Own the Eights: Own the Eights: Book One

by Sandor, Krista

  He took a step back. “It’s probably your battery.”

  She banged her forehead on the steering wheel and emitted the girliest, angry yelp he’d ever heard.

  “I know it’s the battery! My dad was a mechanic. I was just hoping I could get another month or so out of it.”

  “My dad was a mechanic, too,” he blurted, surprised he’d admitted it. He’d done his best to keep as much of his old life out of his Marks Perfect Ten Mindset world.

  She banged her head on the wheel two more times, and he cringed.

  “Could you knock that off. It would be nice to have a teammate without brain damage.”

  She glanced up at him and scoffed. “Are you ever not a giant douchebag?”

  “I prefer His Majesty, the High Emperor of Asshattery.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll call Triple-A, and then I’ll meet you at the location.”

  “No,” he answered. He wasn’t about to twiddle his thumbs and wait for her car to get a jump, or worse, it may need to be towed. That could take hours.

  Georgie’s brows knit together. “No?”

  “We need to go, Georgie. We have twenty-four hours before the post is due.”

  She didn’t get it.

  “I don’t know if you know who the Dannies are, but they’re not waiting twenty-four hours, and neither am I,” he said and opened her car door.

  Without thinking, he extended his hand. “The Emperor of Asshattery would like to offer you a ride.”

  She frowned. “Is this you trying to be charming?”

  No, this was him acting like a super nerd, which he was not in any way, shape, or form.

  He pointed to his outstretched hand. “Take it or leave it, messy bun girl?”

  “Whatever,” she murmured and took his hand then stilled, her eyes growing wide.

  She felt it, too. When they’d shaken hands in the CityBeat elevator, and all he’d wanted to do was lace his fingers with hers, and he wasn’t a hand holder. That kind of bullshit was relegated to the pussy-whipped. In the Marks Perfect Ten Mindset, he advocated touch but only when fucking a perfect ten. Hair pulling, wrist grabbing, and ass biting were all fine and good in the bedroom. But a Marks Perfect Ten man kept his cool in public.

  He helped her out of the car but not before brushing his thumb across her knuckles. She had long, slender fingers that fit perfectly in his hand, and the urge to kiss her palm, to bring her lovely fingers to his lips and kiss the tip of each one, a cheesy as hell move if ever there was one, tore through him.

  Christ, Marks! Remember the mindset!

  “I need to grab my bag,” she said, her gaze locked on their joined hands.

  “Right,” he answered, and, with a reluctance that didn’t fit into his Marks Perfect Ten Mindset, he let go.

  “Where are you parked?” she asked over her shoulder.

  He reached into his pocket, took out his key fob, and unlocked the doors to the BMW SUV parked directly in front of her car. Georgie locked her car door manually, then chuckled and shook her head.

  He frowned. “What?”

  She made an exaggerated gesture like a model on a game show toward the sleek silver car. “Is this a Marks Perfect Ten Mindset vehicle?” she purred, really overdoing it.

  He glanced at the shiny hood and buffed wheels. “Yeah,” he answered, coming around to open her door.

  “Only luxury cars for the Marks man?” she asked, settling herself inside. Despite that awful cardigan and sandals made for a nativity reenactment, she looked damn good in his car even with that God-awful bun.

  He closed her door, came around to his side, and got in. “No, just about any type of car can be a Marks Perfect Ten Mindset car. I suggest that, whatever type of vehicle you have, you keep the interior pristine and the outside washed and waxed.”

  “Hmm,” she replied. “And yes, I have heard of the Dannies. A couple of Danielle’s posts popped up in my newsfeed. I wanted to vomit after I read them.”

  “Do you remember which ones?”

  The DannyLyfe blog was his main competition, and he’d made a habit of checking their posts.

  She sat back in her seat, jaw set, her cheeks growing pink. “A delightful article titled, How to Please Your Man When You’re Under the Weather, which basically said even if you’re on death’s door, if your guy’s in the mood to screw, suck it up, buttercup. Oh, and then there was another about how women should hide their intelligence, so they don’t intimidate a potential suitor and another doozy about there being a proper way to kiss.”

  He pulled out into traffic. “I agree with you. The first two are total bullshit, but there is a right and a wrong way to kiss.”

  She turned to him in her seat with a furrowed brow and that sweet blush still coloring her cheeks. “No, there is not a right way to kiss. A kiss shared between two people who have connected on a deep, substantive level, not lured by looks or status, will always produce the perfect kiss.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Nope, I can tell you from vast experience, a kiss can be good or bad, completely separate to the level of connection.”

  “Is that what you preach with all your vast experience to your Marks Perfect Ten Mindset minions?” she asked, using air quotes when she spoke the name of his philosophy.

  “I’ll remind you that sixty-nine percent of my minions are your minions.”

  “Don’t remind me,” she hissed and pressed her fingertips to her eyelids.

  They drove in silence as the navigation app led them through Denver.

  You have arrived.

  He pulled into a parking spot and cut the engine as they unbuckled their seatbelts.

  He turned toward her. “We need to get something straight here, Georgie. I help a lot of people improve their lives with my blog posts and recommendations.”

  She dropped her hands to her lap and leaned in. “Well, so do I, and it has nothing to do with constructing a fake facade.”

  “You think I’m a fake?” he shot back.

  “I think you’re all too concerned with appearances and dead wrong that there’s a right way to kiss.”

  “That superficial stuff you rail about is called chemistry, and there is scientific data that not only is it real, it’s a cornerstone of a healthy relationship. Plus, my blog is all about gaining confidence. And yes, confidence matters when you’re kissing.”

  She slapped her knee and laughed. “Confidence? What about mutual respect and the desire to know someone’s heart? And, I bet you’re a terrible kisser. You’re probably all lips and teeth and tongue.”

  She opened her mouth and raised her hands, mimicking what looked like a tiger ripping a gazelle to shreds.

  Heat rose to his cheeks, and he cupped her face in his hands. “Looks like there’s only one way to find out.”

  Her National Geographic tiger versus gazelle expression vanished, and she held his gaze.

  “What do you say?” he asked, baiting her.

  “What are you waiting for?” she threw back, not giving a damn inch.

  “I’m going to kiss you, Georgie, and it’s going to be the best kiss you’ve ever had.”

  “Doubtful,” she answered in a tight breath.

  He tilted her head, and her warm breath tickled his lips. “There’s something you need to know about me.”

  “What’s that?” she asked as her hands gripped his forearms.

  “I don’t settle for anything less than the best. I work damn hard. I finish everything I start, and I always win.”

  She bit her lip. “That’s too bad.”

  “Oh yeah?” he breathed.

  “Yeah. Prepare yourself to lose this competition and this kiss challenge because I’ll tell you right now, I have more determination in my little finger than you do in your entire perfect, muscle-bound body.”

  He brushed his thumb across her petal-soft lips. His pulse raced, and his blood supply headed south, straight to his cock. Georgie closed her eyes and gasped as he made another pass. The tip of her to
ngue met the pad of his thumb, and a switch flipped inside of him. With her sweet lips still slightly open, he closed the distance between them.

  And it was…poetry. Fucking poetry.

  She sighed into his mouth, the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, and he slid a hand into her hair, deepening the kiss. He forgot who he was and what he was supposed to be doing. All that existed was this woman and her exquisite mouth. Their tongues met and retreated, licking and caressing. She tasted like that dollop of French vanilla ice cream on warm apple pie. He inhaled, drowning in thoughts of her blue-green eyes and the elegant curve of her neck, meeting the clean line of her jaw.

  “Jordan,” she whispered between kisses, and his skyrocketing pulse kicked up another notch.

  This was the first time she’d uttered his name. Many women had, but none had sounded like this, like music, like a symphony packed into two syllables.

  The kiss intensified, their breaths mingling in heated pants. He trailed his fingertips along her neck, past her slight shoulders, and down her back to her slim waist, totally hidden by the damn cardigan. She released his forearms, shrugged out of the bulky garment, and threaded her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. She twisted a lock, and the sensation traveled straight to his hard length. He tightened his grip on her hips and slid her body over the console, in what may not have been a Marks Perfect Ten Mindset suave maneuver as a clunk accompanied her surprised yelp.

  “My Birkenstock—” she began as her sandal fell off. But he silenced her with a kiss.

  Their bodies flush, she straddled him in the tight space. He gripped her ass, which was pretty fucking perfect, and squeezed the firm globes. She arched into him, and he took the opportunity to drop a line of kisses across her jaw to her earlobe.

  He rocked her hips, and the friction between them grew hotter. Her skirt inched up, revealing long, toned legs.

  Jesus! Maybe there was something to meandering walks. She bucked against him as he dipped a finger inside her panties and found her wet.

  So very wet.

  Moving together, hands exploring, his cock strained against his pants, he took her earlobe between his teeth. “Georgie, you’re—”

  BEEP! BEEP! BEEEEEP!

  5

  Georgie

  Georgie shrieked and shot forward. The horn silenced, and she stared into Jordan’s eyes, her trifecta frozen, their imaginary mouths hanging open. Their literary minds momentarily scrambled, just like hers.

  Holy Marks Perfect Ten Mindset kiss!

  She cleared her throat. “I can certainly tell that you’ve put a lot of thought into your…technique,” she said, trying to establish some semblance of professionalism, but her tingling lips and straddling thighs seriously put a kink in that.

  He nodded. “It’s definitely something I’ve thought a great deal about. You know, lips and stuff.”

  “And hands,” she offered.

  Another nod from the Emperor of Asshattery. “Yes, hands are a crucial element in the Marks Perfect Ten Mindset kissing protocol.”

  “Oh, so it’s a protocol?” she asked as if they were discussing the weather.

  Crap city! Was she making small talk now, on Jordan’s lap?

  “Yes, like I’m sure the Own the Eights method employs,” he replied.

  “Yes, all the protocols when it comes to kissing. I mean, all the un-superficial protocols.”

  Was un-superficial a word? The trifecta shook their heads. Gah!

  “Sure, that sounds entirely in line with your blog’s vibe,” he offered.

  A slice of silence stretched between them as they watched each other the way one would observe an alien species.

  “You should probably let go of my butt,” she said with a little grin, then wiped the expression off her face. Who the hell smiles when they ask someone to release their ass?

  His hands shot up into the air as if he were under arrest. “Jesus! Of course!”

  Without the support of his big, strong hands holding her up, because God help her, they were big, and they were strong, she fell back and hit the steering wheel, bumping the horn and sending another chorus of beeps into the…

  Parking lot?

  “Where are we?” she asked, craning her head. There wasn’t a lot of maneuverability straddling a large man in the front seat of a luxury SUV.

  “We’re at an organic market.”

  She nodded. “That makes sense for me. I blog about the importance of mindful eating and how that is an essential attribute of an eight.”

  “Me too. Diet is a key component of the Marks Perfect Ten Mindset.”

  Her jaw dropped. There was no way his blog shared this ideology with hers.

  “Right.” She scoffed. “You’ve gotta be all ripped and ready to tear off your shirt at a moment’s notice. My blog takes a more holistic approach. A responsibly sourced food supply and organic farming practices mean something to my followers. Meeting an eight at the market isn’t about rocking killer forearms. It’s about employing an outlook that considers the planet when searching for your soul mate.”

  He frowned. “Are you talking about the killer forearms you’re still gripping with some gusto, I may add.”

  She dropped her hands. Stupid alluring forearms! She may be straddling his lap, but she put on her game face. This was a competition, after all, and Jordan Marks, with his shallow mindset, was her competitor.

  Jane, Lizzy, and Hermione cheered!

  She shifted her hips and brushed against his very large, rock-hard—

  STOP! Her trifecta squirted her with an imaginary water cannon.

  She plastered on a smirk. “What a setback for the Marks Perfect Ten Mindset, getting all hot and bothered over an eight.”

  He schooled his perfect features. “I am not hot and bothered, and I didn’t hear you complaining during that…”

  “Technique demonstration,” she supplied. Despite her lips screaming to be reattached to his, that couldn’t happen again.

  No way!

  “Right, a technique demonstration that your little sighs and lusty moans seemed to indicate you thoroughly enjoyed,” he answered, meeting her smirk with one of his own.

  She gasped. “Lusty moans?”

  He gave her a cocky shrug. “You did say my name on a pretty sexy sigh.”

  Double crap! It had slipped out. But that kiss was so—

  Another water cannon blast from the trifecta knocked her back on track.

  “So, you think I’m sexy?” she countered.

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “What I think is that the demonstration is over. You need to slip back into that Own the Eights cardigan, and we need to complete the first challenge.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking,” she replied, twisting off his lap and falling over the console into the passenger seat.

  “And don’t forget your Julius Caesar sandals,” he said, but when she glanced up from collecting her shoes, he looked dazed and almost as off-kilter as she felt.

  She pulled on her cardigan, got out of the Beamer, and joined him outside the market. She peeked inside. The aisles buzzed with young professionals. A little after seven o’clock, the after-work crowd perused the organic fare, many congregating near the prepared food counter and the salad bar.

  “Do you think the Dannies are here?” she asked.

  They passed through the sliding glass doors, and he glanced around. “You go left, and I’ll go right. Let’s do a sweep and check. I’ll meet you at the baby carrots.”

  “Okay,” she answered, not at all keen on taking direction from this guy. But, like it or not, they had to work together.

  She strolled the length of the produce section with no Dannies in sight, when a guy in ripped jeans and a Save the Whales shirt bumped into her.

  “So sorry,” he said with a polite nod. “I’m looking for the cucumbers.”

  She gestured over her shoulder. “Over there, by the zucchini.”

  “Thanks,” he said and went on with his shopping.


  “Are you getting a head start? You were supposed to be scoping out the joint for the Dannies.”

  Jordan Marks narrowed his eyes, and she groaned.

  “There are no Dannies on my side of the store. What about you? Did you see them?”

  He shook his head. “I did a complete sweep. They’re not here. Hector and Bobby must have sent them to another store or maybe a separate challenge.”

  She crossed her arms. “Well, we’re here. Let’s see this Perfect Ten Mindset in action.”

  “You want to watch?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Yeah, I need to know how much damage control will have to be done after you’re arrested for harassing women in a grocery store.”

  “I don’t need to stalk women, Georgie,” he said, all stupid sexy forearms and smug smirk.

  “Sure,” she said, casting a skeptical look.

  He glanced around the bustling market. “You’ll see. It’s like bees to honey.”

  “Then buzz off and get to work,” she countered.

  The hint of a smile pulled at his lips, and his dimple appeared.

  His Brice Casey dimple.

  “Hang back. I can’t have your eight-vibe encroaching on my ten-ness.”

  “Ten-ness?” she fired off.

  “Fine, my awesomeness. Do you like that better?”

  She flapped her hands and buzzed, doing her best bee impression.

  “Jesus, Georgie,” he balked then started down an aisle.

  She grabbed a basket and tossed in a tube of vegan cookie dough as she hung back and observed the Emperor of Asshattery.

  And she wasn’t the only one watching.

  Every woman he passed turned and stared. They straightened up, their cheeks growing pink. A petite redhead threw him a furtive glance then reached for a jar of honey on a high shelf.

  Stupid honey!

  “Oh, sir, could you give me a hand?” she asked through her lashes.

  Gag!

  “Would you like me to lift you up, or should I just get it for you myself,” he purred.

  Double gag!

  “I’d jump, but these shoes make it so hard,” she cooed, then kicked up her foot to reveal a lot of leg and a fire engine red stiletto.