Page 113 of Last First Kiss
Jordan cocks an eyebrow.
It’s ahalf court, to be more precise. Fenced in with a state-of-the-art hoop. There are also two sets of bleachers. A blue-and-pink multi-sport court with sharp white lines. It’s not much, but he can work with it.
He wanders around. They’ll need to reconfigure the spacing. Ask for permission to shift some things he had planned to the inside—can they still have a DJ?—but he’s made miracles out of less before.
“Are we still good?” asks Nic after he’s mentally mapped everything out.
“We’re still good,” he affirms.
“So…” Javi tilts his head, searching Jordan’s face. “You’re planning a basketball tournament?”
Jordan swallows a sigh. During their entire eighteen-minute drive to Skye’s the Limit, he refused to answer any of Javi’s questions. Ignoring him wasn’t easy but cranking Kendrick Lamar helped. Now they’re here. Pretending Javi doesn’t exist is no longer a choice.
“Yes,” he says.
“Because…” Javi leaves space for Jordan to fill in.
“Because this”—Jordan gestures to the bright white building that stands out like a beacon against the blue sky—“is more than just a center for the teens who come here.” He tries to remember all the things Nic told him over brunch. “It’s their safe space. Summers aren’t easy for them. They deserve to have some fun.”
Nic nods like a proud mom instead of a cousin seven years younger than him.
“Is it a celebrity tournament?” Javi asks.
“No.” Though Jordan had considered making a few calls.
“And you’re not bringing in the press?”
“Absolutely not.”
“So none of this is for the company?”
Jordan tries to figure out where Javi’s going with this.
“You’re doing it… pro bono?”
“They’re a nonprofit,” Jordan says defensively. “I’m doing it as a fav—” He cuts off. His eyes meet Nic’s. Yes, originally, he was doing this because she had asked him to. Because he needed an excuse to keep his mind off Jamie. But it’s more than that now.
He’s not sure why. It just is.
“I want to help,” Jordan simplifies.
Javi folds his arms over his chest. He’s in a white linen button-up. Sunlight glints off the gold chain disappearing into his open collar.
“We never did that at Elite Events,” he admits.
“Shocking,” Jordan says dryly.
“If it wasn’t a headline-worthy spectacle, Katharine, the owner, always passed on it.” Javi makes a face. “I don’t know how to organize something like this.”
Jordan claps once. “Great. Shall I order a rideshare? Spot you some bus fare so you can get back to the office?”
“I’mstaying.”
“What? You just said—”
“I know what I said,” Javi retorts. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to help.” He rotates to Nic. “If that’s okay?”
She shrugs. “Why not? Extra hands are great. And yours look”—her eyes trace over him—“helpful.”
