Page 146 of Last First Kiss

This is Jordan’s chance. He needs to get back to the eighteen unfinished items on his list.Run away. But while his parents mingle, Jamie holds Jordan’s gaze. It’s the one thing that keeps him rooted to the same spot until Jamie’s right in front of him.

“Hi,” Jamie says.

“Hey,” Jordan says.

Jamie leans in to whisper, “Fuck, you look good.”

Pride beats hot in Jordan’s chest. He’s wearing tailored, pale blue trousers and a white cotton formal shirt, a silk tie, all from Burberry. Courtesy of Auntie Eva, of course.

His eyes trail over Jamie one more time. “You do too.”

The left side of Jamie’s mouth kicks up. Then he steps sideways. “Mom, Dad—you remember Jordan?”

“Vaguely,” Jeff says, hand extended for a shake.

Jordan accepts with a tight grin. “Mr. Peters.”

“Denzel’s cousin, correct?” Liz says. “Kenneth’s nephew?”

“That’s me.”

“Thank God he finally retired,” she says airily. “It’s a shame he had to work for that long.”

Jordan’s brow wrinkles. “Well, he loved his job. Plus, he was only fifty-eight.”

“Creating a reputable name takes time when you’re unestablished,” Liz carries on. “But Kenneth’s a great man.”

“Solid,” Jeff agrees, swiping two champagne flutes from a passing tray. He hands one to his wife.

“To his good health and your family’s continued success,” Liz says.

Jordan can’t tell if that was a toast or an obituary.

She half turns to Jamie, pouting. “Oh, darling.This hair. It’s too long.”

Jordan eyes Jamie. His usually tousled waves have been deftly styled into a neat coif. A single lock curls across his forehead.

Liz reaches up to tuck it back. Jordan wants to swat her hand away. He grips his iPad so hard his knuckles crack.

“It’s not very Peters-like,” Jeff comments. His own graying comb-over is like a single scoop of vanilla ice cream—perfectly acceptable, perfectly boring.

Jamie’s jaw twitches, but he stays quiet.

“I can call Laurent,” Liz offers. “He’s fabulous. And gay. Maybe you know him?”

“Because he’s gay?”

Liz shrugs at Jamie, taking a sip. “I can’t imagine the community’sthatbig here.”

Jamie’s hands curl into fists at his side. His cheeks darken too. He avoids eye contact with everyone, including Jordan.

“We donated to that Travis Project,” Jeff tells Jordan, as if it’s an anecdote he drops at every one of these things. Like he walks around wearing a commemorative pin on his sharp navy suit to show off. Right next to hisI VOTED FOR OBAMA AND YOUR RIGHTS MATTER… ONLY WHEN THEY DON’T AFFECT MEpin.

“TrevorProject,” Jordan corrects gently. He slaps on the plastic grin he learned as the child of a Carter. “It’s a great foundation.”

Jeff grunts a mild agreement.

“You know,” Jordan starts, “there’s some local nonprofits—”