Chapter Seven #2
Laughing, River let go of one hand to dash away the drop of moisture that had sneaked out without permission. “Since you’re still gainfully employed, I’m sure you restrained yourself.”
“I did. It was close, though.” He smiled and shook his head, some of the bashfulness falling away. “Anyway. That’s my rant on having interests and hobbies. I don’t understand why people think disinterest is something to aspire to. Imagine trying to date someone who only liked things ironically.”
River was pretty sure his pupils were making little cartoon heart shapes. “That does sound terrible.” Especially now that Jem had shown him what the opposite could be like.
No wonder River’s bandmates had laughed at him. He was ridiculous.
But he could roll with this. After all, he was paying Jem to hang out with him in various romantic settings. River liked nothing better than a captive audience.
He threaded his fingers back through Jem’s and turned them in the direction of the car. “So. Think we know each other well enough to pull off a date around other people?”
“Probably time to find out.” He paused, swinging their hands together for a moment. “Though if it’s an important one, maybe you should tell me what it is beforehand.”
“Saturday night.” River didn’t want to wait an entire week to see Jem again, though, so—“If you’re available tomorrow, I should probably take you shopping.”
“We literally did that today. We’re still downtown.”
Damn it. “Yeah, but I have a meeting later,” he fudged. He did, with his nutritionist, who called him River the Flat-Assed. He couldn’t wait to have Grace yell at him again for forgetting to eat. But the meeting wasn’t until six. He had plenty of time to bully Jem into red-carpet finery.
But then he wouldn’t have an excuse to see him tomorrow.
“It’s a film premiere and after-party,” River explained. “The outfit cannot be rushed, Jem.”
He shook his head, smiling. “All right, all right. I’ll mark my calendar.”
Great. That gave River less than twenty-four hours to concoct a plan.
Jem would’ve been more nervous about his upcoming date if he hadn’t been so busy.
Report card comments had to go out soon, which meant long days in front of a computer trying to diplomatically tell parents their kids needed to learn to sit down and shut up.
(There were nice comments too, but he didn’t have trouble wording those.) He pulled coverage duty on Wednesday, when his kids were at gym, which sucked.
He’d been counting on that time to do report cards, and instead he had to watch fourth-graders do a math test.
On Thursday he actually remembered to get his mail. There was an ornate-looking envelope in it with a return address in South Carolina.
Jem didn’t want to open it. He knew what it was—an invitation to his half brother’s wedding. His mother had given him a heads-up by text. He hadn’t spoken to his half brother in a decade; he didn’t know why he even got an invitation.
Something compelled him to open it anyway.
The card inside was surprisingly simple.
Andrew & Dana joyfully invite you to share in their special day on Saturday, May 30, as they exchange vows at—oh, they were getting married at Jem’s father’s club.
He couldn’t read any further unless he wanted to derail the possibility of getting any work done tonight.
Instead he put the invitation on top of the refrigerator, where he could forget it until the RSVP date had passed.
He’d mostly caught up on work by Friday at noon, through the sacrifice of too many hours he should’ve spent sleeping, so he probably wasn’t doing a great job holding up his end of the conversation about Ivy’s upcoming prenatal scan when Tori poked him in the side. “Hot date this weekend, right?”
“So hot,” Jem deadpanned. He’d barely seen her all week since, like him, she had been held hostage by report cards.
“Ugh,” she complained, nudging his arm. “Come on, I’ve hardly seen you all week. My brain is deep-fried mush. Give me something.”
He desperately wanted to. He needed someone to understand how it felt to hear River say, in a voice choked with emotion, I’m so fucking glad you teach kindergarten. So many people didn’t value early childhood education.
But he definitely couldn’t do that without Tori cottoning on that Jem was halfway in love with him already, so. “It’s a film premiere thing? Not a big fancy one. Some indie film. I don’t remember the name.”
He wasn’t sure River had even told him the name.
Which mattered not at all to Tori. “Oooh.” She leaned forward. “Do you have an outfit picked out?” Then she frowned. “Wait, do you even have anything fancy enough to wear to a film premiere?” She pronounced film premiere with a snobby accent, probably just to be annoying.
Okay, well, this part he’d have to tell her. She’d get a kick out of it. “Oh, yeah. River took me shopping.”
Sure enough, her eyes went round. “Oh my God! Jem!” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You get those sugar baby perks.”
“Shut up.”
“No, but seriously, where’d he take you?”
Jem slouched a little. “Melrose.”
Tori shrieked. “Oh my God.”
It was a sign of how used they all were to loud outbursts that no one even looked over. Fortunately Tori lowered her voice anyway. “Oh my God,” she repeated. She might not have a lick of fashion sense, but she knew her brands. “Which store?”
Jem looked down at the tabletop. “Well I mean… we went to a lot of them?” River had tried to get him to agree to a burgundy jacket from Alexander McQueen.
Jem wouldn’t even try it on. “There’s fashion for people who are famous and fashion for people who aren’t,” he’d said staunchly. “That one’s the first.”
But really he just thought the jacket was ugly and didn’t want to say so in front of the salespeople.
“Uh-huh, and then he bought you an outfit from…?”
Jem sighed. There was no avoiding it. “John Varvatos,” he mumbled.
“Jem!”
Jem was in love with the outfit too, and already lamenting the fact that he’d have nowhere to wear it when this gig was done.
“It’s this dark green suede jacket, honestly so soft, fits like a glove.
” So maybe Jem had put it on when he got home Sunday night and pretended the jacket was River hugging him. No one had to know that.
The jacket alone probably cost more than Jem’s take-home pay for a month.
“And then, like, the shirt is silk”—Tori stifled a squeal—“kind of like, peachy-beige, with an ombre effect.” And buttons that stopped halfway up Jem’s chest, which Tori likewise did not need to know. Doubtless she’d see pictures soon enough after the event.
“Jeans or pants?”
“Jeans. Black.” Dark-wash and as fitted as they came. Jem almost needed the jaws of life to get out of them. When he asked about getting the next size up, both the sales associate and River had said no. Emphatically.
With an approving nod, she went on, “And shoes?”
“Obviously shoes,” he agreed. “Burgundy suede sneakers. To go with the jacket.” It sounded weird, but he looked amazing. But most importantly, he looked like the guy River Wild was fucking.
Tori whistled under her breath. “Maybe I should get a sugar daddy.”
“You already have a sugar mama,” he pointed out. Ivy wasn’t exactly making chump change. “Soon to be a literal mama. Stay in your lane.”
“Yeah,” Tori said dreamily, with a little sigh, and that ended her interrogation about Jem’s weekend.
After a full week of report card stress, Jem slept like the dead.
On Saturday he dragged himself out of bed just before noon, and even then it was mostly because his stomach wouldn’t let him sleep any longer.
He halfheartedly scrambled some eggs while he waited for the first two cups of coffee to kick in, which didn’t happen until he was in the shower.
Then he woke up and got around to panicking.
It would be fine. Jem had practice being in the public eye, had even been on TV during a few of his college golf competitions. Anyway, it didn’t matter if people liked him. He was only there to keep River from going home with—Jem wasn’t exactly sure who, but someone River’d regret in the morning.
If River was going to regret sleeping with anyone, it should be Jem.
Hmm. No. The coffee had not kicked in yet. Jem grabbed his towel and poured himself a third cup.
He finished that and a late lunch, not knowing what sort of fare might be served at a film premiere, then compulsively vacuumed and tidied since experience had taught him that River was likely to show up at his door with a gift.
At least on Sunday it’d been a snack bouquet. Jem didn’t have room for two enormous flower arrangements. Plus, he’d had sustenance to get him through the difficult report card days.
Last week’s flowers were still full and beautiful when River’s knock came. Jem checked his reflection one last time—God he loved this stupid jacket—and opened the door.
It took him a moment after that to remember to close his mouth.
Self-consciously, Jem wet his lips. “Hi.”
Was he staring? He was totally staring. Just, River had declined to tell Jem what he’d be wearing, so Jem had no way to prepare himself for the way the deep red fabric of River’s—Jem had no choice but to call it a dress—clung to the angles of his body.
But despite the plunging neckline—he was going to be flashing his nipple rings off and on all night—and the uneven hem that rose halfway up his thigh, the effect was far from feminine.
The smooth planes of his chest, scrawled with too many tattoos to catalog in polite company, made clear that River’s lean body held the power to keep an audience of twenty thousand fans screaming on their feet.
Then there was the collar-style necklace, a bulky gold, glittery thing studded with rubies, sitting just above River’s collar bones, and a matching bangle on his right wrist.
If Jem thought about the shoes, he would stroke out. The only way he could’ve prepared for this outfit was if he spent the whole day jerking off.
“Hi.”