Page 32 of Own the Eights
His eyes went wide as if she’d morphed into a two-headed monster.
She swallowed. “It’s vegan! Relax!”
Mortification marred his symmetrically perfect face. “I don’t care if it’s vegan. It’s still a tube of cookie dough.”
She squeezed the cylinder and took another mouthful. “It’s delicious, and the company donates a portion of its profits to the rainforest.”
“Are you trying to say that this disgusting display of complete lack of willpower is actually a civic good deed?” he sneered.
“Yes,” she answered, then hummed her delight and swallowed the raw vegan dough.
Jordan shook his head, sat down, then took out his phone.
“What are you doing? Are you texting your honey girl already?” she asked, plopping down next to him.
“No, I’m deletingLayla. She has a name, Georgie. She’s a person.”
Georgie tried to scoff, but it was damn hard to appear incredulous with a mouthful of delicious vegan cookie dough. Still, she was not going to be lectured about respecting women from the likes of the Marks Perfect Ten Mindset guru.
She dropped the tube of dough into her recyclable bag. “Why? Layla’s not hot enough for you? Not the perfect ten woman you’ve been dreaming of finding?”
He pinned her with his gaze. “My focus is on this competition, Georgiana.”
The breath caught in her throat. He’d called her by her full name, and the four syllables had never sounded so sensual. Jane Eyre passed fans to Lizzy and Hermione, and she could have used one, too.
“What ifLaylacalls you?” she asked, going for nonchalance.
His eyes flicked back to the phone. “She’ll get the number to make a donation to the local public library.”
Georgie gasped. “You wrong-numbered her?”
Her pulse shot up. Her mouth grew dry. Maybe it was all the organic sugar and responsibly sourced chocolate, but she felt exactly like she had when he’d run by the bookshop earlier in the day. She steadied herself. Why should she care if he gave some chick the wrong number? He meant nothing to her.
“We should exchange contact information,” he said, followed by a resigned sigh.
“You want my number? My real number?”
“And address. Like it or not, if we want to beat the Dannies, we need to work together.”
Her trifecta shrugged. The man did have a point.
They traded phones, and she bit back a grin, entering her information.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked, eyes glued to her phone screen.
She glanced at him. “How can you tell I’m smiling? You’re not even looking at me.”
“I just can, and don’t break my phone.”
“I won’t break your phone. Here, you’ll find me under Messy Bun.”
The corner of his mouth curled up, and he handed her back her smartphone.
“What did you do?” she asked, then glanced down to see the new contact of the Emperor of Asshattery. She bit back a grin. “I’m glad you’ve come to terms with who you really are.”
“Oh, I know who I am. I’m just not sure if you’re bright enough to remember my real name, so I went with the moniker that would be the easiest for you to recall.”
And…the emperor was back.
