Page 181 of Last First Kiss

“Because Whit’s allergic,” Nic says.

“Then get her some antibiotics!”

“Do you mean,” Nic starts, and Jordan can hear the mocking smile in her voice, “antihistamines?”

There’s a scoff. A mixture of admonishment and affection as the first voice says, “Never leave a puppy outside in this unforgiving heat.”

Nic sighs, shaking her head as she steps onto the court.

With Jamie.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dark-scruff-lining-his-jaw Jamie. With his thick, wavy hair looking a rumpled mess. Eyes brown but not quite. He’s in jeans. His pale blue T-shirt has a stain on it.

He looksgood. Incredible.

Whatever force that was holding Jordan down relaxes, just a little. Enough for him to say, “Hi.”

Jamie eyes him, surprised. He doesn’t say anything back.

“This is going great so far,” Nic comments.

Jordan squints at her. “Did you say I was an injured puppy to lure him out here?”

“Did you have a better scenario?”

“Well, no, but I didn’t tell you tolie—”

“Decisions were made,” she interrupts. “He’s here. No puppies were harmed. Can we move on now?”

“What the fuck,” Jamie says at last, “is going on?”

“It seems my cousin”—Nic rolls her eyes in Jordan’s direction—“has a problem with my methods of getting you to show up today.”

“You lied to him,” Jordan counters.

“Imanipulatedthe truth. Youarehurt. And you do look like a sad puppy.” She smooshes her cheeks together for emphasis.

“I’m leaving,” Jamie announces.

Nic’s reflexes are quick. She presses her hand flat against Jamie’s chest, stopping him. “No,” she says with a smile that looks more like a warning.Don’t cross me. “I’m leaving. You stay. Got it?”

Slowly, Jamie nods.

“Wonderful.” Nic pats his chest roughly. “Have a good talk.”

Then she’s gone.

Jordan stares at Jamie. His stiff posture. The way his focal point is somewhere past Jordan’s shoulder. He forces himself not to be hurt by that. Spins the basketball on his index finger as a distraction.

Gradually, Jamie’s eyes take him in. He starts with Jordan’s old high-tops. The pair of ratty gym shorts he’s wearing. His loose Golden State Warriors jersey. Not exactly “Will Thacker interrupting a press conference to tell Anna how he feels” attire, but theme appropriate.

Jamie meets his gaze. “I’m still angry with you.”

“I know.”

“And hurt too.”

Jordan nods once. “I figured.”