Page 68 of Own the Eights
“So, yes or no, Miss Georgiana Jensen Own the Eights guru, do you have a list?”
“You mean my completely un-superficial list of meaningful, soul-connecting qualities I’d like in a mate.”
He traced his finger down her arm. “Yeah, that list.”
She released a dramatic sigh. “I’m sorry to say that item number one is to find someone who’s terrified of baby farm animals, so that disqualifies you right off the bat.”
He shook his head. “I’m onlynotafraid of baby goats, thanks to you, so I think I get a pass on that one.”
She raised her legs and stared up at the ruby-red heels. “Fine. You get a pass, but my soul mate can’t expect me to wear these very often.” She slipped off the sexy shoes, then gasped. “Oh no! My Birkenstocks and my cardigan!”
Shit! In the commotion of making sure she didn’t break her leg or get mauled by a herd of drunk Brice Caseys, they’d left the items at the bar.
“We could call McGuires and see if they’re still there,” he offered.
She sighed. “No, I made a shoe trade with that girl, and if I’m being honest, that cardigan had seen better days. I think I just wore it to upset my mother.”
He picked up one of the heels. “I’m not going to lie. You looked hot as hell strutting down that catwalk, but you’re so much more than just a beautiful woman. You’re smart and kind, and I really need to thank you for what you did for my dad,” he finished, setting the heel aside.
“I think Michael Bolton was the real hero tonight,” she teased.
“Georgie…” he began, but she cut him off.
“You witnessed the Lorraine Vanderdinkle crazy train and saved me from breaking my leg while participating in a wet T-shirt contest. I told you earlier, Jordan, we’re even.”
And then he remembered, and he reached for his phone. “Actually, you’re way ahead.”
She pursed her lips. “What do you mean?”
“Barry posted some footage and linked it to your blog page.”
Georgie covered her face with her hands. “Is it awful?” she asked through her fingers.
The truth was, he didn’t know.
“I didn’t watch it yet. I just checked the score. We’re only sixty likes behind the Dannies.”
She dropped her hands. “Let’s rip the bandage off. Do it. Push play.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I need to see it, so I can start on damage control.”
He took her hand into his. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. We’re a team.”
She tightened her grip. “Okay, I’m ready.”
He pressed play, expecting to see Georgie, but instead saw himself glaring at that loser, Brice Casey.
“If it takes a wet T-shirt contest for you to see Georgiana’s beauty, then you never deserved her!”
And there it was, preserved for all to see, the moment where he took the beer and dumped it on Brice Casey’s head. From there, the video switched to Georgie, strutting down the catwalk like she owned it until that bottle derailed her, and he was there to catch her.
He scrolled through her page. “The comments are really positive. Everyone seems cool with you entering the wet T-shirt contest and owning your femininity. They also seem to like getting a peek at your wild side,” he answered as he continued to scroll through her page, then stopped, unable to hold back a grin. “And they like us together. There’s a whole thread on what people think our kids would look like. Isn’t that crazy,” he added, now, wondering himself.
Georgie turned to him with a stunned expression. “Brice Casey was the catalyst for me starting the Own the Eights blog. I thought he really liked mefor me, but he didn’t. He said people expected a certain caliber of woman as his girlfriend. He wanted a ten and told me I was an eight at best.”
Holy hell! Now, he was really glad he’d given the guy a Heineken bath.
