Page 58 of Own the Eights Gets Married
Jordan took a step back, and his mouth fell open. “We’re doing a race to see who can shit first?”
The entire group broke out into laughter, and Jordan’s expression hardened.
“No, this is not a competition to see which boot camper can produce a bowel movement first, and of course, if you need to have one, don’t forget your trowel,” Syd advised as the couples nodded.
Buck took a step forward. “Teamwork is a cornerstone of any marriage. Part of being a committed couple is working together and understanding the lay of the land. Life isn’t always a stroll through the park. The task at hand will have you trekking through the backcountry and identifying the differentanimal scator feces. You know what feces are, right, Jordan?”
Another round of snickering percolated through the wilderness campers.
Georgie touched Jordan’s arm and glanced up as a muscle ticked in his jaw.
“It’s okay. I didn’t know what it was either,” she said under her breath. But her fiancé didn’t meet her gaze.
“Not now, Georgiana,” he mumbled, his posture going rigid.
“Jordan, it’s not a big deal,” she tried, keeping her voice low.
“Georgiana, can we listen to the directions so we can win this bullshitshitrace,” he bit back.
She dropped her hand from his arm. What the hell was up with this gruffGeorgiana pay attentionperfection attitude?
Then it hit her.
Perfection.
Shit!
She stole another look at her triggered fiancé, who, thanks to this wilderness poop race and the arrival of his high school blast from his unpleasant past, Camille Pruitt, had morphed into ten-mode. It had been ages since she’d seen this asshat and the true reigning Emperor of Asshattery. Sure, they joked about it now, but there was no denying the Class-A douche he’d been when they’d first met.
Syd gestured for their attention. “Every couple gets a clipboard. On it, you’ll find a list of animals and a picture of their scat. Your job is to find scat from four of the ten animals listed. The first couple to complete this task gets to spend the night in the honeymoon yurt,” Syd added.
“The honeymoon yurt,” Georgie repeated as the thought of a real bed and a working toilet made her weak in the knees—or perhaps that was all the cookie dough and deer jerky. But still, the idea of not sleeping in a tent sounded like heaven on earth.
“And don’t think you can cheat. Not all the scat on the list is found on our land. If you mark off each piece of shit, you are officially shit out of luck and lose any claim to the honeymoon yurt,” Buck cautioned.
Georgie swallowed hard as Syd handed each couple a clipboard.
“Form a circle. We don’t want you on top of one another. There’s plenty of land and plenty of scat. We’ll send you off in different directions, but make sure you’ve got your compass so you can track where you are on the map.”
Georgie waved Jordan down. “Should we tell them we’ve never done anything like this before?”
With a stiff shake of his head, her fiancé nixed the idea. “No, we’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” she pressed, because, well, they were in the middle of freaking nowhere backcountry, and it seemed like a good idea to let someone know the only compass they ever used was the one located in Jordan’s BMW’s dashboard.
“Relax, Georgie,” Jordan muttered. “They’re sending us out in one direction. We’ll turn around after we identify the shit and come back. How hard can that be?”
“Team high-intensity scat training, are you ready?” Buck called.
She and Jordan looked up to find all eyes on them.
Jordan puffed up like a peacock. “Yeah, we’re ready.”
“Turn around and on my count, head south, southwest,” Syd said, checking her map.
“Are we running?” Georgie whispered.
“Yes, this is no meandering walk,” Jordan replied as that muscle ticked in his jaw again. It might as well be his asshattery indicator.
