Page 50 of Own the Eights
He gave her the hint of a smile, and that little Brice Casey dimple on his cheek looked a lot less Brice Casey-ish.
“Do you guys mind if we get started?” the producer called, breaking into their goat pep talk.
The instructor waved them over to the gated area and directed them toward a pair of mats resting in the grass, while the producer took a few pictures of the animals.
“Let’s begin in a seated position and settle into our surroundings,” the yogi prompted.
Jordan sat down, crossed his long, muscled legs, and scanned the enclosure like a Navy Seal assessing a hostile target.
“Georgie,” he whisper-shouted. “That one’s looking at me.”
She glanced over to see the sweetest baby goat who was, in fact, looking at him.
“Just close your eyes, breathe, and ignore them,” she said, praying this man would not have a complete goat meltdown on camera.
But that baby goat was not going anywhere. It ambled over and sniffed Jordan’s knee.
“What’s it doing?” he whisper-shouted.
“Relax. It’s just sniffing,” she answered in an exaggerated singsong tone.
“Looks like Trixie has taken a shine to you, Jordan,” the instructor said.
“The goat has a name?” he whispered with his eyes squeezed shut and panic lacing his raspy words.
“Trixie is a sweet name for a gentle goat,” she said, begging the universe to make her statement true.
Georgie watched in horror as Trixie did a cute little goat hop and landed square in Jordan’s lap.
“Okay, try not to panic, but the goat is kind of on your lap,” she said and rested her hand on his knee.
He’d gone completely rigid. “I know. I can feel her little goat body.”
“Time out,” the instructor called, coming to her feet. “Looks like somebody is ready for lunch.”
The woman walked over to a cooler and pulled out a bottle. “Here, Jordan. Trixie wants you to feed her.”
His eyes popped open. “I have to feed the goat?”
Georgie gave him a plastered grin, hoping he’d play along and not freak out because the CityBeat producer had just switched from taking photos to filming.
“It’s better than it eating your shirt, right?” she whispered back.
“I’ll take that bottle,” he said with renewed vigor.
Luckily, Trixie knew what to do. Extending her neck and resting it squarely in Jordan’s palm, she latched on to the nipple and started sucking away. Jordan watched as the black and white goat went to town on the bottle.
“I’m doing it,” he said with a wide punch-drunk grin, the fear in his voice replaced with wonder.
“You’re doing great,” she replied and scratched between Trixie’s ears.
The producer knelt on the ground next to Jordan and Trixie. “I’d like to get some footage for the website. People are going to gobble this up.”
“Just like Trixie’s gobbling up her bottle,” Jordan cooed.
He actually cooed!
He glanced over as Trixie neared the end of her lunch. “I’m crushing it, Georgiana.”
