Page 66 of Last First Kiss

And to Jordan’s horror, Jamie scoops up the sample. With his hand.

“What are you doing?”

“She wants a visual,” Jamie explains. “She’s not going to feed Sam their wedding cake with a fork.”

“Shemight,” Jordan argues in a voice way too high.

“That’s not sexy. Or romantic. She’s feeding her husband cake on theirwedding day. Not mashed peas to a cranky toddler in a high chair.”

Amy snorts into her hands. “It’s true.”

Jordan scrambles for a stronger argument. He comes up with nothing. Then, the cake’s right there. Perched on Jamie’s fingers. Inches from Jordan’s mouth.

God, he wants this to be over with.

“Open up,” Jamie requests softly.

Jordan squeezes his eyes shut. Mortified, he obeys.

The icing brushes his lips first. Sweet and a little tart. Then, the crumbly cake. The texture’s perfect, just like all the other samples. Instinctively, his lips start to close, and, for a brief second, they catch around Jamie’s fingers.

His fingertips are soft, uncallused. Jordan’s bottom teeth slide across well-groomed nails. Something ripples hot and relentless through his core.

Jamie’s hand retreats.

Jordan’s left with cake on his tongue and warmth low in his belly.

The citrus is like sunbeams in his mouth. It reminds him of weekend visits to Santa Monica. Of summers spent poolside at Denz’s house, Jamie in the lounge chair next to him.

“Well?” Amy prompts.

Jordan keeps his eyes shut, savoring. If he ever gets married— if he ever wanted one flavor to explain to his family and friends what his love story tastes like—it’d be this cake.

A throat clears.

Jordan’s eyes finally flutter open.

“That’s the one!” Amy announces. “That’s our wedding cake.”

“Great,” Yara says. “Should we discuss design?”

Amy leaves the table with her, moving back to the corner with the giant book.

“Jamie,” Amy calls, “I want your input too.”

Reluctantly, Jamie stands. He looks down at Jordan. His eyes are glazed. Maroon burns against his cheeks. He’s silent.

Jordan’s not sure hewantsJamie to say anything. His own throat isn’t working. Clogged with cake and embarrassment.

“Jamie?” Amy repeats.

“Coming,” Jamie says, his voice rough.

His gaze lingers on Jordan for a beat too long before he’s gone.

Jordan exhales. He’s not ready to get up. Hecan’tget up, not yet.

When he’s certain everyone’s attention is elsewhere, Jordan discreetly reaches under the table to adjust himself.