Page 17 of Own the Eights Gets Married
The boy lifted his chin. “I sure did, Mr. Marks. And I did ten extra push-ups.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Jordan answered, giving the kid a high five.
“Dad, this is Simon Bacon. He’s one of my most dedicated students,” Jordan said, introducing the kid to his father.
“How are you doing on the Shakespeare Shuffle prep?” Georgie asked the teen.
Simon had been the first student to sign up for the competition.
“Thanks to Mr. Marks, I’ve shaved thirty seconds off my mile, so I’m not too worried about the race part.”
“And the sonnet recitation? Are you sticking with the one Jordan and I suggested?” she pressed.
“Oh yeah! It’s sonnet one-sixteen every day after school, isn’t it, Simon?” Jordan said, clapping the kid’s shoulder.
The teen nodded. “Mr. Marks has me reciting it, over and over—no matter what exercise he’s got me doing.”
“I’m so happy you went with our suggestion. Sonnet one-sixteen is one of my favorites. It’s all about what love is and what it isn’t,” she answered.
“And don’t forget, Simon,” Jordan added, slipping into trainer mode. “Your mind and body need to work together. Bulking up and getting fit is good, but so is knowing the difference between Jane Austen and Jane Eyre.”
“They’re not the same?” the boy deadpanned.
Georgie pressed her hand to her heart, feigning shock.
Simon laughed. “I’m kidding. I know Jane Austen was a real person and an acclaimed author, while Jane Eyre is a fictional character created by Charlotte Brontë.”
Georgie reached up and ruffled the teen’s hair. “I should hope so!” she said as her fictional trifecta nodded approvingly at the boy’s knowledge.
They’d met Simon after his grandmother had dragged the shy teen into Jordan’s gym for the after-school fitness and nutrition program he ran during the week for high school kids. A skinny boy with his grades in the gutter, thanks to being bullied for his slight frame, Jordan took an immediate shine to the teen. And soon, the closed-up kid had morphed into a kind and confident, literature-loving student.
“Congratulations, Jordan and Georgie!” came a warm greeting from another friendly face.
“Maureen, it’s great to see you,” Georgie said, embracing the woman who had been like a second mother to Jordan and now, a godsend to them both.
The ex-wife of Jordan’s former CrossFit mentor turned philandering douche canoe, Deacon Perry, Jordan had known Maureen for more than a decade. And she wasn’t only a kind woman. She was also a gifted bookkeeper. With Jordan opening his own CrossFit gym, her bookstore revenue quadrupling, and the rapid expansion of the Own the Eights and More Than Just a Number brands, they’d hired Maureen to keep their finances in order.
“We saw you on TV!” Maureen’s twin eleven-year-old daughters Mia and Mya chimed in unison.
“What did you think?” Jordan asked.
Mia’s expression grew pensive. “It made me want a waffle.”
“Me too!” her sister agreed.
The girls turned to Simon, who had started babysitting them when Maureen was busy with the books, then pointed over to a grand waffle station near the white chocolate fountain.
“Simon, let’s go get a mountain of waffles!” Mia cried, pulling on the boy’s hand.
“Is that okay with you, Mrs. Perry?” he asked with a chuckle.
“It sure is, but don’t eat too much. You don’t want to get a stomachache,” their mother cautioned.
The kids left, and Maureen turned to Dennis, who’d grown quiet. She extended her hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Maureen Perry.” She glanced between Jordan and his father. “And from the very strong resemblance, I’m going to guess that you’re Jordan’s dad.”
The burly man’s cheeks grew pink. “That’s right. I’m Dennis, no, Denny Marks. It’s nice to meet you, Maureen. Jordan’s spoken of you, but he never mentioned how pretty you were.”
Georgie glanced at her fiancé, who had turned to stone, seemingly in shock at the scene playing out before them.
