Chapter Five
Kiss Run Wild
“You’re not serious,” Ward said, booted feet up on the ottoman in River’s lounge, like a heathen.
“That is usually the problem,” Eric put in, because if there was anything River could count on his erstwhile bandmates for, it was frequent and devastating ego blasting.
Ward ignored Eric. “You hired an escort?”
River made a face. “We don’t all meet our soulmates at sixteen, dude.
” Ward and his wife had been together ever since.
She’d stuck with him through the constant touring, put up with River and Eric crashing on her couch while she was in nursing school because they were basically living out of their van, and if she ever had a single complaint, River never heard it and Ward never let on.
But now they had two kids in school, and Ward didn’t want to miss them growing up.
They hadn’t announced it yet, but after the back half of this tour—one they were in the middle of a pause for—wrapped, that was it, exit stage left.
River didn’t blame Ward or Eric, who had been diagnosed with fibromyalgia last fall and decided his touring days were over too.
“What if you had, though?” Eric mused. “Like what if it was your cell mate in juvie.”
River flipped him off for the old joke but delivered his line anyway. “That criminal record was expunged!”
“I’m just saying, if you wanted to meet somebody, we know people.”
“I don’t want to meet anyone,” River said. “That’s the point, remember? I meet enough people, and then I start relationships with them and they fuck me over.”
After a moment Ward said, “We could set you up with a therapist. Like, nonromantically.”
Why did River bother putting his middle finger away? He sighed, long-suffering. “Look. Do you want to meet him or not?”
“Whoa, whoa, wait. You just hired this guy and you’re already introducing him to the band?” Eric whistled. “Slow your roll, man. You wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea.”
“Shut up. He’s going to be around a lot for the next couple of months and I don’t want it to seem awkward, okay?”
“You mean Amanda doesn’t want it to seem awkward.”
“It was Ted, actually,” River corrected.
Amanda was his manager, not the Flat Tires’; she didn’t have to care as much about rumors of a band breakup.
“But also, like, I don’t want the guy to get the full Yoko Ono treatment either.
” No one deserved that. “So just pretend to be normal rock stars and not nerdy little assholes who get their kicks tormenting my fake boyfriend.”
“Hey. Tormenting your fake boyfriend is absolutely going to be the most normal thing we’ve ever done.”
“You literally have two kids, a dog, and a white picket fence.”
Just as the conversation was getting good, the doorbell rang. River tensed, suddenly nervous for no reason he could put his finger on.
“Oh my God. Is this the moment?” Ward leaned forward. “Is he here? How’s my hair?”
Eric clucked his tongue and gestured him over. “Come here and let me fix it for you.”
“What about my shirt? Do I smell? Do you think I have time to change—”
River pushed him off the couch. “You always smell.” The peanut gallery shadowed him to the door like a pair of stalkers.
Good thing River wasn’t actually trying to impress this guy. He opened the door.
Jem stood on his front step, hands tucked into the back pockets of his dark-wash jeans, hair ruffling in the Santa Anas. He quirked that sheepish smile over the tall, loose collar of his oatmeal sweater, which he’d flipped up, probably to keep the wind off his neck.
Behind River, there was a loud crash. Jem blinked. River turned to look over his shoulder and found Eric and Ward on the floor in the foyer, Eric cursing a streak that would’ve made Prince blush and Ward attempting to detangle their shoelaces.
That was what they got for wearing their shoes on River’s furniture.
“Hi,” River said belatedly. “Welcome to my circus. These are my monkeys.”
Jem raised his hand in a dorky little wave. “Uh… hi.”
Having found their feet, Eric and Ward crowded around the door. River elbowed Ward back so he could step aside and let Jem in.
“Jem, this is Ward and Eric. Ward, Eric, Jem.”
Handshakes were exchanged. River closed the door before the Santa Anas could rip it out of his grip.
While Eric was making normal hello-nice-to-meet-you small talk, Ward leaned over and said in a very loud stage whisper, “Oh my God, he looks like an insurance salesman.”
Jem glanced at River, half his mouth quirked wryly.
Eric looked at Ward like he’d grown a second head. “What is wrong with you?”
“I’m not sure if they’re being nosy or protective or just assholes,” River said by way of excusing his bandmates. “Sorry.”
“It’s cool. I don’t take anything personally when it comes from a rock musician named Ward.” He toed off his shoes—like a reasonable person—and offered River a smirk. “You using that as today’s official guess?”
The four of them gravitated toward the living room.
“Official guess?” Ward parroted.
Jem opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if he didn’t know how much River had told them. River filled in the blanks. “Amanda thinks I need to be tricked into finding people interesting, so I don’t actually know his day job, and I’m not allowed to ask. I get one guess a day.”
“I’m not allowed to lie,” Jem put in. “He’s not allowed to ask about my family either. Or what music I like or whatever. One guess a day per category.”
Ward made a face. “Why does this feel kinky?”
River tensed, because someone new to sex work might take that as some kind of shaming, but Jem laughed and said, “I guess we could add sexual preferences as a category.”
He and Ward continued toward the living room, leaving River with Eric, who looked at him and said, “I can’t believe you met your soul mate like this. That’s so embarrassing for you.”
River rolled his eyes. “He’s not even my type. That’s literally why Amanda chose him.”
“I want you to know I’m picking out your china pattern right now.”
“Make sure you keep your receipt.” He paused as they reentered the lounge. “Drinks?”
“Finally,” Eric said. “The service here sucks.”
“That’s because I don’t have servants.” River looked at Jem. “Beer? Wine? Fancy cocktail? Coffee? Or should I guess that too?”
Jem dimpled. “Surprise me.”
Eric mouthed, Soul. Mate, and lowered himself into the armchair nearest Jem, possibly to start planning the wedding.
“I’ll give you a hand,” Ward offered.
Which meant he wanted to interrogate River without an audience, but that was nothing new.
In the kitchen, he leaned against the counter while River raided the fridge. “Let’s hear it,” River said. “I know you didn’t come in here to be polite.”
“I’m worried about you.”
River clunked a couple beer bottles on the counter and then considered the contents of his fridge, wondering what Jem might want. He struck River as a simple guy, which meant he probably enjoyed beer, but beer was so… boring.
Okay, so was Jem. But that felt like cheating.
Phoning it in. River should put in an effort to play the game, at least. After a moment’s debate, he grabbed an orange and the bottle of bitters for an old-fashioned.
Still kinda boring… but the idea of subtly calling Jem old-fashioned appealed too much to let it go.
“Because I made a choice to actively stop trying to sleep with losers?” River asked.
“That’s a symptom, not the cause.” Ward crossed his arms. “Don’t try to pretend the loser parade didn’t start with Eric’s diagnosis and the decision to quit.”
You decided to quit, River thought, but he knew it wasn’t fair. He focused on muddling the sugar. “Watch your ego. You’re gonna tarnish your down-to-earth reputation.”
“I just—we never really talked about, like.” Ward made a face. “Your feelings or whatever.”
Jesus Christ. “And you thought now’s the time? With my paid fake boyfriend in the lounge waiting on his cocktail?”
“Yeah,” said Ward, his body language and tone broadcasting duh at max volume on every frequency. “’Cause you can’t run away. Obviously.”
Obviously. River poured rye over the ice cube. “My feelings are not your responsibility.” It was possible he’d watched too much therapist TikTok.
“Shut up. You’re my friend. Your feelings matter to me whether you like it or not.”
River snorted and finished off the drink with a twist of orange peel. “That’s heartwarming. Really. But I’m a big boy. I promise I don’t need a babysitter.”
Ward raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly in the direction of the lounge, where Jem had somehow unearthed a set of coasters for the drinks.
River sighed. “I plead the Fifth.” He handed Ward two beers. “Make yourself useful, would you?”
Unfortunately, Ward probably had a point.
River had felt that self-destructive urge under his skin for months now.
He’d never begrudge his friends their happiness or their full lives, but he’d be lying if he said their decision to quit the band and focus on that fullness hadn’t shone an unforgiving light on the emptiness of River’s life.
It was possible he’d been reckless in his urge to fill it with anything or anyone that fit.
Amanda knew it too. That was probably part of the motivation behind her fake-boyfriend plan. The hell of it was that she managed it without River realizing she even knew.
God damn. If Amanda ever set her sights on world domination, they were all screwed.
When he joined the group in the lounge, he found Eric doubled over laughing, wiping tears from his face. He looked up as River entered and promptly lost it again, hiccupping and slapping the armrest.
Ward looked at River, who shrugged; River looked at Jem, who gave him that trademark sheepish smile. “He learned something interesting about me.”
Eric finally managed a full breath, then eased himself back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. “You’re not allowed to Google him,” Eric said. “No one said I couldn’t. And oh my God. It was worth it.”