He’d been circling the dance floor, working up the courage to ask Gemma. She never came to dances, but her friends must have talked her into it, and he was going to take advantage. It was just a dance. No big deal. Except itcouldbe a big deal, having Mason Moretti take her onto the dance floor, and if she liked that, maybe…
Maybe what?
He wasn’t sure, only that he didn’t want to blow his chance. When he saw Jennifer Miller making a beeline for him, he’d tried to duck out of sight, but he was Mason Moretti—it was hard to hide.
He and Jennifer had a bit of a thing that summer, when she’d been happy to do things to him that other girls their age weren’t ready for yet, and hell yeah, he’d gone for it, but then school started and she seemed to expect to be his girlfriend. Mason didn’t have girlfriends.
Jennifer found him and asked him to dance. He said no. She left. Then a few minutes later, he spotted Gemma over at the side, sitting on a bench talking to a girl. Perfect.
He made his way over, determined to ask Gemma to dance. When he realized she was talking to Jennifer, that was a little awkward, but he just kept plowing forward, like skating through the defense, his eyes on the net.
“Stanton,” he said, casually leaning on his stick. “You wanna dance or something?”
Gemma stared at him like he’d asked if she wanted to light herself on fire. The musicwasreally loud. She must have heard wrong.
“You’re asking me… to dance?” she said before he could repeat himself.
“Sure.”
She shot to her feet so fast he quick-stepped backward. Then her hands went to his chest, pushing him farther from the bench.
“You’re asking me… in front of Jennifer?” she hissed when they were away from the bench. “In front of the girl who’scryingbecause you turned her down for a dance?”
“Uh…”
“You aresucha fucking asshole, Moretti.”
“What? No. I’m not dating Jennifer. I wouldn’t ask anyone else to dance if I were. I’m not like that.”
“No, you’re just the kind of guy who’ll mess around with a girl all summer and then refuse to be seen in public with her.”
“What, no. I—”
“The kind of guy who treats a girl like she’s only good for messing around with and then asks another girl to dance infrontof her. While that girl iscomfortingher.”
“I didn’t know you were—”
She grabbed the front of his hockey jersey and shoved him toward the dance floor. “Go find yourself a girl who likes assholes, Mason. ’Cause that ain’t me.”
Mason surfaced from the memory and hit Stop on the audiobook.
Laird Argyle was him.
He was Laird Argyle.
He was the asshole.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
GEMMA
Gemma was cross-legged on the recliner where Mason had sat—was that only a few days ago?—and hatched this fake dating plan that was all about benefiting her and not at all about him. She’d stared at his hands and his thighs like a horny teenager, barely able to focus on what he was saying.
He’d lied about the PR being all for her. He’d promised her a dream date, only to arrange it without consulting her. When they’d discussed using photos from the motorcycle ride, she’d been clear that she had to approve his choices, and he’d readily agreed… only to send ones she’d never even seen.
She should give him a tongue-lashing that’d send him running for good. That was the obvious answer. That was definitely the Gemma Stanton answer.
So why was she hesitating?
