Chapter Five #3
The silence from Jem didn’t help. River could feel his cheeks burning.
He felt like he’d just run naked through his high-school cafeteria, except, like, that probably wouldn’t have embarrassed him.
Like his crush had just read his love poem out loud to a live studio audience, or something. Mortifying.
After a moment Jem said, “Okay, I mean great choice, but uh….”
Reluctantly, River sat up and met his gaze. “You can say it.”
“You picked three wholesome boy-next-door types,” Jem blurted. He was clearly biting down on a smile and his eyes were alight with mirth. “If you’re crushing on those guys, why are you going home with felons? What’s wrong with you.”
“I don’t know. Celebrity crushes aren’t supposed to be attainable. It’s different.”
“Mm-hmm.” Jem shook his head. “Sure, sure. I’m marking this down as ‘tragic self-esteem issues.’”
Fortunately River was saved from having to defend himself by the glow of headlights coming in through the window. “Oh thank God. The mockery has to end for the night—your ride is here, you ungrateful brat. Get out of here and I’ll see you Saturday, yeah?”
“If you say so.” He stood and stretched a little. The hem of his sweater rode up, exposing a sliver of belly and enough hair that River thought, Guess he’s not an underwear model and then immediately wanted to give himself a swirlie.
“Wait, wait—you can’t leave looking like that.”
Jem looked down at himself, then up at River, one eyebrow raised. “How do I look, exactly?”
Like—
Oh God. Like the wholesome boy-next-door types River had just been admitting to crushing on.
Oh God, what had he done?
Fortunately, a lifetime of stage performances saved him from worse embarrassment. “Like you’re leaving an eighth-grade dance you were chaperoning, instead of your rock-star boyfriend’s house.”
“Ah.” Jem nodded sagely, playing along. “Chaste. Unravished.”
“Practically virginal,” River agreed on autopilot. “Like you forgot the key to your chastity belt.”
“Shit. I hope you have bolt cutters.”
Several seconds passed. In that time, Jem did not magically become disheveled. The metaphorical chastity belt stayed in place. Finally Jem said, “What do you want to do about it?”
For starters, said the part of River’s brain that was still thinking about the curl of hair beneath Jem’s navel, you could bite him, right there above the waistline of his pants. You could send the car away. You could take him to bed and take him apart.
River absolutely could not do any of that. The best he could hope for was to send Jem on his way and then have a private meltdown about what an idiot he was.
“Just… come here,” he said, beckoning.
Jem went, like the good boy next door he was.
River had options. He could muss up Jem’s hair, or pinch his cheeks until he looked like he’d been ravished, or tell him to turn his sweater inside-out, or switch shirts with him. But River had never been great about making the smart choice. That’s how he got into this in the first place.
So he cupped a hand around Jem’s jaw and searched those hazel eyes for any sign of hesitation. He found open curiosity and maybe the hint of a challenge.
God help him, River could never back down from one of those.
He moved in slowly, like he would with a wild animal.
Ironic, because his own heart was beating frantically in his chest and he could feel the steady thump of Jem’s pulse under his fingertips.
More proof, if he needed any, that this was a stupid idea.
But he didn’t care. River loved stupid ideas.
And the second his lips touched Jem’s, he knew it was the best stupid idea he’d ever had.
Jem kissed like he talked—all soft, mobile lips and barely-there teases of tongue. He tasted like the last drops of an old-fashioned, and the heat of him so close to River’s body made River want to curl into him, bury his face in the neck of that oatmeal sweater, tuck his hands under the hem.
He settled for dragging his hands through Jem’s hair, because someone had to see if it was as soft as it looked. It was softer, and warm too. When River ruffled it, it smelled like green apple.
Then he let his fingernails graze the back of Jem’s neck, and Jem made an almost inaudible sound that River would spend the rest of his life desperate to hear again and shivered against him. The car outside beeped the horn.
Reluctantly, he pulled back.
If Jem had been too composed before, he looked almost dumbstruck now. His cheeks were pink, lips red and wet, hair perfectly mussed, eyes dark and shining. He should’ve had little cartoon hearts and stars chasing each other around his head.
I did that, said a smug, self-satisfied voice in the back of River’s brain.
Because I’m an idiot, added the part of him that knew what he was getting into.
River cleared his throat. “There,” he said. “Now you can go.”
Jem licked his lips and flicked his gaze back down to River’s mouth. River watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. Then, all at once, he seemed to snap out of it—he smiled and raised his hand in a strange kind of wave. “Yeah, uh—see you Saturday, River.”
“Saturday,” River repeated, as Jem opened the door and the Santa Anas tried to whisk him away. “Good night, Jem.”