Page 59 of Last First Kiss

Pretty shades of red, pink, and orange for the lesbian flag. Pink, green, and blue for polysexuals. Light blue, pink, and white for transgender. The yellow intersex flag with a purple circle. Pink, yellow, and blue for pansexual.

Jamie’s flag, Jordan briefly thinks.

Two flags are black, gray, white, and purple, but in different patterns, next to a flag with varying shades of green, white, gray, and black.

Asexual. Demisexual. Aromantic.

There are more, but Jordan’s eyes lift just as Amy is rounding the corner. Like a teen caught looking at porn, he fumbles with his phone while closing out the Google tab. He approaches her with what he hopes is a nonchalant expression.

Amy’s glowing, backlit by the sun like an angel. Her floral-print midi dress sways with the breeze. A pair of designer shades sits on her head. She has two paper cups from a local coffee shop in her hands.

“Sorry we’re a little late,” she says by way of greeting.

Jordan smiles. “No worries.”

“It’s her fault, not mine!”

And that’s when Jordan sees him.

Jamie, in a V-neck so beautifully blue, the sky’s probably jealous. A matching shade of blue runs through his tartan pants. His hair’s rumpled, the way Jordan likes—er, isusedto. In his hands are twin Styrofoam cups. He stops in front of Jordan, grinning.

“She had to pee.”

“I neededcoffee,” Amy corrects, elbowing him.

As they bicker, Jordan notices it’s just them. He looks beyond Amy’s shoulder. No sight of Sloane—something Jordan wasn’t secretly preparing for—and no Sam either.

He clears his throat. “Is Sam still at the coffee shop?”

Amy’s attention snaps to him. She frowns. “He can’t make it. There’s… stuff going on with the film. His dad needs him.”

Something unsaid flashes behind her eyes. She blinks it away, pushing out a big smile.

“Sam trusts my judgment,” she adds. “So you get my superior taste buds today.” Again, she nudges Jamie hard. “Oh, and this guy’s mediocre ones too.”

“And—” This time, Jordan creeps onto his tiptoes to look past Jamie. “No… Sloane?”

Jamie’s eyebrows droop. “Why would she be here?”

“Well.” Jordan tugs the suddenly tight shirt collar away from his neck. “I mean, she came to the venue.”

“We had dinner plans. With Amy and Sam.”

Of course. A double date. The kind of thing you naturally do with your friends and the woman you’ve been on a “few dates” with.

“She’s not, like”—his struggle for words is peak sixteen-year-old Jordan asking Yazzie out—“in the wedding party? As, like, your…”

Amy snort-giggles. “No, no. Sloane’s not in the wedding party. She won’t be at any more of these meetings,” she assures. “Jamie’s the only non-McClintock, current or future, that’ll be around.”

“Perfect,” Jordan says under his breath, doing his best to grin his way through the embarrassment.

Jamie’s flexed mouth tells him he’s failing miserably.

Jordan needs something else to look at. His eyes drop to Jamie’s feet. “Are you wearing Crocs?”

Amy laughs again, bright and nasally.

Jamie says, indignantly, “I wasn’t aware there was a cake-tasting dress code.”