Page 161 of Last First Kiss

Those scrunched, friendly brown eyes focused on him shifts something unnameable in Jordan’s belly. A feeling he’s grown strangely fond of.

“Well,” he says, smiling despite himself, “two out of three requirements met. Only hot cocoa left.”

“Hot cocoaandwatching the tree lighting.”

“Obviously.”

Jamie steps forward. He fixes the hat on Jordan’s head. Jordan counts the seconds he lingers there, heat radiating off him.

Christmas in Atlanta is nothing like a Hallmark movie. It’s on the warmer side of cold. Snowfall is rare. But the moment Jamie backs away, Jordan feels like he’s standing in a tundra. Like Jamie’s a fire he needs to be next to.

“Much better,” Jamie says, his gaze intent on Jordan’s face.

Jordan stares back, unblinking.

Something chimes. It’s Jamie’s phone. His face wrinkles as he reads the screen.

“Everything okay?” Jordan asks.

There’s a beat of silence. Jamie keeps reading. Then his eyessnap up. “Oh, yeah. It’s, uh—nothing.” He smiles, but it’s not quite as big as before. “Shall we?”

Jordan buys the hot chocolates. Peppermint for himself. Extra marshmallows for Jamie.

They walk slowly through the square. The surge of extra bodies forces Jamie to stay close. Right by Jordan’s side, their hands brushing every few steps.

“Die Hard?”

Somehow, they get on the topic of favorite Christmas movies. Jordan’s not ashamed of his choice. He’ll fight anyone—including Jamie—about John McClane’s clear influence on the holiday season.

“It’s a classic,” Jordan tells him.

Jamie balks. “Yeah, if you’re into violence and Bruce Willis crawling around in a tank top with bloody feet for over two hours.”

“Jamie.” Jordan pauses, grinning. “Is this your way of telling me you have a feet kink?”

“I mean,duh. Who doesn’t?”

Jordan sips to hide the nearly invisible flush in his cheeks. He burns his tongue. Worth it.

“But it’s not the ultimate holiday classic,” Jamie argues after his own sip. “That honor belongs to—”

“I swear to God, if you sayLove Actually—”

“The Holiday.”

Jordan stops abruptly, pondering.

The left side of Jamie’s mouth inches up. “Perfect, right?”

Jordan tilts his head one way, then the other. “Nah.”

“What?”

“A close second, though.”

“Bullshit!” Jamie tips his head back, laughing.

“Look, I can appreciate Cameron Diaz’s humor,” Jordan says as they stroll. “Kate Winslet is phenomenal. But they’re no ‘yippee-ki-yay, motherfu—’”