Page 57 of Own the Eights Gets Married
No!
No, no, no, no!
She parted her lips to say she’d misspoken as the irksome clang of a cowbell rang out.
“We better head up. It looks like the race is about to begin,” Brice said to his fiancée.
“Are you guys coming?” Camille asked.
“We’ll see you up there,” Jordan answered as Brice and Camille headed toward the center of camp.
Jordan turned to their floppy tent and pulled out their shoes and backpacks. “We need to get ready fast. Grab the deer jerky. We can eat after the race.”
Georgie laced up, then opened the bear canister and placed the clump of meat into her backpack, while also keeping a watchful eye on her fiancé.
“What are the chances of two people from our pasts showing up here? It’s crazy!” she said as Jordan’s features remained neutral.
He grabbed their water bottles. “I don’t care what we have to do, Georgie. We’re not letting those two beat us at anything,” he said, his voice low as he glared at the stainless-steel containers.
“I don’t think it’s a real competition—” she began, but Jordan didn’t let her finish.
“Did you not hear what the crown prince of rodent royalty said?” he shot back.
“I did, but I’m assuming it’s all in good fun,” she answered.
“Yeah, good fun, like pelting me with straws anytime I walked past the school cafeteria,” he bit out.
She rested her hand on his back, feeling his muscles tense beneath her touch. “It’s going to be fine. We’ll ignore them. There are a bunch more couples here. I’m sure we’ll barely have time to interact with Brice and Camille.”
“Yeah, okay,” Jordan answered with a pinched expression.
She pulled a strip of deer jerky from her bag and handed it to him. “Eat this. The Supreme Emperor of Asshattery requires sustenance.”
He sighed, taking the hunk of meat as his shoulders slumped. “Sorry, Georgie. Seeing Camille brought back all the shit I thought I’d left behind. Are you okay? I’m sure you didn’t expect to run into Brice Casey.”
“Oh yeah! I’m totally good with bumping into the guy who was such a jerk it compelled me to start a revolution.”
Jordan raised an eyebrow playfully.
“Okay, to start a blog. It’s almost the same thing,” she replied, holding his gaze, which, thankfully, had softened.
The clang of the cowbell cut through the air, calling them to camp, and Jordan offered her his hand. She took it and savored the warmth of his touch. He brushed his thumb across the center of her palm, and she relaxed a fraction as they wove their way through the foliage to the center of camp to find the group already assembled.
Syd clapped her hands. “All right, wilderness couples! It’s time for a scat race.”
Georgie met Jordan’s gaze, and his eyes lit up.
“Is scat a type of training like HIIT training?” he asked, radiating excitement.
Syd stared back blankly. “I’m not familiar withhittraining.”
Jordan lifted his chin, going into trainer mode. “HIIT,H,I,I,Tstands for high-intensity interval training. It’s a form of cardiovascular exercise where you alternate between bouts of high-intensity training and recovery periods. It’s great for conditioning and improving metabolism.”
“Is there anyshitinvolved with yourhit?” Buck asked with a quirk to his lips.
“Shit?” Jordan echoed.
Buck nodded. “Yeah,S,C,A,T, scat, is just a fancy way of saying shit.”
