Page 17 of Last First Kiss

Denz’s next expression is hidden behind a notification dropping down on Jordan’s screen. When he recognizes the yellow-and-black logo, Jordan almost stumbles again.

It’s a new Grindr message.

It’s a mystery why Jordan even still has the app. He never uses it. He barely created a profile. All his dates are ones his mom fixes him up with. Besides, he didn’t download Grindr with the intention of hooking up anyway.

He hasn’t doneanythingwith another man. Unless you count that little thing with Jamie from a decade ago. Jordan certainly doesn’t.

Denz starts talking about something. A new client he’s working with?

Jordan increases the treadmill speed.

Thing is, Jordan’s never labeled himself straight. He hasn’tdeniedbeing it either. Straight people don’t have to label themselves. They’re rarely even asked about it. There’s no big speech to friends and family or the entire fucking internet about who they date or choose to sleep with.

Straight is—annoyingly—still considered the default. It’s just assumed from birth.

But Jordan hates assumptions.

Especially since he’s not surewhathe is.

Yazzie was his one girlfriend in high school. He liked her. They laughed and watched movies and occasionally kissed. It was all very chill.

When college came around, they mutually agreed to end things. A long-distance friendship is easier than a long-distance relationship.

Since then, Jordan’s exclusively dated women. Which has been fine, minus last night. Yet the desire to take things further has never been there.

He doesn’t know why.

Maybe because it’s never felt like it did with Yazzie.

Or that night with Jamie.

The memory unfolds like a blooming flower:Mario Kartfrozen on the TV. A bluish glow threaded through Jamie’s brown hair. His strong hands cupping Jordan’s face and neck. The heat and decadence of his mouth. Shock running through Jordan’s veins.

He’s not gay.

He’s pretty sure he’s not gay.

His eyes never linger on other men in the gym. Or in the showers. When he’s walking down a street. He can appreciate a nice jawline or defined calves, the occasional broad chest. But he doesn’twantany of them.

He never has.

It shouldn’t be this confusing. Jordan’s twenty-five. Shouldn’t he know who he is by now?

“—and date night’s coming up,” Denz is saying. “I want to take him somewhere nice. Maybe in WeHo?”

“Uh-huh.”

Jordan runs faster.

Honestly, he wishes for half the confidence Denz has. He’s been out since senior year of high school. Denz has never shown any signs of doubting his identity.

Another yawn comes tinnily through his earbuds. Jordan’s eyes fall to Denz. He should tell him. No one else in their family knows about Jordan, except for Denz. Well, his cousin knows that Jordan’s not the Carter everyoneassumeshe is.

But then the topic of Jamie might come up and…

Jordan’s not up for that discussion.

He doesn’t have the time either.