Page 45 of Own the Eights Gets Married
“Thank you. I needed that,” she said with a sated sigh.
He twisted a lock of her hair between his fingers. “Well, we had to give that poor pen a break.”
She chuckled. “All right. I’m going to climb into the back and clean up. Did you pack the tissues?”
She maneuvered off his lap and into the back seat as he adjusted the incline and attended to a little cleanup of his own.
“Yeah, there should be a travel pack of Kleenex in my toiletry bag,” he answered, getting situated.
“Oh no!” she cried.
He turned. “What is it? I know the tissues are there. I just did a whole blog post before we left on the necessities every guy should pack before they hit the road.”
“No, the tissues are here, but I’m not going to have enough underwear. I packed for three days exactly,” Georgie said, zipping her bag closed.
Dammit! He shouldn’t have gone all sex hulk and torn them off—but panty tearing seemed so hot in the moment.
“I’m sure they’ll have someplace to do laundry,” he answered, totally not sure, but really, really hoping they did.
Georgie was an indoor curled-up-with-a-good-book-in-a-comfy-chair kind of woman. While she loved her meandering walks and communing with nature while meditating, after living with her the last three months, he’d learned she also liked the conveniences of indoor plumbing and their eco-friendly washer and dryer.
As did he.
Not to mention, his heavy-duty industrial smoothie maker was damn amazing.
“Do you really think they’ll have laundry service available?” she asked, twisting her way back into the passenger seat and fastening her seatbelt.
“I’d imagine,” he answered, starting the car.
They’d lost the last of the sunlight beneath the canopy of evergreens, and he turned on the headlights. After driving for a few minutes, what looked like a large structure up on a hill emerged between a break in the trees.
“That might be where we’re headed,” he said.
Georgie pressed her hand to the window. “It looks like a lodge. How fun!”
Thank Christ!
They could handle a lodge.
Lodges had clean linens and room service, and there may be an actual spa at this place.
A wave of relief washed over him as they came to a fork in the road.
“What do the directions say?” she asked.
“We’re supposed to veer left,” he answered.
They stared ahead at two signs. One read, Knotty Pines Lodge and Resort in fancy lettering while the other, more of a glorified piece of cardboard, read Alpaca Boarding and Wilderness Boot Camp.
The Knotty Pines Lodge sign had a huge arrow pointing to the right.
The fucking right.
“So, we’re not supposed to turn right?” Georgie asked, staring up at the twinkling lights on the hill.
“No, the GPS says to veer left,” he answered, swallowing hard.
“Could it be wrong? We’re here for Bridal Boot Camp. The sign says wilderness boot camp,” she offered up.
