up for this.”

“It’s fine,” Gemma murmured.

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