Page 172 of Last First Kiss

Recognition finally kicks in. She says, “Jordan? You’re here.”

“So are you.” He fumbles out a grin of his own.

Jess looks good. She’s wearing a peach romper, her hair tucked into a messy bun. August sunlight is ripe against her dark brown skin. Next to her is a curvy woman with beachy curls, a light fawn complexion, and big hazel eyes. They’re holding hands.

Oh.

“Wow,” he stammers. “I mean… I didn’t know—”

“That I was bisexual?” Jess offers.

“Well, yeah.”

“Helps if you don’t spend part of your date with someone knocking over drinks,” she says with a teasing glint in her eyes.

He rubs the back of his head, embarrassed. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.” She laughs. “I wouldn’t have met Rosamaria”—she squeezes the woman’s hand tighter—“at that artisanal ice cream shop down the road from the restaurant if you didn’t.”

Rosamaria beams. There’s a small gap between her front teeth. “We both wanted the last scoop of mint chocolate chip.”

“The rest is history,” Jess says fondly.

Jordan’s jaw drops. Fuck him. They met at the same ice cream placehehad planned on walking to that night. His “perfect” love story ended tragically so theirs could begin. The universe works in strange, un-fucking-believable ways.

“I’m happy for you,” he says, meaning it.

Jess gives him a genuine smile.

“You look good, Jordan. Different, but good.”

Not much has changed in a few hours. But it’s there, the difference. Deep in his bone marrow, he feels it.

A line of anxious attendees builds behind Jess and Rosamaria. Jordan gestures to the food he’s supposed to be serving. “What can I get you? Gourmet popcorn? Soft pretzel bites? Er, uh… hot dog?”

Rosamaria turns her head to snort.

Jess raises a sharp eyebrow. “Only on occasion,” she says with a devious wink, and Jordan dissolves into laughter.

Gradually, the tournament winds down. Atlanta’s heat index in August is already intolerable. Combined with a full day of playing basketball outside? Everyone’s drenched and spent before 5PM.The remaining WNBA players hand out trophies to the winners, but Jordan manages to wrangle prizes for all the teams.

God, when did he become that “everyone’s a winner” parent who gives out blue ribbons to anyone who participates?

He sticks around for cleanup. It’s a 24 Carter Gold tradition Uncle Kenny started with his first events. Jordan breaks down tables and wipes surfaces and ties trash bags.

After, Whit drags him up to the second floor with Nic. It’s filled with more books on queerness than Jordan knew existed. Not once does Whit make him feel like he’s some clueless, confused,pathetic idiot. In fact, she sends him downstairs withhomeworkand her cell number.

“Call me if you have any questions.Any, Jordan.”

Whit might be terribly frightening, but Jordan’s glad she’s on his side.

For now, at least.

By the time Jordan exits Skye’s the Limit, sunset has turned the clouds pink. From the sidewalk, the city’s silhouette is beautiful. Pointed skyscrapers grazing the heavens. Honeyed light dancing off the glass towers. He can see why Nora Bridger chose this location.

He’s halfway to his car when a voice calls, “So you’re really leaving without speaking to me, huh? Very unprofessional.”

Jordan’s head turns to look.