Page 12 of Last First Kiss

“Jordan Carter,” Jamie repeats, and the way he says it—with patience, sounding out every vowel—makes Jordan want to simultaneously crawl underneath Denz’s bed and stay perfectly still, washed in Jamie’s keen gaze.

A long beat passes before Jamie finishes: “Did you think I was suggesting you practice kissing withme?”

Despite the painful heat assaulting Jordan’s face, he blows out a mocking breath. “You? Me? Kiss? Why would I think that?”

“Because I have experience,” Jamie says matter-of-factly.

“That doesn’t qualify you as a good kisser.”

“I’m agreatkisser.”

“I doubt it.”

Jamie’s eyebrows pinch. “I have amazing references. People line up around the city for these lips.”

For emphasis, he puckers his mouth. That perfect, full, pink mouth.

God, Jordan has gone from high to hallucinating.

“Well,” he says after refocusing his gaze to Jamie’s left ear, “don’t count me as one of your desperate fans. If they even exist.”

There’s a moment where Jordan believes that’s enough. He’s shut Jamie up. They can move on. Get back to playingMario Kart. Forget this discussion ever happened.

But then something feral pulls at Jamie’s features. Sharpens his eyes. Curls his already watchable mouth.

“You’re scared I’m right. That I’m a great kisser,” Jamie says. He yanks his hand from Jordan’s shoulder to poke him in the chest. “You’re scared that I might teachyousomething.”

“You’re wrong,” Jordan says with as much confidence as he can muster with Jamie’s finger still pressed to his sternum.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Prove it.”

“Prove what?”

“Practice on me,” Jamie all but commands. “If I can’t teach you anything about kissing, I’ll—”

“Shut the fuck up and let me finish beating you atMario Kart?” Jordan offers.

Jamie squints. Soft pink lines surround his brown irises. But Jamie’s eyes aren’tjustbrown. There’s a range of unidentified colors splashed through that sepia sea.

Holy fuck, Jordan is never touching another brownie in his life.

“I’ll let you win atMario Kart,” Jamie proposes. “This time.”

“Letme win?” Jordan laughs. But Jamie’s gaze doesn’t falter.

Another shiver runs through Jordan.

“Fine, fine,” he huffs. “Whatever. Try your best, you fake expert.”

Jamie beams. “I will.”

There’s not a second for Jordan to rethink what he’s agreed to.

Jamie scoots even closer. He rests a careful hand under Jordan’s jaw. His fingertips are warm, a little callused. His thumb smooths the skin beneath Jordan’s lower lip where prickly baby scruff grows. His other hand eases along the back of Jordan’s neck.