Page 97 of Last First Kiss

“A 1970 Dodge Charger R/T,” Jamie says.

Jordan blinks. “What?”

“A car from the movie,” Jamie tells him. “The most iconic one.”

It’s as if he’s gotten closer. Or the alcohol has made Jordan’s depth perception abysmal. Either way, Jamie’s smile tips higher. There’s a light, warm brush against Jordan’s knuckles. Jamie’s fingers.

He says, huskily, “Have I mentioned Vin Diesel is hot? Because—”

“‘Like A Virgin’!” someone shouts.

“Correct!” the trivia host cheers.

Jordan’s body heats up. There are way too many people in this bar. He drags his hand away to have another sip. The sting at the back of his throat is unbearable. “Jamie, whatisthis?”

“A sapphire martini!”

Jordan stares at the glass, betrayed. “This is not a sapphire martini.”

Jamie’s brow creases. “Are you sure?”

“You put, like, five different liquors in here!”

“Let me check.” Jamie tugs his phone from his dark jeans.

Jordan inclines—careful to avoid touching the bar—to watch the screen. It’s tab after tab of cocktail recipes. Yes, this is the height of Jamie’s bartending knowledge. Google-able, step-by-step directions on how to make a screwdriver. He shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near alcohol.

“Aha! This says it’s a—oh.”

“An electric iced tea?” Jordan groans.

Jamie scratches his scruffy jaw. “Well, shit. I forgot to add the lemon-lime soda too.”

“Youthink?”

Jordan raises the glass to the light. Peacock-blue liquor sloshes out of the side. It almost lands on the sleeve of his pale yellow button-down.

“I can make you another,” Jamie offers.

“No, thanks.” The second Jordan hops off this stool, he’s going to fall over. He’ll probably be drunk for the next week.

Jamie smiles guiltily. It’s adorable on him. No wonder he makes so many tips.

He inspects Jordan’s glass. “Wow. I’ve never made one of these before.”

“I’m shocked,” Jordan deadpans.

“Whatever it is,” a voice says from his left, “I’ll take five of them.”

Jordan looks over. A thirtysomething white woman in a body-hugging navy cocktail dress with a deep V-neck and long, caramel blond hair props herself against the bar. The pink sash across her chest readsTEAM BRIDEin glittering gold sequins.

Jamie flexes a friendly smile. His bartender smile.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

The woman fixes him with a confident stare. “Agreeing to a bar crawl for my cousin’s bachelorette night? Bad idea. Wearing heels for said bar crawl? Bad idea. Participating in a trivia night with four tipsy women who only know babies, husbands, and the Real Housewives? Unforgivably bad idea.”

She points a well-manicured finger at Jordan’s glass.