Page 109 of Last First Kiss

“There you are!”

Jordan tenses. Wow, he must bereallyhigh. Jumping-over-the-moon high. Because that can’t be—there’s no way.

He turns slowly. And it is.

Sloane, sunglasses pushed up into her beach-wavy hair. Her sun-kissed skin glows even more in the shop’s immaculate lighting. She’s wearing a strawberry-print shirtdress.

From the threshold, she smiles at him. “Hi, Jordan.”

“Hi—” He can’t get her name out.

Sloane faces Jamie. “I’ve been trying to reach you for an hour.”

It’s infuriating how easily Jamie’s arms open to half hug her. “Sorry. My phone’s, er—” He stumbles for a moment like his tongue is numb. “My bad.”

She pouts, fake annoyed for a beat.

Jordan’s going to run right through the shop’s display window.

“Dress shopping wasn’t supposed to take this long,” Sloane says.

“That’s my fault!” Amy calls.

Sloane gleefully waves to her.

Over her head, Jamie’s semi-glazed eyes search out Jordan’s expression. He maintains a carefully blank one.It’s not serious, he reminds himself. Jamie said they weren’t in a relationship. She’s not his girlfriend.

Then again, Jordan’s not his boyfriend.

Technically, Jordan’s a friend. A friend Jamie holds hands with. A friend Jamie kissed. A friend he enthusiastically went down on. But not a boyfriend.

The distinction is important.

Why? Jordan’s not sure. He’s too busy watching Sloane tiptoe fingers over the buttons on Jamie’s Henley. Too busy waiting for Jamie to pull away.

He doesn’t.

“We should get going,” Sloane says. She turns to Amy. “If that’s okay? I don’t want to be rude. We’re late for lunch.”

“I’m fine,” Amy shouts back as Marisol pins and tucks her dress. “Jordan’s still here.”

Jordan nods dully at no one in particular.

Sloane tugs on Jamie’s elbow. “Come on, Jamesy. Your parents are waiting.”

“Right,” Jamie says. His eyes never leave Jordan’s face.

Just like that, Jordan’s completely sober. Back in professional mode. But his brain keeps repeating the same three words as Sloane leads Jamie out of the shop:

It’s not serious. It’s not serious. It’s not serious.

-12-?Register the Gifts

“It’s so very un-fucking-believably serious,” Jordan grumbles at the red velvet doughnut perched on his desk. “She had lunch withhis parents.”

Shockingly, the doughnut doesn’t say anything back.

Jordan tosses his head in his hands, groaning.