Page 163 of Last First Kiss

“Oh.”

“The bastard sent me a pic of him on the beach the other day,” Jamie says, smirking. “I had FOMO all day. Time to return the favor.”

Jordan barely has time to blink. To answer. Jamie hauls him closer. He arranges Jordan next to him, his arm extended with the selfie camera pointed at them. He curls his other arm around Jordan’s shoulders so effortlessly, as if this is how they’re always meant to be.

At each other’s side. Bodies pressed together. Breathing each other in.

“Smile!”

Jordan does, automatically. Thoughtlessly.

The camera snaps.

“No, no, no,” Jamie whines. “We look so fake. Like an annoying Christmas card from that one set of friends you hate but pretend to like because at least they give decent gifts.”

Jordan tilts his head back. “That was weirdly specific.”

“Trust me. They’re the worst.”

He repositions Jordan to face the camera. Warm fingers going to Jordan’s jaw. Arm tightening around his shoulders.

“Ready?”

Jamie’s phone chimes again. A text. He swipes the notification away, biting his lip for a beat before he resets into a grin.

“Okay. Take two. Say ‘yippee-ki-ho-ho-ho, motherfucker!’”

“Fuck you,” Jordan laughs out.

Another snap. It’s less elegant than the first. Jordan’s mid-cackle. Jamie’s face is half tucked into Jordan’s temple, crinkled with amusement. It’s more… them.

Jordan can’t stop staring at it.

That is, until more chimes erupt from Jamie’s phone. He turns it away to read.

Jordan lets his brain drift. Hundreds of thoughts explode at once. Like a bare shoulder pressed to his under Fourth of July fireworks. Like a sticky bar and screaming, drunk friends at a trivia night. Like Don Henley talking about all the boys of summer in the back of a Jeep.

A neon-lit diner with cheesy music and great pie.

Moment after moment, laugh after laugh, touch after touch crashing together.

When the dust settles, Jordan sees one thing:

Jamie, at the heart of everything.

Moremoremore.

The crowd thickens around them. The carolers bop through “Last Christmas.” Anticipation halos above in the purple sky.

In Jordan’s gut.

He edges closer to Jamie. Inhales amber and oak. He steps on his tiptoes, chasing the high like he’s just devoured a tray of pot brownies.

Jamie lowers his phone, brow furrowed.

Jordan ignores it. He closes his eyes, giddy. So close—

“Whoa.”