Page 56 of Own the Eights Gets Married
Camille emitted an exaggerated sigh. “It’s a beautiful story.”
“It sure is,” Brice agreed.
Camille’s face lit up. “And we’re famous, too. Brice is Colorado Rodent Royalty, and I’m the Plunger Princess.”
Georgie shook her head to knock away the fatigue cobwebs. She had to be hallucinating from lack of sleep.
“Did you just say you were the Plunger Princess?” she asked.
“Camille’s family owns a plumbing business,” Jordan supplied.
“That’s right! We’re the largest family owned operation in the state. We’ve unclogged over a million toilets,” the woman remarked proudly.
“And my family has been in rodent removal for five generations. Mice, rats, squirrels, if it’s a rodent, we’ll remove it,” Brice added proudly, wrapping his arm around Camille.
Georgie’s gaze bounced between the couple. Was this ridiculous conversation really happening? Could this be the result of ingesting the equivalent of twenty-two vegan chocolate chip cookies on zero rest?
“Our families have been friends for years, and Brice and I reconnected at a wet T-shirt contest,” Camille continued.
At the mention of a wet T-shirt contest, Georgie snapped back.
“Was it the one I was in back in June?” she asked, addressing Brice.
“No, the next weekend,” Brice replied with absolutely no shame in frequenting weekly wet T-shirt contests.
“It was meant to be,” Camille gushed, pushing up onto her tiptoes to kiss Brice’s cheek.
“Yep, Camille is the perfect ten I always knew I’d end up with. Plus, a couple of months before we reconnected, Cammie traded in her C’s for D’s,” Brice added, gesturing to his fiancée’s ample bosom like they were a rack of ribs.
“Pooh Bear, you are the sweetest man,” Camille cooed.
Georgie caught Jordan’s gaze. Had they somehow wandered into the twilight zone? When they turned left instead of right, had they entered some bizarro bridal dimension? She looked around, hoping a camera crew would jump out and say surprise. After the last night and even this morning, she’d be up for a day at the Ritz spa with her mother.
And that was really saying something!
“Are you guys ready for the competition?” Brice asked.
Jordan crossed his arms. “What competition?”
Georgie swallowed hard. There was no mention of a competition in the email they’d received from the frau’s assistant, but, then again, there was no mention they’d be attending a wilderness torture event, either.
“A friendly wilderness survival skills competition between the couples. Cammie and I love this stuff,” Brice replied.
“You do?” Georgie asked.
These two barely had two brain cells between them. But at that thought, a kernel of hope bloomed. If these airheads could survive wilderness boot camp, surely, she and Jordan could, too.
“I was a highly decorated Girl Scout, and Brice was an Eagle Scout,” Camille replied.
The kernel of hope faded.
“I was a beauty queen,” she said, then clapped her hand over her mouth.
Brice and Camille stared at her, and she plastered on a high-wattage smile.
What the hell was wrong with her?
Was she intimidated by these morons?
