Page 64 of Own the Eights Gets Married
Jordan’s gaze darted to Camille, who gave a little pout.
“Why would you think that, Pooh Bear?” Camille asked with a scowl.
“It’s the last book I saw you reading,” he answered, shifting nervously on the bench.
Camille scoffed. “That was when we were ten years old.”
Brice took off his Casey Pest Control trucker cap and scratched his head. “Have you read a book since then?”
Camille sprang to her feet. “Brice! I read my horoscope every day! Every day!”
Brice looked from Camille to Buck and then back to Camille. Was Mr. Rodent Royalty going to have to tell his plunger princess that reading her horoscope didn’t count as reading an actual book?
Jordan bit back a grin. He loved watching Bricey Pooh squirm under the Princess of Plumbing’s angry gaze. Now, was it the height of asshattery to laugh at another guy when his girl was shoveling shit right in his face in public?
Yes, it was.
If he were writing a blog post about interacting with people who didn’t share your thoughts or values, he’d most certainly advocate for taking the high road and being the bigger person. That’s what they’d do in their More Than Just a Number blog.
But today, today, he was taking the low road and not looking back.
He met Georgie’s gaze, and she winked at him. Winked!
For a second time, the urge to fist pump into the air surged through him.
He was so getting yurt sex tonight—which would not be considered real sex and breaking the wedding frau’s rule. They could file this act of debauchery under the mental health emergency tab.
Yes, sir!
Mental health was no joke and maintaining it through whatever means necessary, otherwise known as doing the naughty until they forgot what deer jerky tasted like, was just what the doctor ordered.
“Brice and Camille, you do not get a point,” Buck said, then made a slash on his clipboard as Camille crossed her arms, and Brice hung his head.
“No biggie, man. You’ll get the next one,” Jordan said under his breath to the crestfallen Brice.
What did he really want to say to the ruler of rodent retirement?
Brice Casey, you are a loser, loser, loser, loser! Today, the Rodent Royalty regimen lives in shame. Take your plunger princess and forget about yurt sex.
Brice gave him a defeated nod. “Thanks, dude.”
“Jordan, hold up your board,” Buck said, moving on.
Jordan tried to maintain a neutral expression but could not help the corners of his mouth from curling into a cocky grin. He probably looked like Cruella de Vil, but he didn’t care.
“I wrotePride and Prejudice,” he proclaimed as if he were the conquering force, preparing to take no prisoners.
Georgie let out an excited yip from across the gathering area.
“That is correct,” Buck replied, making a tick on the paper.
Okay, a slash was bad, and a tick was good.
He caught his fiancée’s eye, and she mouthed good job. He gave her a thumbs-up, and baby, they were back!
“Next question, gentleman. What is your special someone’s favorite food?”
With his cocky grin still in place, Jordan picked up the dry erase marker and scribbled out five words.
