Page 79 of Last First Kiss

He waves Jordan over. Betrayed by his own limbs, Jordanstumbles forward. He flops onto the empty space of wood next to Jamie. An elderly white woman with an orange visor and the scent of Chanel and bug spray barely leaves him any space. Jordan’s forced to shift closer to Jamie.

Thigh-to-thigh close.

He should’ve run when he had the chance.

Jordan half turns to Jamie. “What’re you doing here?”

Jamie’s in a pair of pink khaki shorts to match the polka dots spread across his navy button-down. Fortunately, Jordan’s gym bag was in his trunk. He swapped his work clothes for an old UCLA T-shirt and athletic joggers. A tremendously awful idea. Jordan can practically feel Jamie’s downy leg hairs through the material.

“Supporting Mikah,” Jamie says casually.

“What?”

Jamie laughs. “Since Denz moved, I’ve tried to fill in. I had him forward me Mikah’s soccer schedule.” He glances at the field. “I never miss a game.”

“You… don’t?”

Jamie shakes his head.

So polite of Kami to fail to mention that part, Jordan thinks hotly.

Jamie cups his hands around his mouth. He yells, “Woo! Let’s go, Mikah!”

His face is lit like the sun. Warm and bright and unbearable.

Jordan looks elsewhere.

He tracks the players on the field until he finds Mikah. He’s one of the smallest. His green-and-black jersey has a big white 8 printed on the back. Wind flies through his curly ’fro as he runs. He’s fast, but not very coordinated. That doesn’t stop Jamie from whooping again when Mikah reaches the ball.

“He’s like the Flash out there!”

One of Mikah’s teammates misses a goal. A collective groan from the stands forces the coach to call a timeout.

Jordan tugs out his phone. He opens his emails. “Hey, have you looked at that list?”

“What list?” Jamie says.

Annoyed, Jordan says, “The one I sent Amy. With bullet points for the best man. Things like ‘week before’ tasks. ‘Day of’ tasks. Questions about whether she wants a bridal shower or bachelorette party—”

“Nooo,” Jamie whines. “No more wedding talk, Jordan. I’m getting video for Denz.”

His phone is focused on the huddle. The camera follows Mikah as he happily dashes back onto the field.

Embarrassed, Jordan pockets his own phone. As much as he needs to, he’s not here to do work. He’s here for Mikah. To make sure he doesn’t feel alone. The way Jordan had at his age.

While studying the game, he says, “You do that too?”

“Do what?”

“Record videos for Denz? So he can watch Mikah’s games later?”

“All the time.”

Jordan can hear the affectionate smile in Jamie’s voice. He doesn’t look to confirm. It’s safer that way.

“I know he wishes he was here to see Mikah kick ass,” Jamie comments. “Iwish he was here. Sometimes.”

Jordan hums.