Page 157 of Last First Kiss

All Jordan knows is he woke up in his own bed with a glass of water and two ibuprofens and a dead phone waiting on his nightstand.

He hasn’t seen or heard from Javi since.

Nothing from Jamie either. That was to be expected, though.

Jordan has done a respectable job pretending it doesn’t hurt. That he’s still angry. There’s no room for sadness, disappointment.

His act lasted for about half a day.

Then the tears came. Hot, fast, infuriating. He let one manhave that kind of effect on him. Drag him so far into his emotions, he can’t see left or right. It’s been years since Jordan was this angry, but it had happened.

All because of Jamie Peters.

Thetap-tapof Kami’s keyboard snaps Jordan out of his misery.

Morning light washes over her brown skin. Her smooth high ponytail. She’s not making eye contact with him.

Just typing.

It reminds Jordan of being thirteen. When his mom warned him not to practice basketball skills in the apartment. But he was so close to perfecting that spinning-the-ball-on-your-finger trick. She was at work. Tevin was gone too.

He needed to keep going.

He needed to—

The ball slipped off his finger. Hit the living room’s glass coffee table before bouncing into the large, ornate bookcase. The one that held Tevin’s awards and Jordan’s trophies and his mom’s favorite crystal swan.

The one Grandma gave her before she died.

Predictably, the swan was the only item that fell off the shelf, shattering. Jordan cleaned it up before his mom got home. He tried to explain himself, but he was still in his pissed-off-at-the-world little-shit stage.

He didn’t apologize for what happened.

Cheryl didn’t say a word. Not over dinner. Not during breakfast the next morning. Days and days of silence followed. Jordan kept waiting for the yelling, the shouting, the punishment.

It never came.

Not until a week later. When he finally sobbed out an apology. He very specifically remembers the smell of Coco Mademoiselle as Cheryl pulled him into her arms and kissed the top of his head. That’s when Jordan realized what his real punishment was.

Her silence. Feeling alone when she was right there.

This time, Jordan’s not going days before saying something.

“Kami, I—”

She holds up a finger. “I didn’t give you permission to speak yet.”

Jordan’s jaw clicks shut.

Kami finishes typing. She folds her hands on the desk. Her face is placid as she says, “Would you like to know how I spent my Sunday?”

Jordan stares at her.

“Well?”

“You didn’t give me permission to speak?”

She looks unamused. “I was on the phone with the McClintocks. With Sam. I couldn’t reach Amy. But I left three voicemails.Voicemails, Jordan, like I’m some Gen Xer still using a rotary phone.” Kami exhales. “I tried to figure out how we went from planning the biggest wedding of the year to it being called off at the engagement dinner.”