Page 156 of Last First Kiss

Jordan raises his hands, realizing three seconds too late that this has gone from venting to catastrophic. “Okay, by ‘over it,’ you really mean—”

“I mean,” Amy huffs, shaking out her shoulders, “I’m fucking over doing what they want. I’m over Sam letting it happen. He wasn’t always like this. He used to ask my opinion. Hetriedthings to make me happy. Now we’re engaged and it’s like I’m marrying Sam and his parents.”

“Okay,” Jordan repeats in his calmest voice. “But—”

“I didn’t sign up for this!”

“Yes, but—”

“It’s over.”

Jordan swallows the lump in his throat. “Like, the dinner?”

Amy spins, wobbling on one heel. She stomps back to the front of the house. Jordan attempts to stop her.

In his mind, he runs like an NBA player who just stole the ball from his opponent and is on the way to score a slam dunk before the final buzzer.

In actuality, his feet are heavy. His muscles are uncoordinated. He doesn’t make it five steps before eating grass.

He rolls over, panicked. Distantly, he knows the wetness at his shoulder is the champagne spilling onto the lawn. It’s the least of his problems.

Jordan pats his chest. He searches for his phone. He’ll call Denz or Kami oranyonefast enough to catch Amy. Then he remembers his phone is in the kitchen, which is in the house. Approximately five million steps away.

Uselessly, he slurs, “Help?”

No one can hear him. No one is coming to save his drunk ass.

Minutes, maybe hours go by. The alcohol makes it hard to tell.

Eventually, he hears footsteps. He’s treated to an upside-down view of shiny black shoes and a swanky linen suit. Javi stands over him, crimson-faced, nostrils flared.

“Hi?” Jordan tries weakly.

Javi’s greeting comes in a “What thefuckhave you done?”

Two seconds later, Jordan turns his head and vomits all over the grass.

Kami isn’t talking.

She hasn’t spoken since he sat down on the lavender love seat opposite her desk. She hasn’t spoken since texting him yesterday morning to meet her at 9AMsharp this morning. Kami hasn’t said a single word aboutanythingand Jordan’s afraid she might never speak a word to him again. She’ll simply slide his termination papers across the desk. Go back to typing on her computer asJordan packs up everything in his office in a tiny cardboard box security provides him.

He holds his breath, waiting. Nothing.

The clacking keyboard is the only noise echoing in the office.

Jordan’s almost positive she knows what happened at the party. Everyone probably does. Kim and Connor didn’t mention anything when he walked off the elevator. They were preoccupied wondering where the doughnuts were. None of the interns looked at him funny either.

Even Eric, who stopped Jordan to show off new photos of the twins, didn’t bring up how he had cost the company one of its biggest clients over a bottle of champagne andfeelings.

Maybe Kami told the staff to keep quiet about it?

Saturday night’s still a bit hazy. Jordan hasn’t put all the pieces together yet.

He remembers Javi hauling him off the lawn. Being led to one of the fourteen bathrooms where no one could see him hugging the porcelain toilet. Javi stole his car keys. Snuck him out a secret door. Helped him into the passenger seat of his Audi.

When he thinks back through the fog, Jordan doesn’t remember talking to anyone on the way to his car. Not the McClintocks. Not Sam or Amy. Not the Peterses or Sloane or Jamie. It was just him and Javi, who occasionally looked at him with disgust, then apathy, and, finally, pity.

After that, it’s a blur.