Page 87 of Own the Eights
“The laptop?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, it’s mine.”
He moved in closer. “Can I borrow it? I need to make a blog post.”
Like a row of dominoes colliding in a long line of rapid motion, his thoughts came together, each imaginary click sparking a line of text. A manifesto. A love letter. An epiphany.
If people thought his goat revelation was touchy-feely, they hadn’t seen anything yet.
“Why the hell should I let you use my laptop?” Becca asked.
“Because I love Georgie. I do. The Marks Perfect Ten Mindset is total bullshit and I need to let the world know,” he answered, praying she’d see he wasn’t kidding.
She drummed her fingers on the counter. “Do you know that you’re all neck and neck? You, Georgie, and the Dannies are all within a few points of each other. Think about it. The money, the notoriety. If you played your cards right, it could be yours.”
He had no idea the contest was so close. But he also knew that Becca was testing him, seeing if he’d jump at the opportunity to win. He wasn’t about to fall for her trap. Nothing could change how he felt about Georgie, and he knew what he had to do.
He blew out a tight breath. “Then I really need to get this down. Can I please use your laptop? It’ll take me forever to write this hunting and pecking on my phone.”
Becca watched him for what seemed like a freaking eternity, then opened the laptop and turned it toward him. “This better be damn good.”
“Thank you,” he said, navigating to the CityBeat page.
He logged into his account and started typing.
Sixty-nine isn’t just a sex position.
“Hold up, mister!” Becca called from over his shoulder, snooping in on his post.
“It’s not what you think. Sixty-nine percent of my followers also follow Georgie. She’ll know what it means.”
“Are you also planning on doing the 10K today?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes, I have to get to her.”
Becca looked at her watch. “You better type, Marks. You’re going to be cutting it close.”
His fingers flying, he poured his heart into the post. His past. His drawer of straws. His mother’s death. And how Georgie had made him a better man, and how he’d epically let her down. Nothing was off-limits. The world was about to learn that Jordan Marks wasn’t always a ten.
He stared at the wall of text. His confession for all to read.
“That’s really good, Jordan,” Becca sniffed, still reading over his shoulder.
“Do you think so?”
She nodded, brushing a tear from her cheek. “You should post a link to this on all your social media sites.”
“That’s a great idea,” he said, then checked his watch. “Shit!”
“What’s wrong?”
“The race starts in seventeen minutes. Can you do it for me?”
Becca blew her nose. “Yeah, but I’ll need your passwords.”
“There’s only one. It’s Marks Ten as one word.”
