Page 180 of Last First Kiss

With trembling hands, he grabs his phone. Scrolls through his contacts. FaceTime only rings twice before the video connects.

“Jordan, I’m on alunch date—”

“Nic,” he cuts in.

“—so this better be important—”

“Nic.”

“—or I swear to God your firstborn will be mine—”

“Nicola.”

She stops short, her eyes flitting to the screen. “Are—are you crying?”

He sniffs hard. “I need your help.”

She doesn’t even hesitate. “Where’s the dead body?”

-20-?Write Your Vows

Anxious isn’t the right word for how Jordan feels.

Restless? Maybe. Stressed? Definitely.

It’s the equivalent of standing on the edge of a cliff where you can’t see what’s waiting below but someone’s right behind you, knife to your back, giving you three seconds to jump.

But “anxious” will do for now.

Late morning sunlight halos across the blue-and-pink basketball court. It’s a warm, humid day. Unfortunately, that’s not why Jordan is sweating profusely.

He bounces the ball once, twice, three times to try to shake off the nerves gripping his muscles. It doesn’t work. At least it gives him something to do while he waits.

This isn’t how he pictured spending his Saturday afternoon. To be fair, this isn’t how he pictured his life in general at the beginning of summer. Or last year. Hell, when he was sixteen and kissing someone for the first time. But, well, here he is.

Bouncing a basketball, alone.

Waiting.

When he called Nic the other day, he didn’t have a strategy. No clear path to this working. At least she had ideas. How could she not? She’s the younger sister of Kami, a habitually organized CEO, and Denz, king of schemes.

There’s no way she wasn’t going to at leasttryto help him.

Still, Jordan’s not used to this balled-up feeling in his gut. The doubt. It’s been building for days. Tying itself into a neat littleknot of dread and panic and hesitation. Like when he knows he can’t accomplish something.

Jordan, who plans and practices and perfects everything. Who always succeeds. Who never impulsively puts himself out there for something he’s not prepared for.

But this is different.

Jordanwantsthis. Not to impress anyone. To prove anything.

He wants this for himself.

If that means he has to carry so much stress in his muscles his knees feel like they’ll give out any second, so be it. Whatever it takes.

It’s another two bounces before he hears the voices. Two people emerge from the back door of Skye’s the Limit’s main building.

“Nic, why would you leave a hurt puppyoutside?” says the first voice.