Page 74 of Own the Eights Gets Married
Her trifecta perked up and nodded their support.
“Like it or not, this is what we’ve got. Two lemon verbena-scented dryer sheets,” she answered.
Jordan stared up at the angry sky. “Dammit, Georgie! That’s not going to work! Since we won’t be able to collect any dry tinder, we’ll need to use the dryer lint to get a flame going. Don’t you remember Buck and Syd’s bow drill lesson from today?”
She didn’t remember much of anything. The last three days had been more of a beauty queen meets Blair Witch montage.
“I remember watching you make the bow drill thingy for starting a fire, but I never thought we’d have to use it. I figured it was more of a souvenir,” she said, sitting up.
Jordan ran his hands through his sopping mass of hair. “A souvenir? Do you know how hard it was, whittling wood and scraping shallow holes into pine? And then, there’s the bowing. I’m in better shape than a gladiator, and it was still a hell of a lot of work to get it to start smoking.”
Moment of truth—she’d spaced out big time during the whole arts and crafts segment of the day.
“I’m sorry, Jordan. I didn’t know!” she said, throwing up her hands.
He paced back and forth. “You could have at least told me we were out here unprepared.”
This asshat!
She reared back. “Unprepared? I’m not the one losing my shit at the sight of an alpaca.”
“At least, I have the sense not to pet one,” he muttered.
Holy alpaca farm! The Secretary of Scat was on thin ice.
“I was trying to help you see it was a harmless creature,” she answered, trying to keep her voice even.
“But it wasn’t harmless, was it?” he answered, going all Mr. Gotcha.
She started to stand, and Jordan extended his hand to help her, but she swatted it away.
“I don’t need your help,” she said through chattering teeth.
“You look like you need something,” he shot back.
With perfect posture and her chin held high, she pinned him with her rain-soaked gaze. “Oh, I need something, all right! I need a bed. I need a shower. I need at least two tubes of vegan cookie dough. I need the Belgian Waffle Princess to make me a boatload of carb-infused deliciousness. And more than that, I need a fiancé who isn’t afraid of alpacas!”
Jordan looked away and shook his head as she took a step toward him.
“What else are you afraid of, Mr. Big Strong Man? Turtles? Do their creepy shells freak you out? Elephants with those big floppy ears? Or, what about bunnies and their hippity-hippity-hop way of getting around?” she rattled off.
“I am not afraid of turtles or elephants,” he mumbled.
“So, add bunnies to the list?” she replied with sarcasm coating her words.
He met her gaze. “I’m not afraid of bunnies either. But I’ve got something to say about that.”
“By all means, don’t keep me in suspense,” she threw back.
He held her gaze. “Hippity, hippity, hop, hooray! I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but it looks like we’re spending the night soaked and freezing.”
She glared at his symmetrically perfect face and reached inside her sweatshirt and pulled out the tracking device, hanging from the lanyard, then gripped the panic button.
“I’m done with this wilderness bridal boot camp bullshit! I’m done with it all!”
Jordan raised his hands defensively. “Don’t push it, Georgie. It’s one night. We can do this. We can tough it out.”
“Tough it out? What do you think I’ve been doing while you’ve been snoring like a sleeping bear every night?”
