Page 152 of Last First Kiss

“If you’re gonna kill me,” Javi pleads, “at least let me call my primo Angelo. I need to warn him about my sex toy drawer before my ma finds it—”

“I’m not going to kill you.” Jordan pauses. “You have a sex toy drawer?”

“Who doesn’t?”

Evidently, everyone except for Jordan.

He shakes his head. “That’s not why I’m here.”

Javi raises a thick eyebrow. “This isn’t about me fucking things up between you and Jamie?”

Oh, it’s definitely about that.

“No,” Jordan snarls. “I need the rest of this dinner to run smoothly.”

Javi nods, still not fully convinced Jordan doesn’t have an axe behind his back, an unmarked van, and a spot on the Belt Line trail to bury his corpse.

“Without me,” Jordan adds.

“¿Qué?”

Jordan shoves his iPad into Javi’s chest. “I need a break. Some fresh air.”

Javi looks around the tent, as if wondering what other air Jordan needs sincethey’re already outside. A valid point he ignores.

“You’re in charge. Just follow the checklist.” Jordan unlocks the iPad. “You already know what to do. You’re a pro.”

“Is this a test?”

“What? No.”

“Are you being held hostage? Is this a cry for help?”

Jordan rolls his eyes. “Yes.Help meby doing your damn job.”

Javi considers it for a second. “I’m changing the order of the speeches. And I’m cutting the slideshow Lydia made. No one’s drunk enough for that.”

“Sure, whatever,” Jordan agrees. “It’s your funeral.”

Javi smirks. He turns the iPad around, scrolling. “Oh, and Amy hasn’t made an appearance yet.”

Jordan pauses, thinking. “I’ll take care of that.”

Eventually.

Right now, Jordan needs to get the hell out of here. He reaches behind the bar to blindly snatch the most expensive bottle of chilled champagne from a bucket of ice. Shoulders back, chin high, Jordan strides calmly out of the tent.

-17-?Go on a Final Walk-Through

It turns out drinking was a great idea.

Thebestidea.

Jordan’s pleasantly buzzed. Skin so warm, he has to ditch his tie and undo the buttons of his collar somewhere between the stone steps leading into the main house and crossing the front door’s threshold. He considers stopping in the kitchen. Drinking on an empty stomach seems like a mistake, but fuck it. He’ll add it to his growing list of colossal mistakes.

The night hums around him. In the distance, cicadas sing. The indigo sky is moonlit. He sips from the bottle. Inhales the heady scent of maple and cedar and late July heat.

He manages to trip only once down the front steps.