Page 26 of Last First Kiss

The heavy wooden door smacks into his forehead. He stumbles backward. Right onto the—thankfullyclosed—toilet seat.

Tears fill Jordan’s eyes. He blinks them away. Of course it’s Jamie who’s kneeling in front of him when his vision clears.

The cherry on top of this wonderfully shitty morning.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Warm hands grab Jordan’s face. Long, cautious fingers tilt his chin. “Are you okay?”

“Sure,” Jordan hisses, head throbbing. “Getting hit by a door and falling on my ass is my favorite thing to do. That and playing pickleball.”

“You’re being funny.”

“Am I?” Jordan says flatly.

“Actually, you’retryingto be funny. It’s pretty bad.” The left side of Jamie’s mouth creeps higher. “Has anyone ever told you you’re like Ellen DeGeneres funny?”

“Damn,” Jordan manages as Jamie angles his chin the other way. “I was going for Pete Davidson funny.”

He forces himself not to react when Jamie’s fingertips graze his temple. A memory—a quiet diner, fingers skimming his skin—starts to unfold in his head.

Jordan quickly shuts it down.

“Pete Davidson?” Jamie snorts. “That’s a pretty high bar. Start with Dakota Johnson funny. Work your way up.”

“Thanks for the suggestion.”

It’s unfortunate Jordan’s vision cleared so quickly. Now, he has a crisp view of Jamie’s smirk. His bare jaw. Jordan’s not used to that, Jamie with anything other than a stubbly face.

He’s also not used to the disappointment at that fact.

Obviously, he must have a concussion.

“Your nose isn’t bleeding,” Jamie observes. “That’s good. Means no brain hemorrhaging.”

Jordan lets out an exhausted sigh. “Jamie, you’re not a doctor.”

“True.” Jamie’s eyes narrow. Brown flecked with moss andcedar. “But I did marathon six seasons ofGrey’s Anatomythe other week.”

“That’s depressing.”

“Tell me about it. Everyone dies on that show.”

“Still doesn’t make you a doctor,” Jordan points out.

“Okay, but hear me out: Those actors know a lot about medicine and stuff,” Jamie counters. “Which they got from the show writers. Who probably spentmonthswith real doctors. Ergo, I’ve absorbed all their knowledge through observational learning.”

“Did you just”—Jordan would raise an eyebrow if his forehead weren’t throbbing so much—“ergome?”

“I did.”

Jamie’s smile is like the sun. Jordan has to blink several times. Either he’s truly concussed or Jamie’s argumentalmostmade sense.

“It’s like Six Degrees of Kevin Sausage or whatever,” Jamie adds.

“Bacon,” Jordan corrects.

“What?”

“It’s Six Degrees of KevinBacon.”