Page 61 of Own the Eights
Georgie pointed to a group of women sitting at a table. “I’m going to go talk to those girls for a sec. I’ll be right back.”
He glanced at the attractive young ladies who each fit the bill for a Marks Perfect Ten woman, which now sounded like a pretty dick description for any woman. Were they friends of hers? He kept her in his line of sight when another voice called out.
“Jordan, I’m so sorry.”
Barry, the CityBeat producer, pushed past a group of men. “We screwed up and got the dates switched around.”
“What do you mean?”
“We meant to send you to trivia night,” the man answered.
“Are the Dannies here?” he asked.
Jesus, that’s all he needed!
Barry frowned. “No, and I think something is going on with them. They keep posting all this great content to their blog and getting tons of likes, but they’re hard as hell to pin down.”
Jordan nodded. At least, that was one thing off their plate.
Barry looked past his shoulder. “What’s Georgie doing?”
“Talking to some friends,” he answered, gesturing absentmindedly toward the table while trying to figure out how he was going to get his former beauty queen out of there.
“Are you sure about that?” Barry asked with a perplexed expression.
He turned and scanned the crowd for a woman with her hair in a messy bun, wearing a cardigan. Instead, he looked on in horror at the back of a woman with killer curves, borrowing a pair of scissors from the bartender.
Georgie?
Her dark hair fell in sexy waves as she used the scissors to cut off the jean capris. Her firm ass cheeks peeked out from beneath the frayed denim that led down her long, toned legs. She returned the scissors to the bartender then sauntered over to the table with the women. He took a closer look at the table and cringed. Littered with the tiny cups containing the potent little squares, the women looked as if they were competing for the title of most Jell-O shots consumed in one evening.
One of the ladies passed Georgie a shot, and she joined the women as they swallowed their respective gelatinous cubes of highly potent alcohol.
As he and Barry looked on, Georgie gestured to her sandals and then to a pair of red heels lying on the floor next to one of the women. Beyond tipsy, the women laughed and swapped shoes, and Georgie slipped on the sexy heels effortlessly. Then, the woman dug into her purse and handed Georgie a small makeup bag.
He still hadn’t seen her damn face yet and couldn’t hear what they were saying. What the hell was she doing with these people? But he didn’t have to wait long to find out. Sporting those fuck-me heels like she was born to wear them and her face now made up with red lipstick and black eyeliner, the book nerd with a bun turned, transformed into a smoking hot vixen, rocking every curve.
He glanced over at Barry, whose jaw might as well have been on the floor.
Georgie glided over, hips swaying with each step. “Good! You’re here, Barry. You’re going to want to get this on camera.”
“Georgie?” Jordan uttered, finding it hard to form words. She was always pretty, but this new Georgiana Jensen was a full-on sexpot temptress.
She patted his cheek. “Buckle your seatbelt, Marks. I’m about to school you on what a perfect ten really looks like.”
He shook his head. “You don’t have to do this.”
Anger, disappointment, and determination flashed in her blue-green eyes as she set her cardigan on the bar, then swiveled on her five-inch heels and made a beeline for the DJ booth.
“She’s really going for it. We should get to the stage,” Barry said, holding up his phone to get some footage.
It was like watching a car wreck in slow-motion. Georgie, now wearing only a white tank top, barely-there jean shorts, and sexy red heels leaned over and spoke to the deejay presiding over the wet T-shirt contest. The man, grinning like a fucking idiot, handed her a bottle of water, and she climbed the steps to the stage.
“We’ve saved the best for last! Let’s welcome Georgiana to the stage!” the DJ crooned over the microphone as Warrant’s heavy metal hit and unofficial stripper ballad, “Cherry Pie”,blasted from the speakers and the crowd went wild.
A spotlight illuminated Georgie in a golden glow as she held up the water bottle and threw the crowd a sexy little smirk, which ratcheted up the boisterous group.
“That chick’s hot as hell, right, dude?”
