Chapter Eight #2
“I told you my night vision is for shit.”
“So you have an exhibitionist kink and you can’t even tell if people are looking at you?”
“How dare you.” River steered them toward a conversation set on the far side of the pool. “I always know when people are looking at me. I don’t need to see for that.”
God, he was ridiculous. Jem let River tug him down onto the loveseat, far closer than necessary, and tuck Jem under his shoulder. “So are we being looked at?”
“You are,” River said in a low voice.
Jem scanned the yard, wondering why anyone would pay attention to him when the property was so full of people like River—glamorous, famous, glittering—or the producer, who desperately needed to fire his stylist but who obviously had the connections to make pet projects happen.
Then he felt River’s warm gaze on the side of his face and thought, Oh. He ducked his head. “Flirt.”
River laughed. “Guilty.” He bent his head close to Jem’s. “This is okay, though? I’m not making you uncomfortable?”
Not unless by uncomfortable you mean horny. Clearly Jem should’ve added one more item to his pre-date to-do list.
“I like it,” he said unthinkingly, and then had a sudden flash of mortification that came with the need to explain.
“I mean—I’m kind of a touchy person, even with friends.
” Something occurred to him, and he snorted at the memory.
“My best friend and her wife had a party last summer and invited me as well as her wife’s brother.
And you know, it was fun, we had a few drinks, we were goofing around.
And Ivy and I got really competitive at one of those stupid lawn games, and I was pretending she was cheating, so I picked her up and threw her over my shoulder.
And Mike was just—if looks could kill, man.
Like I’d make a move on my best friend’s wife period, never mind right in front of her and all their friends. ”
“Maybe he just hates you,” River suggested.
Jem cackled. When he threw his head back, it landed nestled against the meat of River’s shoulder. He smelled good, like some kind of bergamot bodywash. “Oh fuck, he definitely does. This just felt like, extra.”
“Hmm,” River mused. “I’m going to guess you didn’t play NCAA lawn games.”
“I did not,” Jem agreed, smiling. “That would be amazing, though. Definitely would’ve been easier on my shoulders.” And his hips.
“And it also wasn’t basketball or football.”
Jem didn’t realize his head was still resting against River’s shoulder until he tilted his face up to meet his eyes. “How do you figure?”
“You’re not tall enough for basketball,” River said. “And you’ve got too many brain cells left for it to have been football, unless you were a kicker or something. But I’m sticking to my guns, content in the knowledge that if I’m wrong about football, you probably still have the uniform pants.”
“Unfortunately, you’re correct. No football pants. Sorry.”
River waved this off with the hand not around Jem’s shoulders. “It’s fine. That still leaves swimming and soccer—ooh, and rugby, they have those tiny little shorts.”
He was going to be so disappointed when he got around to guessing golf. “Do you need a minute alone with your fantasy?”
“I’m already alone with you.”
Jem shivered at the warmth of River’s breath over his ear. These pants had been a mistake. He’d have to put his foot down about the size next time.
Except he knew he wouldn’t. He liked wearing what River bought him a little too much.
That was part of the problem. “You don’t have to flatter me, you know.
” If River didn’t mean it, Jem didn’t want to hear it, part of their cover or not.
But what was Jem going to say? Hey, back off complimenting the guy you’re paying to hang out with you or he’ll think you like him for real?
Instead he went with the more flippant, “I’m kind of a sure thing. ”
It didn’t come out flippant, though. It came out sounding like Jem was the loneliest man in the world.
His breath caught in his chest as humiliation surged through him. How pathetic could he get, begging for scraps of attention from a man who’d paid for his company? First admitting he liked when River got handsy, as if he were some kind of touch-starved orphan—
“Jem.”
He hardly knew he was shaking until River’s hand touched his and their fingertips skidded against each other.
River curled his fingers into Jem’s and held tight until Jem looked up.
“I like it,” River said, echoing Jem’s earlier admission.
He was quiet, no longer teasing. “Making you feel good, making you blush. Knowing that I can affect you like that. But only if you like it too.”
Jem’s lungs released a shaky breath. His throat was too tight to speak, so he nodded.
Then River pressed a kiss to the back of his hand, tugged him back into his arms, and pulled until Jem was almost in his lap, both of them facing out at the partygoers. “Now. Give me the mean girl rundown of these fashion offenses.”
Somehow Jem managed to relax into the embrace.
“Hmm. There,” River said. He didn’t point, but the tilt of his head against Jem’s showed him where to look. “Madame Ferrero Rocher.”
Yes, Jem saw her. “I think I recognize her from something.” Definitely an actress. The gold dress she wore didn’t do her any favors; it had the effect of washing all the color out of her skin. “If you can’t win an Oscar, at least you can still dress like one.”
He felt River smile against his ear. “Okay… two o’clock, in the salmon blazer.”
“Aiming for Chris Pine’s gay grandpa look, doesn’t have the rizz to pull it off.”
They passed twenty minutes canoodling while Jem riffed on this person’s hair or that person’s shoes, and then River nudged him up to do another round of small talk and handshakes with famous people.
He’d thought he might get away without the host asking him what he thought about the film, but unfortunately that was not to be. He caught up with them near the bar—Jem was sure someone had hired models to staff it—when River was trying to guess Jem’s drink.
“Hm, I don’t know,” he said, looking back and forth between Jem and the cocktail menu.
Jem pointedly stared up at the sky, not wanting to give himself away. “No hints.”
The bartender leaned across the bar, studying him, then tapped her fingers on the bartop. “You tried an old-fashioned?”
Why did everyone think that?
“That was my first guess,” River said.
“Hmm.” She flicked her gaze over Jem again.
Jem raised his eyebrows.
“Sorry,” the bartender said. “Can’t help you.”
Jem grinned skywards.
River heaved a long-suffering sigh. “G Jem had no such convictions about Tony. And the subject matter was about as far removed as it could get.
Jem could almost see Tony trying to work out whether this had been a compliment.
River, not to be outdone, put in, “I thought the way you juxtaposed the Edwardian scenes with ’80s synth pop was interesting—kind of reminded me of what they did in Bridgerton.”
After a moment Tony managed, “Well—art always builds on existing art, references it.”
“Ice, Ice, Baby,” River said knowingly.
Jem was going to hurt himself holding in this laugh. “Babe, uh—not to interrupt, but can you show me where the bathroom is? It was nice meeting you, Tony,” and he pulled River away before he could crack.
“Ice, Ice, Baby?” Jem hissed, leaning into River’s shoulder. “You fucking lunatic.”
“You started it. Liev Schreiber? Really?”
“I mean,” Jem said. “My initial reaction to Everything Is Illuminated was ‘what the fuck did I just watch?’ Which is the same reaction I had to this movie. It’s just that Everything Is Illuminated has, you know, a point and a coherent narrative.”
“It was a good ‘what the fuck,’” River interpreted.
“Kind of.”
Jem didn’t actually have to pee, but River pointed out a few of the bathrooms anyway.
Probably Jem would be able to find his way to at least one of them.
They were meandering back toward the yard to check if the coast was clear of bizarrely dressed pretentious film guys when River pulled Jem to a stop instead. “Wait a second, I hear music.”
“Well, yeah.” It was a party. Parties had music. Jem heard it too, albeit not distinctly, with the dull roar of conversation around them.
River shook his head. “No, I mean live music. Tony must’ve hired a band.”
“Are you offended?” Or would it have been worse if Tony had asked him to perform?
“No. I want to go dancing. Come on, we have to find them.”
Gamely, Jem let River pull him along, until they found the band that had set up in the enormous garage. The doors were open, and lights had been strung across the ceiling, creating an intimate, whimsical atmosphere.