Page 13 of Own the Eights
A twist of regret gripped his heart. “I owe you everything, Deac. I’d never leave you hanging. But this could be big for me.”
“And you’re pretty sure you’ve won?” the man asked.
Jordan crossed his arms. “I can’t see how they’d choose anyone else. There are only a few other blogs that come close to my number of subscribers, and one is a bullshit relationship wannabe guru. There are a few other lifestyle bloggers, but, as far as content, I’m clearly the best.”
His mentor looked him square in the eyes. “You do what you need to do to win, son.”
Son.
The word shouldn’t still sting, but it did.
“When do you find out?” Deacon pressed.
Jordan glanced at his phone, laying on the desk. “Today, I’m just waiting on an email.”
“I can tell,” Deacon answered, biting back a grin.
Jordan frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Look at your leg.”
Bouncing up and down like a tween waiting to meet Justin Bieber, his knee bobbed with nervous energy. He forced it to stop. He needed to get his shit under control.
He came to his feet. “That’s nothing. This is when I usually hit the pavement for a quick afternoon 5K.”
Deacon’s lips twisted into a wry grin. “You might want to make it a ten today.”
Jordan nodded. “I probably should, and thanks for backing me on this. You know I won’t let you down with the gym.”
Deacon watched him closely. “Just know who got you to this point.”
“I know, Deac, and I’m so grateful to you and,” he stopped himself, nearly mentioning Maureen.
A muscle twitched in his mentor’s jaw. “Damn right! You’ve come a long way from—”
“Straws!” came a shrill, sugary voice, and Jordan froze.
He could almost hear the taunts and see the kids’ laughing faces.
Straws.Fucking straws. Pelting him in the head. Brushing past his skinny limbs.
“Why the hell would you say that?” he barked at Shelly, who froze like a deer caught in a pair of headlights.
The girl crumpled. “Because I opened the boxes in the front with the water bottles, and I thought the smaller box with the straws for them was in here?”
He swallowed hard, then found the box on the floor by the door. “Yeah, this is probably it,” he said, handing it to her.
Shelly skittered away without a swish to her ponytail this time.
“Walk me out,” Deacon said, eyeing Shelly’s ass again as she left the office.
Jordan grabbed a ball cap, swiped his phone and earbuds off the desk, and followed his mentor out of the gym.
Once on the pavement, Deacon put a hand on his shoulder. “Who taught you how to be the best, Jordan?”
A wave of resolve crashed over him, washing away the vexing memories.
He was not the skinniest kid in his class. He wastheJordan Marks.
