Chapter Six #2
His first paycheck from River—aside from the initial deposit, which was in a kind of escrow account he couldn’t touch since it was the money he forfeited if he broke the NDA—wouldn’t hit until Monday, so Jem was stuck carpooling with Tori until he could pay to fix the Prius.
Tori didn’t mind and Jem was too grateful to complain, but when she dropped him off at home, he tapped his car door as he went by, like a little promise he’d be back.
Friday afternoon he brought in his guitar to play for the kids and then, when pickup was over, got roped into accompanying Tori for a duet of “I’ve Got Flu, Babe,” one of the silly songs they’d made up during their practice teaching.
Each verse contained a method of virus transmission that got progressively more disgusting, and by the end of the last verse, the primary school vice principal was crying tears of laughter.
Saturday morning he woke up refreshed, nervous, and half an hour later than he meant to.
He scrambled together a quick breakfast of questionable eggs and some American cheese slices and shoved them between two pieces of toast, which he ate in the shower.
Not his finest moment, but it got the job done, even if the toast got soggy and he was definitely going to have to clean the tub later.
River was supposed to text him once he pulled into the parking lot at Jem’s building, so when he got a knock on his door instead, he almost jumped out of his skin.
A glance through the peephole showed River in distressed jeans and an Oakland A’s raglan with a cut-out V-neck that showed off the top part of a tattoo.
He’d put his smooth black hair up with a clip.
He was holding a bouquet of flowers.
Jem took a step back and a moment to compose himself. This was fine. Totally normal and fine. River probably wanted Jem’s neighbors to know he was being romanced.
Jem hoped River was prepared for Mrs. Henderson down the hall to ask about his intentions.
When deep breaths failed to settle his heart, he wiped his palms on his pants and opened the door. “Hey. I thought you were going to wait downstairs?”
River, who had not-so-subtly put the flowers behind his back at the last minute, brought them forward with a flourish. “But then these would be in the car all day, Jem. Sugarplum. Light of my life.”
After a moment, Jem heard a door close at the end of the hallway. Yep—Mrs. Henderson. Sweet lady. Total curtain-twitcher. He shook his head. “Aww, shnookums. You shouldn’t have.”
It felt awkward to invite River into his apartment when they were obviously in very different tax brackets, but it would be weirder to leave him standing in the hallway. He stepped aside to let him in. At least Jem kept his apartment clean.
River rocked back and forth on his heels as he looked around.
There wasn’t much to take in—the kitchen and living area were one room, with windows overlooking the scenic parking lot and, beyond it, the highway.
Then there was a tiny bathroom and his bedroom.
The whole thing was barely larger than River’s weird conversation pit.
“You don’t have to say it’s a nice place,” Jem said dryly when River didn’t comment.
“It’s the perfect size for this bouquet,” River said innocently.
The bouquet took up all available real estate on Jem’s kitchen table. “I don’t actually think I have a vase big enough for this.”
“I knew I should’ve sprung for the one that came with a vase.”
“I wouldn’t have had anywhere to put it afterward.
” Jem fished out a mason jar from a lower cabinet, dumped the various dish-cleaning utensils it held into the sink, and filled it with water.
“Voila.” He shook his head. “Anyway… thank you for the flowers. They’re nice.
” Had anyone brought him flowers before? He didn’t think so.
A wash of pink splashed across River’s nose and cheeks, gone before Jem could even be sure he’d seen it. “Uh. You’re welcome.” He shoved his hands in his back pockets, then seemed to realize that was awkward and took them out again. “So… ready?”
No, Jem thought, but that wouldn’t change in five minutes. The only thing to do was jump in with both feet. “Let’s go.”
Part of him was prepared for River to have a fancy car and drive like a maniac. After all, he could hardly be worse than Tori. But instead they got into a perfectly normal-looking white Subaru—the least famous-person car Jem could imagine—and broke no traffic laws as they headed into the city.
“I’m going to let you do something very few people ever get to do,” River said seriously as he handed Jem a USB-C cable. “You can pick the music.”
Jem blinked at him. “So the Tibetan throat-singing album I’ve been dying to listen to….”
“Ooh, the one by the sherpa group?”
Jem couldn’t tell if he was joking. He plugged in his phone and pulled up Paris Paloma.
“Interesting choice.” River drummed the steering wheel. “So, how was your week?”
Jem thought about the fact that River didn’t know he was a kindergarten teacher and decided to have fun with it. “Well, nobody threw up on me this week, so that’s always a mark in the positive column.”
From the corner of his eye, he caught River giving him an appraising glance. “I feel like that was a red herring, but I’m intrigued.”
Good—that was the whole point. “What about you? What do rock stars do when they’re not touring?”
“Same thing we do when we’re touring, except more sex and drugs.
” River didn’t bother to wait for Jem’s reaction, just kept talking, flicking his turn signal on to head downtown.
“Nah, these days? It’s mostly writing, for me.
Or trying to write. Uh.” Jem turned to look at him in time to see River scratch the tattoo of the moth on the side of his neck.
“You don’t follow the music scene and you’re totally bound by your NDA and stuff, yeah? ”
Was River about to drop some kind of PR bomb? “That’s my understanding,” Jem hedged.
“The Flat Tires is breaking up. Or, I don’t know, we’re not, like, fighting.
Disbanding? That’s a bad pun.” He shrugged, shoulders tense.
“Eric’s got a health issue, Ward wants to spend time with his kids while they’re young enough to appreciate it.
They don’t want to tour anymore. So… yeah. Writing’s been hard.”
“I can imagine.” Eric had a family too, Jem remembered, or at least he was married. No wonder River was lonely enough to bring weirdos home with him—to hire a sugar baby, even. “So like, writer’s block, or whatever. Sucks.”
“It does indeed, as you put it, suck.” Eventually River found a parking space, and he pulled into it and turned off the car.
They got out into a fresh, breezy winter day, just cool enough for Jem’s nipples to pop through his T-shirt.
Oh well. He could see River’s nipple rings through his; he didn’t think he’d be offended.
“It’s not that I begrudge them or anything, right?
I’m not an asshole. I’m just…. They know what they’re doing with their lives, and I feel like I’m starting over. ”
For a second Jem let that sit—obviously River was having some feelings, and he was entitled to them.
But only for a second. “Except for the part where you’re already rich and famous?”
River shot him a look over the top of his sunglasses, but he smiled too. “Apart from that, yeah.”
Without discussing it, they fell into step, Jem following River’s lead. It wasn’t like he knew where they were going. “You could retire. I mean, isn’t that the dream? Retire young enough to enjoy it?”
Clutching at his chest, River pretended to stumble over a crack in the sidewalk. “I am crumbling into dust over here.”
Jem raised his hands. “Okay, okay. Sorry.” A few passersby gave them a second glance as they walked along, but so far no one had stopped them. Plenty more famous people in California than River Wild. “Ex-nay on the R-word.”
“Thank you.” Their shoulders bumped together as they walked. Jem had forgotten how nice it felt just to walk along with someone who wanted to be close to you enough not to care about personal space. “Anyway, yeah, songwriting’s been hard because, like, who am I as a solo artist? I have no idea.”
“Is that what you want to be?” Jem hadn’t done a lot of research on River, but he didn’t doubt he could pull it off.
He was good-looking, but more than that, he was magnetic.
He made people want to look at him and pay attention.
“You don’t want to start another band?” Even as he said the words, he felt his mouth twisting.
“Okay, no, sorry, I retract the question. Why does that feel like cheating?”
“It’s more like—if I went out and got a new puppy after, uh….”
Jem felt the blood drain from his face. “Okay, wow, that’s much worse. Sorry. I am totally tanking this date.”
“Hmm.” River shot him a look from the corner of his eye. “In those pants? I don’t think so.” Before Jem could do more than flush in response, he said, “Oh—we’re here,” and reached for the door to a building.
Jem looked up at the sign. The Last Bookstore.
Oh no.
Jem hadn’t known what to expect from a first date with a famous person. This wouldn’t have made his top hundred guesses.
He paused inside the threshold, taking everything in.
The store was enormous. Overwhelming. Signs pointed the way to anything Jem could imagine—used books and records, rare books, kids’ books, some kind of haunted room. Books featured in the décor too, building whimsical windows into other sections just like they did into other worlds.
What the fuck. What the fuck. Jem was going to cry.
“Hey. You must be River and Jem?”
Blinking back emotion, Jem turned his head to see a shortish man with wild spiked-up hair. The nametag on his branded polo said Dave.
“Yeah!” River enthused, sticking out his hand. “We booked the tour.”