Page 183 of Last First Kiss

Explaining the rules of the game was much easier than actually following through on them.

“Okay,” Jordan says.

He exhales one more time. He can do this. Heneedsto.

“I’m still figuring out what label really fits me best, but, for right now”—he swallows, smiling—“I think it’s demi. I’m… demisexual.”

Jamie doesn’t blink. “That’s great, but you don’t—”

Jordan holds up a finger. He’s not finished.

“I wantyouto be the first to know.” Sweat dribbles down his temple. “You’re the first person to hear me say it. Out loud. And I just. I wanted it to be you.”

The corner of Jamie’s mouth twitches. It’s not a smile, not exactly, but it’s something. He passes the ball back.

Jordan’s next shot catches the backboard before sinking in.

“Other than Yazzie, I never had—neverwanteda romantic relationship with anyone else,” Jordan says, his voice a little stronger than before. “I hate going on dates with strangers. I’m not into random hookups. I never thought about peoplethat way… until you.”

Jamie holds on to the ball a second longer this time. He stares and stares. It’s as if he sees the pieces of Jordan’s puzzle for the first time and is quietly trying to put them together.

Jordan lets him.

He concentrates on his next shot, a buzz in his system. It’s slightly off, imperfect, kind of like him currently.

“I didn’t kiss Javi to compare you two,” he says after the ball lands in. “Not intentionally.”

Jamie’s eyebrows lift.Then why?

“I needed to know that what I felt was real,” Jordan explains. “That I wasn’t attracted to him. Because there’s no connection. Our kiss felt like nothing. But with you.” He sucks in a loud breath. “Kissing you is like… like sitting in your pajamas watching movies all day. It’s like soup when you’re sick. Like being high—so fucking high.” A laugh bubbles in his chest. “Jamie, it’s a rush and it’s comfort and it’shome.”

He watches Jamie’s throat work as he swallows.

“Kissing you is like—” Jordan’s voice breaks. “Like knowing I’ll never be alone again.”

Jamie fumbles with the ball. He bounces it to Jordan.

The next shot is effortless.

Jordan’s words are not.

“I hate that you said you weren’t the right person for me.” His eyes sting, teeth grinding. “‘Right’ makes it seem like there’s somethingwrongwith you. That I’d have toacceptyou. But Jamie, who you are isn’t for someone to accept. Or fix.”

Something flashes in Jamie’s eyes.

“You’re Jamie fucking Peters,” Jordan tells him with a wet smile. “You don’t have to be ‘right’ for anyone to love you. Certainly not me.”

Jamie’s stiff. Frozen. Only his chest rises and falls.

Jordan retrieves the ball himself. He moves back into position.

It’s hard to see the goal through his damp lashes. He tries to blink, but tears keep filling his vision. It’s fine. Jordan spent years practicing and perfecting his craft. He might not be great with words, but he’samazingat basketball.

The ball springs off his fingers. There’s just enough time forhim to scrub the back of his hand over his eyes. To watch the ball circle the rim three times, teetering on the edge of falling off.

He holds his breath. Jamie gasps.

The ball drops in.