She seemed to be struggling not to laugh. She reached out and patted his hand.
“You’re a lot, Mason Moretti, and you probably deserved that wine shower tonight, but you don’t deserve the rest.”
Was he tearing up? He grabbed the glass and downed it as she said, “Wait!” and then murmured, “Too late.”
“I froze,” he blurted. “On the ice. I don’t know why. I saw trouble coming and I just… I froze.”
She gripped his hand tight, not saying anything, just holding his hand, and that might have been the nicest thing anyone had done for him in a long time.
Was he going to cry?
He pushed to his feet. “We should go. Get you home.” He took one step and nearly face-planted before she steadied him.
“Easy, big guy,” she said. “I think that second double was past your limit. Let’s getyouhome.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GEMMA
Gemma stared down at Mason, passed out on the sofa. At least it washissofa. He’d wanted to drop her off at her apartment, but she’d been afraid he’d fall asleep in the taxi, so she’d insisted on taking him back to his condo. Then she had to help him up the stairs. Also had to help him find his key, only to discover that there was no key but a numeric keypad, to which his muddled brain couldn’t remember the code.
Fortunately, Mason wasn’t one for complicated codes, and with some prodding, he recalled that it was his birth year plus his jersey number. If only he could remember either…
Since they shared a birth year, that one was easy. She thought twelve was his jersey number, but double-checked online and was correct.
Get the condo door open. Help him inside. Turn on a light. Ah, a sofa. Okay, so just get him to sit for a moment and rest before she left—
The moment his ass hit the sofa, he passed out.
He wasn’t lying down. Wasn’t sitting either. He was slumped, head lolling forward, one leg bent, the other outstretched, his whole body canted to one side.
“That really doesn’t look comfortable, Mason.”
She got a snore in response. With a sigh, she took his hands.
“Come on, big guy, let’s get you to bed.”
Another snore.
Gemma bent and slung one of his arms over her shoulders. “Okay, on the count of three. One, two—”
His snore cut her off.
She stepped back and crossed her arms. “I have never had so much trouble getting a guy into bed. I might take this personally, you know.”
His head lolled back in another, deeper snore.
“Iwillget you in bed,” she said. “But first, it might help if I knew where the bedroom was.”
She looked around. She’d turned on one light in the hall. There was a dark shape that looked lamp-like, and she headed for it and then stopped as she looked out the window and gave a low whistle.
“Damn, Moretti. You have aview.”
Of the ocean, no less, his building towering over smaller ones between here and the coast. The Pacific stretched out straight ahead, with the trees of Stanley Park off to the right, and then stars and a half-moon above.
Gemma’s apartment also had a view. Of the neighboring building. If she craned her neck just so, she could see the sky. No stars, though. She was too deep into the light pollution for that.
Gemma decided the lamp could stay off so she could keep the view. She opened the blinds fully, and that was enough light to let her see inside the condo. Ahead was the kitchen. To her left was a hall, which presumably led to the bedroom.
