Page 55 of Own the Eights
She picked up the blanket and began to fold it. “I should get home and work on my blog post.”
He glanced out at the pond as thunder rumbled in the distance, and the air, once crackling with frenzied sexual energy, now hung heavy with the reality of their situation.
He crossed his arms. “You’re right. We should get to work because…”
“Because it’s a competition, and there’ll only be one winner,” she finished.
“Only one winner,” he repeated as the warmth between them evaporated and was replaced with the cold hard truth.
They both wanted to be crowned the winner.
And if she wanted to keep her shop, that winner had to be her.
9
Jordan
Jordan’s phone pinged, igniting a spark of excitement, but he had to keep his cool, especially at the gym.
“Do you think that’s CityBeat?” Deacon called from where he was eyeing Shelly at the gym’s front desk.
“I’ll check after I get the free weights in order,” he answered, going for nonchalance, but it didn’t work on his longtime mentor.
“Jordan?” he said with a smirk.
“What, Deac?”
“Your legs. You might as well be doing the pee-pee dance like my kids.”
Jordan cocked his head to the side. “Aren’t your twin girls eleven now? Kids don’t do the pee dance at that age, do they?” he questioned.
Deacon had put all his energy into building his business. Jordan had always respected his mentor’s dedication, but now, there was no reason for him to be visiting his gyms all over the state. Every Deacon CrossFit ran like a well-oiled machine. As Deac’s number one trainer and the person in charge of setting up and monitoring all the locations, he was tasked with the day-to-day business. His boss should have plenty of time to see his kids, and maybe even try to patch things up with his ex-wife. Instead, the man seemed more intent on assessing Shelly’s panty lines as she bent over and picked up the multitude of pens that mysteriously kept rolling off the desk.
“Are you winning?” Deac asked, taking one more look at Shelly.
“It’s ongoing, and the numbers fluctuate, but we’re within striking distance of being in first place,” he answered.
Deacon frowned. “We? Are you talking about that gal they paired you with? I think that’s bullshit. Every manor womanfor himself.”
“A slip of the tongue, Deac. I meantI’mwithin striking distance,” he said over his shoulder as he took a little extra time with the weights.
“What’s going on with that girl? She’s not holding you back, is she?”
That girl. The one with eyes so captivating and a smile so damn sweet he couldn’t think of anything else before drifting off to sleep.
He shrugged, choosing this as the perfect moment to slide into the mute, stereotypical gym meathead.
Georgie had barely spoken during the car ride back to Denver, and it had taken everything he had not to chase her down before she’d disappeared inside her bungalow when he’d dropped her off at home. It had been two long days since they’d made love in that barn with the rain as their backdrop, and they hadn’t spoken once. Granted, they hadn’t had any challenges. But Christ! Despite knowing they were competitors, he’d walked down the street to her bookshop half a dozen times over the last forty-eight hours only to chicken out and turn around.
He’d shot up on the scoreboard, and they were barely trailing behind the Dannies thanks to his last post, which Deacon hadn’t seemed to have read, most likely because the man was preoccupied with Shelly’s ass.
Georgie’s post about their goat yoga challenge, which didn’t rake in many likes, left out his near barnyard meltdown and instead focused on the health benefits of adopting or simply interacting with animals regularly.
But he’d gone full baby goat confession.
He’d spilled his damn guts in his blog post and shared his childhood goat trauma. He’d waited for theyou’re such a pussycomments to flood in and for his subscriber numbers to drop, but the opposite had happened. There was a flood, but it was an outpouring of praise and shit-ton of likes on his page. It turns out, his goat phobia was a real thing. It even had a name, capraphobia. Capra, Latin for goat. And there was also a foundation for kids who had been traumatized at petting zoos. He had mothers, fathers, farmers, yoga instructors, and psychotherapists praising his admission and applauding him for taking steps to address his fear.
It was crazy. Guys bigger than him had started posting their fears of all sorts of weird shit.
