Page 62 of Own the Eights
Jordan glanced over to find the asshat, Brice Casey and anger surged through his veins.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “If it takes a wet T-shirt contest for you to see Georgiana’s beauty, then you never deserved her,” he bit out, and before he could stop himself, he took the beer from the moron’s hand and dumped it on his head.
VP of Pest Control, take that!
“What the fuck? If you weren’t as big as a tank, I’d totally kick your ass,” Brice whined, brushing the liquid off his shirt as he turned and headed for the restrooms.
Jordan didn’t hold back a grin as euphoric victory replaced his anger until he glanced at the stage to find Georgie tipping the plastic bottle. Water drenched her white tank top, revealing her gorgeous breasts and torso. Rivulets trailed down her legs, and she might as well have been every wet dream he’d ever had. Except, this was Georgie Jensen. She wasn’t a vixen exhibitionist. She was a sweet woman with a good heart who loved literature and helping others.
“Let’s see it, Georgiana! Show us what you’ve got!” the DJ bellowed.
In time with the music, Georgie strutted down the catwalk as if she owned it.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Barry rasped as Georgie made her way toward them.
She moved like a supermodel, devouring the stage, but she wasn’t smiling. Not even close. Her expression had gone blank as if she’d disappeared inside herself. Was this how she’d survived years on the pageant circuit?
Men banged their hands on the catwalk as she passed them. A glass beer bottle someone had left on the stage tipped over and rolled toward the center of the runway.
And Georgie didn’t see it.
He burst through the crowd, pushing the rowdy, hooting men out of the way just as her heeled foot collided with the rolling bottle. She pitched forward, and he caught her flailing body in his arms.
“Wow, man! Good save!” Barry said, still filming.
Georgie wrapped her arms around his neck as shame flooded her gaze.
“How about we get out of here?” he asked gently.
The realization of what she’d just done was written all over her face, and she blinked back tears.
“Yes, I’d like to leave,” she said, tightening her hold.
The crowd parted as he carried her through the bar and out the front door into the cool night air.
She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed heavily. “You can set me down now.”
He complied, but as soon as her feet hit the ground, she wobbled, and he caught her forearms.
She leaned into him. “I’m not really a big drinker. I think those Jell-O shots were pretty strong.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Yeah, you don’t want to mess around with Jell-O shots.”
She nestled in against his chest as relief washed over him. He was so damned grateful to have her off that stage and in his arms.
He rested his chin on the top of her head. “Can I ask a favor of you?”
She chuckled against him. “You did save me from an awful fall. A favor is the least I can do.”
He tightened his grip on her wet, shivering body. “Give me a heads-up next time you decide to unleash mayhem in a bar.”
She shook her head against his chest. “Did I really just enter a wet T-shirt contest?”
“And you won it.”
They pulled apart to find Barry, holding a trophy of a naked Barbie doll fixed to a solid wooden base.
He handed her the fucking offensive prize.
