Jordan nodded. “Which one?”
“Sara,” Irene replied.
“Sara’s great,” Jordan said, tossing her a little ha-ha glance.
Smug asshat!
Georgie waved her hands. “Hold on one hot minute. Irene, your husband is an eight. You met him following the Own the Eights method. He’s not some musclebound meathead of a ten!”
Irene blushed and flashed the hint of a naughty grin. “He’s still an eight. But now, he’s an eight with washboard abs.”
Washboard abs!
What was going on? Jordan Marks and his superficial Perfect Ten Mindset was seeping into every facet of her life.
She whipped off her apron then smashed another cookie into her mouth. “Let’s get this over with,” she said and headed toward the door.
“We’ll hold down the fort!” Becca called.
“Have fun, but not too much fun!” Irene added.
She gave them a backward screw-you wave as she left the shop, seething about Irene’s husband.
Jordan joined her outside on the sidewalk. “I can’t believe that you’re power-eating cookies before a run.”
“They’re vegan. It’s like an energy bar,” she answered, meeting his gaze when everything stopped.
The sweet lingering ache between her legs and the tingle of her lips wanting to be plastered to his were a powerful reminder that when it came to Jordan Marks, while her brain knew he was the devil, her body wanted to sin with this man all night long.
Jordan blinked as if he too had flashed back to their stress relief session. “Cookies are absolutely nothing like an energy bar. And I’ll have you know that many energy bars might as well be classified as candy bars with the amount of sugar and…”
He glanced down at her feet.
“What?” she asked, checking out her Nikes.
“I’ve never seen you without your pilgrim buckle sandals.”
She shook her head, then started walking. So, this was how it was going to be, which was a relief. She could play the part of a nerdy, well-read, environmentally conscious eight, and he could continue on as the reigning Emperor of Asshattery. But why did her mind keep flashing back to his eyes, hungrily devouring her body? Why could she still feel his hands gripping her ass?
Jordan caught up to her. “Since you said you were good at sprinting out of ballrooms, which sounds like the most insane form of cardiovascular exercise, let’s start with that. Just pretend I’m that Brice Casey guy, and try to catch me.”
The earth rocked off its axis.
Her jaw dropped. “What did you just say?”
Her trifecta gasped. Shit just got real.
He frowned. “I said, try to catch me.”
She narrowed her gaze. “What did you say before that?”
Confusion marred his perfect ten face. “When I helped you catch your dog the other day, you kept calling me Brice Casey. I figured he was some guy who dumped you that you still had a thing for. You could draw on that energy for your sprint.”
Heat rose to her cheeks. Fire stirred in her belly. If she were cast in a young adult paranormal movie, this would be the part where her hair would blow wildly in the wind as menacing storm clouds gathered behind her.
She took a step toward him. “I’m going to count to five. You better run, Marks. This is your first and last warning.”
“You think you can catch me?” he asked with his signature smirk.
“One.”
This asshat just unleashed World War III. Well, her version where nobody died.
He raised an eyebrow. “You, a meandering walker, think you can sprint as fast as someone who trains like an Olympic athlete?”
“Two,” she bit out, unmoved by his rhetoric.
“This should be interesting,” he said, now without the smirk and not quite so much swagger.
“Three.”
He took a step back. “You’re taking this very seriously, Georgiana.”
“Four,” she roared and raised her hands into the air like a sorceress calling the four corners.
“Holy shit!” he whisper-shouted.
Maybe her eyes had turned red like some evil super-villain or maybe her head twisted around like the chick in the Exorcist, but before she got to five, Jordan took off like a shot.
“Five,” she whispered, channeling the drive of her Brice Casey scorn. Her vision narrowed, and she was off.
Legs pumping and arms slicing through the air, she focused on her mark, Jordan Marks, and blasted off the sidewalk. Jordan glanced over his shoulder as fear and disbelief flashed in his eyes. He picked up his pace, jumping over a yipping Pomeranian, then crossed the street and headed for the park.
Georgie sprinted, unfazed by the barking ball of fluff because there was no stopping her now. With the agility of a gazelle, a really pissed off gazelle, she closed in on him.
“You’re such a Brice Casey!” she cried and lunged forward.
Grabbing onto his arm, her leg crossed in front of his, and they tumbled to the ground in a heap of gasps and yelps.
“Jesus Christ, Georgie!” he exclaimed, his back pressed to the ground.
She straddled him, like a hunter, prepared to wrestle her prey into submission. “Gotcha,” she gasped.
His eyes as wide as saucers, he stared up at her. “That was crazy! Why’d you tackle me?”
Now, it was her turn to smirk. “You told me to pretend you were Brice Casey, and that douche canoe is the epitome of every jerk who thinks women are put on this planet to be an ornament on their arm.”
“This guy really hurt you,” Jordan said gently as something akin to shame or maybe remorse washed over his expression. He reached up and cupped her cheek in his warm hand. And, damn, if it wasn’t exactly what she’d needed.
She took a breath and regained her composure. “Are you okay, Jordan? Please tell me I didn’t injure the Marks Perfect Ten Mindset expert.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, all five foot six inches of you really wrecked me.”
But his eyes weren’t laughing. Instead, they shined with concern.
He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and she was about to melt into the gentle touch of the asshat who could ruin everything for her, while at the same time, made her feel whole when a slow clap caught her attention.
She glanced up and raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, where two artificially flawless humans towered above them.
“Oh, Daniel, look how cute they are. They’re like little puppies.”
The Dannies.
Were they here for a challenge? She hadn’t gotten a text.
“Georgie, we should get up,” Jordan said, voice void of emotion.
At the sight of their main competition, he’d gone into battle-mode.
“Yes, you’re right,” she replied, scrambling off him and onto her feet.
“Are you guys out for a walk?” Jordan asked the Dannies, coming to her side.
The Dannies gave them matching pearly white smiles.
“We just finished…” Daniel began but stilled and looked to his sister, his dentist-approved smile faltering a fraction.
“Training a group of children with special needs,” Danielle cooed without missing a beat.
“Right! Physical activity is so important no matter your age or ability,” Daniel added.
Georgie glanced around the park. Except for a few parents pushing a trio of toddlers on the swings, there wasn’t a child in sight.
“You understand the importance of exercise, right, Jordan?” Danielle queried smoothly.
Jordan crossed his arms. He was clearly no fan of the Dannies. His cool demeanor could be because of the competition, but she didn’t quite get his extreme level of disdain.
“How nice of you both to care so much,” he said with a thread of derision woven through his words.
Danielle fluffed her blond ponytail. “We do what we can. We love to post about our community service. It inspires our followers to be better people.”
“That’s so generous of you,” Georgie answered, watching Jordan from the corner of her eye.
“It’s the least we can do. We take our job as social influencers seriously,” Daniel added.
“Yep,” Jordan said as if yep were the exact opposite of what he really wanted to say.
She glanced up at him and then to the Dannies. Whatever his beef was, she wasn’t about to get pulled into it. And shouldn’t the Dannies be right up Jordan’s alley? All shiny-happy-perfect-body people.
“I loved your post from the grocery store,” she said, going for civility and getting a thumbs-up from her trifecta.
“The what?” Daniel asked and looked to his sister.
They did that eyeball thing again, and Danielle turned to her and turned up the wattage on her smile. “Such a happy coincidence that we were able to connect those two.”
Okay, this was getting weird. Maybe their Danny brains were so crammed with perfect blog posts Daniel couldn’t remember the Dannies’ last post. But this was just a few days ago, and it was for a huge contest.
Danielle gave her the once-over and frowned. “Georgie, do you happen to know who’s ahead in the Battle of the Blogs? Daniel and I have been so busy helping others that we haven’t checked. And you probably have a lot of time on your hands since you don’t seem to engage in any feminine grooming routines, which, by the way, I wrote about last week. You should really check it out. A few highlights and a little concealer could really go a long way for a girl like you.”
Holy backhanded compliment! Now, she understood Jordan’s cool demeanor.
She lifted her chin and schooled her features, going for an ice queen disposition. “You’re ahead, but Jordan and I have some real zingers up our sleeves for our next blog posts,” she said and met Danielle’s gaze head-on. There was time for civility, and then there was a time for bringing the thunder. She tapped Jordan’s arm. “Right, real zingers?”
“Yep,” he said, this time like he meant it when a chorus of chimes pinged at the same time.
They all had their phone alerts set for the CityBeat texts.
Like a pair of rebooted robots, the Dannies took off without another word, and she pulled her phone from the band of her yoga pants.
“They sent an address,” she said, reading the message, but Jordan didn’t respond. She glanced up at him as he watched the Dannies disappear in a large SUV. She tapped his forearm again. “Those two are certifiable jerks, but you really don’t like them, do you?”
He frowned. “I don’t trust them. They’re peddling supplements on their page, and their likes accumulate in batches.”
She shrugged. “It could just be the way the CityBeat platform works, especially since the Dannies have so many followers. And I figured Danielle would be your type for sure.”
Jordan cringed. “Why? Because she looks like a Barbie doll spliced with a Victoria’s Secret model?”
“That’s exactly why,” she mumbled, wondering why the hell it bothered her to think of Jordan and Danielle as a couple.
“Appearance is just one component of being a ten, Georgie,” he replied.
She glanced away. “Could have fooled me.”
He blew out a frustrated breath. “Don’t you see? Doing the real work to make yourself the best is what matters to a ten. Consistency and commitment are crucial. People can try to fake it, but it takes real dedication to be a ten in every facet of your life.”
“You think the Dannies are fakes?” she asked.
“I think the Dannies are full of shit. That’s why whatever the next challenge is, we’ve got to crush it.”
We.
Why did that word send a flood of warmth crashing through her body?
She reached up and plucked a leaf and a few other pieces of greenery from his shoulder. “You’ve got a little grass on your shirt.”
His expression softened. “You’ve got it all in your bun.”
Her hands flew to her head. “I do?”
“Stop, let me,” he said and combed his fingers through her hair.
For such a big guy, his touch was tender, just like when he’d kissed her.
He twisted a wisp of her hair between his fingers. “I know you hate everything about the Marks Perfect Ten Mindset, Georgie. But we need to work together to beat the Dannies. Whatever you think of me, they’re ten times worse.”
And what did she think of him? He was an asshat who poked fun at her shoes and clothing. But he was also the same asshat who had rocked her world with the best kiss and the best sex she’d ever had, which she wasn’t about to ever disclose.
She stared up at his perfect face. “Deal. Whatever the next challenge event is, we crush it.”
8
Georgie
“This is not the kind of crushing it I was talking about,” Jordan said under his breath as they drove up the bumpy gravel road. “Are you sure this is the right place?”
Georgie glanced out the windshield at the sprawling fields. They’d left the city and headed east where they’d traded high-rises for hay bales.
She checked her phone’s navigation app. “Yes, this is the right way. Maybe we’re volunteering on a farm.”
“Doing what?” he asked with a slight shake to his voice.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Whatever people do on farms. Maybe we’ll milk cows.”
“Do you see any cows?”
She didn’t see much of anything until a house caught her eye.
“Hold on. There’s something up there.”
She leaned forward as a barn and a weathered farmhouse with a few cars parked haphazardly in a clearing came into view.
“We’re probably doing a Habitat for Humanity thing, fixing up that old house. That would be in line with my Own the Eights philosophy for supporting the community. But I could be wrong. Don’t forget, the CityBeat founders are known for doing publicity stunts.”
Jordan frowned. “I’m getting a bad feeling.”
“It’s a farm. How bad can it be?” she threw back.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered as he parked his BMW next to a Subaru splashed with the CityBeat logo.
Holy Farmer Fred! CityBeat was here!
“Look,” she said and pointed to where Daniel stood, gesturing wildly, with a man and a woman she didn’t recognize. She glanced around for Danielle and found her planted in the passenger seat of a giant black Escalade on the other side of the gravel lot. The other half of the Danny duo sported large dark sunglasses and sulked in her seat like a super diva.
She went to open her door. “Come on. Let’s see what’s going on.”
“Do we have to?” Jordan asked, cutting the ignition.
“Yes, we have to!” she said, channeling Hermione’s quasi-bossiness.
This was not the take charge, I’m-the-man-with-a-plan ten she was used to. Jordan looked nervous, which didn’t make any sense. Then, the man startled at the sound of horses happily whinnying as if he’d heard the deadly roar of a lion about to attack.
They crossed the gravel lot and walked up to the trio, catching Daniel mid-rant.
“Danielle and I can’t be here,” he huffed. “We’re allergic to horses.”
A woman in a flowing blouse and yoga pants nodded. “You won’t be interacting with the horses today. As you can see, they’re in the barn.”
Daniel shook his head. “Well, my sister’s not getting out of the car. We need an alternate challenge.”
“Sorry, dude,” a young man holding a camera said and shrugged his shoulders. “Hector and Bobby said there are no substitute challenges.”
“Didn’t you guys write a whole blog post about equine therapy?” Georgie asked, breaking into their conversation. She’d done a little internet reconnaissance on the Dannies last night, scrolling through their blog posts and trying to get a better feel for what she and Jordan were up against.
Daniel turned to her with a blank expression. “We…just found out about the allergy.”
The horn on the
Escalade cut through their conversation, and the group turned to find Danielle banging the steering wheel like a prizefighter going to town.
Holy Miss Temper Tantrum!
“I’m sorry, but we can’t stay. We’ll post something of our own,” Daniel huffed then stormed off toward the black behemoth of a car.
No one said a word as the SUV peeled out and gunned it down the gravel road.
The man with the camera exchanged a glance with the woman in the flowing blouse. “Well, I guess it’s just you two. I’m Barry, a producer for CityBeat. Hector and Bobby sent me to take photos and capture some video for the website from your goat yoga session.”
“Goat what?” Jordan asked with a grave shake to his voice.
“Goat yoga,” the woman said serenely. “I run classes here at my farm animal sanctuary. I hope you don’t mind that it’ll be a private session.”
Georgie glanced up at Jordan, who’d gone completely white.
What the hell was wrong with him?
She smiled at the yoga teacher. “No, we don’t mind at all, and personally, I’ve wanted to try goat yoga for years,” she answered, ready to kick off her shoes and bust out a downward-facing dog while a frontward-facing goat chomped on the grass nearby.
The woman’s expression grew introspective. “Practicing yoga surrounded by baby goats is a profoundly joyful experience.”
“Baby goats?” Jordan rasped another shade paler.
“Could you give us a second?” she asked the yogi and the CityBeat guy.
Without waiting for them to reply, she grabbed Jordan’s perfect forearm and pulled him over by the cars.
“What’s going on with you? The Dannies just stormed off, giving us a chance to be featured on the CityBeat page. All we have to do is complete whatever they have for us here, and we should be able to catch up to them.”
He swallowed hard. “I can’t do it, Georgie.”
She lowered her voice. “What do you mean you can’t? You’re the one who said we had to crush it. So, let’s crush it. It’s not a big deal if you aren’t familiar with yoga. I’m sure the instructor will stick to basic moves, and you’re as strong as a freaking ox. You have nothing to worry about.”
Own the Eights: Own the Eights: Book One Page 10