Page 83 of Writing Mr. Wrong

“Going light is fine. I can have a drink or two, but any more, and you’ll be abandoning me on this lounge chair.”

“I will, because I cannot get you to bed.”

Silence. Then he burst out laughing.

She reached over to swat his biceps. “You know what I mean. You’re too big.”

More laughter, snorted now.

“Fuck.” She rolled her eyes. “And I’ve only had a few sips of my drink, so I have no excuse.”

“Hey, I just want credit for avoiding the very obvious response that getting me in bed isn’t that tough.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Ouch.”

She grinned over at him. “The real challenge, apparently, is getting you back in bed.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

She glanced over at him. “Don’t point out my unintentional double entendres, and I won’t bring up your very generous… soul.”

He sputtered a laugh. “So am Iallowedto point out your unintentional double entendres, at the risk of you mocking my generous soul?”

“As long as you accept the penalty, you can take the shot.”

“Works for me. So can I get a lesson tonight?”

She sighed. “Asshole reform already?”

“Nah.” He squinted up and pointed. “I want to know what that group of stars is. The constellation.”

“And you think I know?”

“You’re the smart one.”

“I’m an English major, not an astronomer. I have no idea what that is, but I could make something up. That is what I do, after all.”

He smiled over at her. “Even better. Make something up for me.”

MASON

Gemma had fallen asleep, which was perfect really, after they’d joked abouthimdoing that. He was totally going to razz her in the morning. For now, he made sure she really was asleep, because while it was romantic—and hot—to carry her to bed, he didn’t particularly want her waking and punching him in the gut.

She was definitely asleep, so he scooped her up and carried her inside. As he shifted her in his arms, she snuggled in.

“You smell so good,” she murmured.

He went still.

“I smell good?” he ventured.

“Like oranges and cloves.”

Oh, that was his soap. He liked the smell, which was mostly why he bought it, even if he’d had at least one woman wrinkle her nose and say he smelled like mulled Christmas wine, which was apparentlynota good thing.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have that soap here—no, wait, he brought it. Along with most of his toiletries, because he liked his own things.

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