Page 33 of Last First Kiss

Jordan hates how true it is. Every late May through mid-August,it was him and Denz. Thing One and Thing Two. Then, they became the Three Troublemakers when Jamie came around. But sometimes it was only him and Jamie, in those late hours where laughter and vulnerability and sleep-deprived conversations exist.

Where secrets are born.

Once college came into the picture, things were different. Denz left for the University of Georgia. Jamie went to UNC-Chapel Hill. A year later, Jordan relocated to Los Angeles to attend UCLA.

During the school year, he’d FaceTime with Denz. Mostly when his cousin wasn’t busy with his boyfriend. Which was all the time.

Occasionally, Jamie would message Jordan. Random hellos orshow me LADMs. Jordan always would. Photos of him trying to stuff one of Diddy Riese’s famous ice cream sandwiches in his mouth. Snapshots of Venice Beach at sunset. Santa Monica Pier lit up like a neon star against the night’s wine-dark sky.

In return, Jamie sent Snapchats of his hikes. Graham Memorial Hall, where he studied on weekends. Sporadic selfies: wavy brown hair going from long and curling around his ears to buzzed off, the laughter lines around his mouth deeper, the softness around his cheeks still unchanged.

Sometimes Jordan would reply instantly.

Sometimes it was days before he remembered, too caught in his own college experience.

He never avoided Jamie’s messages because of the kiss. Because of the confusion that came after. It just happened naturally.

“I figured you’dwantto work with him,” Kami tells him.

Jordan swallows. “Of course. He’s… great.”

Great, confusing—same thing, right?

Kami still looks at him suspiciously.

He waves a hand around like he can pull the right words from the air for her. “This project is a big deal for the company,” he says. “I want it to be perfect. No distractions.”

“Why would Jamie be a distraction?”

“He’s not! That’s not what I mean!”

Volcanic heat spreads up Jordan’s throat. He didn’t mean to shout.

“Whatdoyou mean, then?” Kami asks.

Jordan’s shoulders fall. He has no clue. But he needs to tell her. Not every little detail. Just that he can’t do this wedding.

That he’ll fuck this up so badly if he’s stuck with Jamie Peters for the next three months.

God, he hopes walking away from an assignment Kami hand-selected him for won’t ruin his reputation with her too much.

There’s a knock on the conference room door before it slowly opens.

“Kamila,” Cheryl says, one hand on the knob. “Mr. Velasco is here.”

“Oh, great,” Kami says. “You can show him in, Auntie.”

Cheryl nods once, disappearing.

Kami turns back to Jordan. “Hold that thought, will you?”

Jordan plans to. He has nothing else to do now that he’s pulling out of the McClintock wedding.

The door opens again.

In walks a Latine man who looks around Jordan’s age, around his height too. He’s striking. Neatly styled, dark curly hair. Vibrant brown eyes, a well-groomed mustache and chin-strap beard. His all-black tailored blazer and trousers flatter an already great silhouette. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, exposing hints of light sepia skin. Dimples appear around his smile.

“Good to see you again, Ms. Carter.”