Page 3 of Own the Eights Gets Married
She took in the studio, bustling with activity. “And, we’ll probably get emails.”
“We always get emails,” he answered.
“Not withasshatin 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 I love you?” she asked.
He leaned in. “You were screaming my name this morning. So, I’d say you were pretty clear you like having me around.”
Her slight blush from the asshat mishap deepened to a full crimson flush.
“Jordan, you can’t say that here!” she whisper-shouted.
He stroked his thumb across her knuckles, then gestured with his chin as a production assistant zoomed past them.
“For once, we don’t seem to be the center of attention. We should do the news more often.”
She glanced over at the morning show hosts, surrounded by assistants and makeup people.
Jordan was right. No one seemed concerned with them at all.
A sly smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “I distinctly remember you using some very colorful language yourself this morning.”
His gaze grew carnal. “I am the reason you’ve got sex hair today.”
She twisted a loose lock of hair that had fallen free of her messy bun. “I tried to take a shower, but then this sex god joined me under the spray.”
“Sex god, huh?” he said, his voice sending another tantalizing tingle down her spine.
“Oh, yes! You see, I’m a dirty, dirty girl, and I couldn’t resist him. Before I knew it, I was down on my knees—”
“Miss Jensen!” someone called.
Her head whipped toward the sound as a young man wearing a pair of headphones and carrying a clipboard sprinted over to the couch.
He pointed to her chest and blushed. “You’re hot.”
“What did you say to Georgie?” Jordan asked with a hardened expression.
The kid shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Hot! Miss Jensen is hot!”
“Who the hell are you?” Jordan pressed.
“I’m Cooper, sir.”
Jordan held the man’s gaze. “Do you have a death wish or like getting your ass kicked, Cooper?”
She was wondering the same thing. The poor guy looked barely old enough to get into a bar, let alone hit on her with her boyfriend right there.
The color drained from the man’s face. “The mic she’s wearing. Well, the mics that both of you are wearing. They’re on. They’re hot. Anyone with a headset can hear you.”
Georgie cringed. “Wait a second. You heard me say the thing about the shower?”
He nodded. “Yeah, seventeen of us heard.”
