Chapter Five #2
Damn it. That made it so tempting to cheat. Sighing dramatically, River stepped forward and handed Jem his old-fashioned. “I’m gonna guess he’s not an insurance salesman.”
Jem glanced down at his glass, then back up, eyes dancing. “You trying to say something, River?”
“That would count as wasting an official guess,” River said loftily. “Which I won’t be doing until the end of the night, when I have as much information as possible.”
Ward scoffed. “Since when do you use an actual strategy?”
“Okay, that’s rude.”
“Don’t make him get out Settlers of Catan,” Eric begged. “For the love of God.”
River decided to ignore them both. “Well? Do I need to get you a different drink?”
“Nah. Not my favorite, but a classic’s a classic for a reason. And much better than beer.” He held up his drink to touch to River’s bottle. “Cheers.”
Despite River’s worries, it turned out to be a good night.
Jem got along with Eric and Ward as easily as he had with River and Amanda—like he was just hardwired to be affable.
But under that affability was the same sly, sharp-tongued bitch who’d given River shit for assuming Jem would recognize him—a tale he recounted to Eric and Ward to their mutual delight.
It made sense, River thought. Jem was from the South, after all. Weren’t Southerners supposed to be low-key bitchy, in a bless your heart way? Sweet like honey, with the sting of a bee, or whatever.
The four of them talked until Ward’s watch beeped, reminding him he had to get home to put his kids to bed. Then he and Eric brought their bottles to the kitchen, said their goodbyes, and let themselves out.
This was River’s last excuse to back out. But no. Eric and Ward got along with Jem better than they had with River’s actual boyfriends.
“So.” Jem turned toward him on the couch. There was a finger of alcohol left in his second old-fashioned. “Did I pass?”
River saw through the deliberately light tone to the smugness underneath. “I was this close to telling Eric to get his own fake boyfriend.”
With a grin, Jem knocked back the rest of his cocktail and stood to take his glass to the kitchen.
River followed with his own empty bottles.
“I like them, you know? Uh, and you, obviously, but—I don’t know.
You didn’t grow up here, right? So you know what LA can be like from an outsider’s perspective. ”
River was barely twenty when the Flat Tires got their big break and moved to California. They spent a grueling year sharing a shitty cramped apartment and trying to network. Everyone they met seemed so jaded—but who wouldn’t be, when everyone wanted something from you? “Cold?” he suggested.
“Aloof,” Jem said, as if he was the lyricist. He put his glass in the sink and reached for the dish soap, as though River didn’t have a cleaning service come in twice a week and a dishwasher two feet to his right.
“They like you.” River watched Jem drop a dollop of dish soap in his glass and reach for the sponge. “Well. They like giving me shit, and you give them new ammunition. But also I think they like you.”
“Hmm.” Glass clean, Jem ran the tap over it to rinse away the soap and then set it in the drying rack. “Guess now that I’ve met the family, we’re moving forward with this plan?”
River leaned against the counter. “Guess so.”
Jem bumped his shoulder. “Are you gonna tell me what it is?”
He pretended to think about it. “I don’t know. Kinda takes the romance out of the fake romance—”
Jem flicked dishwater-wet fingers at him. “Come on.”
Sighing dramatically, River admitted, “Soft launch is on Saturday. I’ll pick you up at… mm, one?”
“Soft launch?”
“It would be pretty insufferable of me to just be like ‘Hey everybody, this is the guy I’m dating now. I’m super important, so you definitely all care. This isn’t suspicious at all.’ So yeah. Soft launch.”
“I’m not arguing the strategy, I’m asking for clarity on what it means.” He wiped his hands on the dishtowel. “But since you asked nicely, I’m free this Saturday at one.” So bitchy. “What are we doing?”
River had no idea, but even if he did, he wouldn’t tell Jem. “I don’t even know what you do for a living and you want me to spoil our date?” He clucked his tongue. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. You’ll find out when I pick you up. Dress code casual.”
Jem raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine.” Then he shook his head. “I should get going, though. Some of us have work tomorrow.”
“I’ll call you a car.” God, that was so—that was weird, right? River definitely felt like he should be driving Jem home himself, even though this wasn’t a date. Embarrassed, he felt compelled to add, “My night vision sucks. Don’t tell anyone.”
Jem grinned at him. “Worried about your image?”
“Perennially.”
They moved to the front room to wait for the car, and a weird kind of silence descended until River plucked one of his acoustic guitars from the wall and started to fidget.
“So are you going to use your guesses before the car comes?”
Which—right. They’d decided the guesses didn’t roll over, so River would have to make the best of them now. He tapped his fingers on the body of the guitar, soothing himself with the hollow beats, and thought for a minute.
Jem watched him with the same mild amusement he seemed to go through life with. His face gave away nothing.
Finally River said, “Raised by a single mom.”
Jem barked a laugh and leaned back on the couch. “That’s not fair. I mean, kind of a gimme, right? Guy signs up to be a sugar baby, must have daddy issues.”
River fist-pumped. “I got it?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jem shook his head. “Amazing powers of deduction.”
Shaking his head, River said, “Nah, man, just takes one to know one, you know?” He didn’t bother guessing if Jem’s dad was dead, like his own, or just a deadbeat like so many others. He didn’t want to tarnish his victory by getting it wrong.
“Fair enough.” He inclined his head. “What else you got?”
The trouble with getting something right on the first try was that now he had to live up to that success, and he didn’t have enough information to do it well.
But there was being right, and there was being funny.
If River couldn’t guess Jem’s job or his favorite movie or what he liked on his pizza, he could at least make him laugh again.
He narrowed his eyes and predicted, “You’re a promoter for a roller derby league.”
Jem smiled. “You’re close, actually.”
Damn. That told him nothing. “You’re not going to give me a hint?”
“You’re not giving up this early in the game.”
Fine. He’d guessed a family thing and a job thing, so that left… what? Musical taste? Hobbies? He huffed. “This is hard. You gotta give me something to go on.”
“Do I?” He blinked guileless hazel eyes. “All right. You get one question, completely unrelated to anything you guess afterward. So no asking what’s the last concert I went to and then guessing my musical taste.”
“So no go-to In-N-Out order either, huh?”
“Exactly.” Jem nodded. “And—to be fair, whatever question you ask me, you have to answer too.”
As if River had secrets anymore. Shit, okay… what would give him useful information without giving away too much? River snapped his fingers. “Okay, I got it. Top three celebrity crushes.”
“Oh, you mean aside from you?” he teased.
River snorted. He was under no delusions. “Obviously.”
“Okay, okay. We’ll go across the categories.”
“There are categories?”
“Men, women, nonbinary babes. Women are easiest—that’s Ilona Maher.”
In four hundred years, River never would’ve guessed that. His surprise must’ve shown on his face, because Jem smirked. “What? Didn’t see that coming?”
“I did not expect your first choice to be a woman who could squash you like a bug,” River admitted. “Though I guess that’s kind of the appeal?”
Jem went slightly glassy-eyed but did not offer further comment. “Also Timothee Chalamet.”
River was probably making a very ridiculous fishmouth face. “…Men you could squash like a bug?”
“And Jonathan van Ness,” Jem finished.
“Okay, no, that one makes perfect sense.” And River had learned something, although he didn’t know how the knowledge that Jem’s type was apparently “fuck gender norms” was going to help him figure out what he did for a living or what kind of movies he watched.
Although—“Your favorite musical is Kinky Boots.”
Jem cackled. “It’s Greatest Showman.”
River sputtered. “That counts!”
“In what world?” He shook his head. “Can’t believe you’re such a sore loser.”
Ouch. “You obviously didn’t see me when we got snubbed at the Grammys.”
“There’s always this year.”
What a little shit. River tossed a cork coaster at his head. “You’re the worst sugar baby ever. God. Doesn’t put out, absolutely dragging me at every opportunity—”
“Hey, people pay extra for that.”
River howled at the ceiling and repeated, “The worst!”
A moment later Jem poked him with one socked toe. “Your turn. Top three celebrity crushes. Come on, let’s hear it. And no saying yourself.”
“Oh, no,” River assured him. “I’m not my type.”
Jem pulled up both legs and sat lotus-style on the couch across from him. “So what is your type, then? Other than natural disasters waiting to happen.”
River stuck out his tongue. “Well… Jonathan Bailey, I guess. I mean he can sing, he can dance, you can bounce a quarter off his pants….”
“Fair,” Jem agreed.
“Chris Pine.” River was warming to the topic now. “That guy does not give a single fuck, he’s just out there living his life and dressing like a gay grandpa.”
“And he can dance and sing and you could bounce a quarter off his ass?” Jem suggested.
Whoops. River caught himself flushing this time. “Well,” he hedged. “Mostly I was thinking that he seems like he has a brain. I’m not totally shallow.”
“Uh-huh.” From the twinkle in his eye, Jem was unconvinced. “One more. Better make it count.”
Fuck. Nothing for it. With a groan, River flopped back against the sofa and admitted, “Aldis Hodge.”