Page 155 of Last First Kiss

His voice dies. Just saying his name wretches up a sick, nauseous sensation in Jordan’s gut. He tampers it with another swig.

How did they go from smiling tenderly across a crowded tent tothis? Jordan doesn’t have the brain… capacity? Function? Whatever. He can’t think about Jamie right now.

“You’re better than them,” he says. “All of them.”

Amy stares at him, still quiet.

Good. Jordan’s not done.

“The McClintocks and the Peterses are like everyone else here,” he rants between chugs. His circle of steps has become oval-shaped. Egg-shaped. “They’re all clones of each other. A pretentious clone society.”

“Jordan,” Amy says sheepishly. “My family’s part of that society.”

“Mine too!”

He undoes another button on his shirt. It’s too hot.

“But, like.” He waves a hand around aimlessly. “They’re also not? The Carters aren’t perfect. By far. They’re just not…”

He remembers what Jamie said. How he dared to compare Jordan’s family to his own.

Jordan sighs. “They’re notthis.”

Sadness boldly inserts itself into all the other emotions swishing around his body. He drinks more to dilute it. To numb it.

Amy grimaces. “Then what are we? Me and Sam?”

Jordan doesn’t know. Doesn’t have a direct answer. He stumbles on grass, finds his balance again. “No one gets to decide what our love story looks—”

He stops. Nope. Not going there.

“Ourfuturelooks like,” he pivots. “They don’t get to decide. We do.”

He glares past the hedges. At all the fancy amenities. Straightto the big white tent where the party is still alive and kicking, even without one of the most important hosts.

Unthinking, Jordan imagines what Jamie’s up to. Is he standing next to his parents? Listening to their boring conversations with their boring friends about their boring lives? Maybe he’s slow dancing with Sloane? Showing her off like a good son.

Or maybe he’s in a corner somewhere. Alone. Looking out across the lawn wondering where Jordan is.

“You’re right.”

Jordan startles. “Excuse me?”

Amy’s on her feet, heels digging resentfully into the McClintocks’ unblemished grass. “You’re right,” she repeats, furious. “Every decision ofourwedding hasn’t been for us. It’s been for them. It’s someone else’s vision of howmylife should look.”

Jordan blinks. “Right.”

“I’m sick of it,” Amy hisses. “No one listens. No one gives me a say.”

The flush in her cheeks isn’t just from the alcohol or the crying anymore. It’s from the rage. Jordan’s never seen her like this.

He’s a little afraid.

“I’m done,” she half yells.

“You’re… done?”

“I’m over it.”