Own the Eights Gets Married - Krista Sandor Page 0,1

not dampening the playful twinkle in his gaze.

“It’s safe to say it wasn’t love at first sight,” she finished, feeling her cheeks heat with embarrassment.

She’d called him an asshat, which, at that point, he was. He’d grumbled about helping her, insulted her beloved Birkenstock sandals, and was a giant, well, asshat, when he spouted that dog leashes worked better when actually attached to dog collars.

But it wasn’t just that. She remembered every second of their first encounter.

All bare-chested and glistening with sweat and looking like a photoshopped fitness god, Jordan Marks had been the epitome of everything she’d preached about avoiding.

A little over two years ago, after a date from hell when a handsome creep named Brice Casey told her he could only date a perfect ten and that she was an eight at best, she’d become a woman on a mission.

A mission to help others avoid the pitfalls of looks and status and focus on the attributes that really mattered. Substance. Character. Kindness. Intelligence. She’d deemed these the qualities of a solid, reliable eight. And thus, the Own the Eights blog was born.

The shiny male morning show host tapped his chin. “So, Georgie, when you learned you would have to team up with Jordan to compete in the CityBeat Battle of the Blogs contest, I’m assuming you weren’t excited.”

Jordan chuckled. “She was the opposite of excited. That’s when Georgie anointed me the Emperor of—”

Again, Georgie pressed her hand to Jordan’s mouth.

The Emperor of Asshattery.

That’s what she’d dubbed him.

And, again, it was a spot-on description in the beginning.

Georgie schooled her features, determined to get them back on track. “I was absolutely floored and completely mortified that I was going to have to team up with the asshat I’d met in the park a few hours earlier.”

Jordan chuckled and shook his head.

She gasped and pressed her hand to her chest. “Did I just say asshat?”

“Yep, and now you’ve said it twice on a live morning show,” Jordan answered, biting back a grin.

“That’s the Wake-Up Denver Morning Show,” the female host chirped as if on cue.

Georgie stared at the frozen perma-grins plastered across the hosts’ faces as her trifecta cringed.

Would she ever be camera-ready? Would this life of fame and notoriety ever feel normal?

“Moving on,” the male host replied, rustling a pile of papers. “It says here that you two are quite involved in the community and have an event coming up.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. There was no chance of dropping another asshat bomb now.

“We sure do,” Jordan answered, then gave her hand another gentle squeeze.

“Yes, we’ve partnered with area rec centers to put on an event combining literacy and physical fitness. Many Denver high schools require students to memorize and recite one of Shakespeare’s sonnets or a passage from one of his plays. We asked the schools to give their students the option of signing up for our event. Here, they’ll compete in a 5K run and then recite their piece to judges, stationed at tables past the finish line,” she answered, sounding a little less moronic.

“We’re calling it The Shakespeare Shuffle, and it’s only a couple weeks away,” Jordan finished.

Okay, now they were back on track.

They’d worked hard putting the event together, and, as their first major project with the More Than Just a Number blog, their reputations were resting on it being a success.

The shiny lady host turned to the camera and flashed her pearly whites. “Running and reciting Shakespeare! It sounds like the perfect combination. Stay close, and we’ll be back after the break with more from your favorite blogger sweethearts, Jordan Marks and Georgie Jensen.”

“And, we’re clear,” a producer called. “Two minutes and thirty seconds until we’re back live, people.”

Georgie slumped against the sofa and stared down at Jordan’s hand still clasped around hers. “I think I’m getting better at these things,” she teased.

Jordan lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm. “You’ve certainly broadened the vocabulary of any kid listening.”

She brightened up. “As a bookshop owner, I am all for increasing one’s vocabulary.”

“Then you’ve succeeded,” Jordan answered with that smarty-pants grin she’d grown to love.

She took in the studio, bustling with activity. “And, we’ll probably get emails.”

“We always get emails,” he answered.

“Not with asshat in the subject line,” she replied.

“How about this? As the reigning Emperor of Asshattery, I’ll personally field those messages.”

And just like that, it was the two of them, cocooned in their love as a tornado of activity swirled around them.

“Have I told you how much