Page 96 of Own the Eights Gets Married
They got out of the car and surveyed the bustling rec center.
Jordan cleared his throat. “Let’s pick up our race bibs and get warmed up.”
He needed to get Simon moving. Hell, he needed to get out of his head and get himself moving.
Once they started running, he could figure out what he wanted to say to Georgie. And it wasn’t like she’d catch up to them in the race. Yes, with a hell of a lot of training, they’d knocked a little time off her mile, but she still got passed by spry senior citizens out power walking.
He breathed a cautious sigh of relief. There was still time. The wedding wasn’t until later this afternoon.
A shiver traveled down his spine.
What kind of guy doesn’t know if his wedding is on or off hours before the big event?
He shook his head and willed the thought away. He couldn’t go there. Not yet. Not while there was still a chance.
They checked in, grabbed their race bibs, and headed toward a crowd of runners gathered at the starting line. Along with participants of all ages, the place was packed with teens, amped up and horsing around, preparing to run the 5K, then complete their Shakespeare recitation.
“Do you think I’m going to look like a fool?” Simon asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
Jordan met the kid’s gaze. “No, not at all.”
Simon glanced over at a group of teenage boys. “They’re from my school. They’re athletes.”
Jordan checked out the jock squad. “Did they ever bother you?”
“A few comments here and there. But not much anymore,” the kid answered, but Jordan knew the damage had been done.
Simon might not be that skinny kid anymore, but it didn’t erase the years of teasing.
He rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Listen, those guys don’t matter. Not one bit. You’re strong. You’re fast. They’ll be eating our dust.”
The teen swallowed hard. “You believe that?”
“I do,” he answered, conviction lacing the words.
Simon chuckled. “You’re going to be saying that again soon, Mr. Marks.”
Jordan frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I do,” the teen tossed back with a twinkle in his eyes.
Jordan nodded, praying the uncertainty churning in his belly wasn’t apparent on his face.
How he hoped Simon was right.
He glanced around, looking for Georgie, and instead found a crew of people in CityBeat T-shirts heading their way. Barry emerged from the pack and jogged up to them.
“Everything looks great! Hector and Bobby wanted us to make sure and get plenty of footage.”
Jordan shook his head. Christ, the irony! Last time he’d run a race, he’d been in a world of shit with Georgie, and CityBeat had been there to record and livestream their reconciliation.
That had turned out for the best. He’d spilled his guts in front of the world, proclaimed his love, denounced his asshattery, and got the girl!
A wave of hope washed over him, tamping down his nerves until the cold, hard punch of reality knocked away any temporary relief.
This was different. This time, everything—their careers and their relationship—was on the line.
“Mr. Marks, it’s almost go-time,” Simon said, then gestured to a large digital clock as the crowd called out the countdown.
