Chapter Ten #3
Okay, River had questions about that, except…. “You’re going to fall asleep,” he realized with delight.
Jem smiled softly, eyes still closed. “Shh.”
“I can’t believe you’re such a cliché.” River curled onto his side to watch it happen. “That reaction at the party was not a fluke. You pass out after orgasms.” He was impressed Jem had managed this much of a conversation, really.
“I plead the Fifth.” He mumbled this half into the pillow, snuggling into it with obvious intent.
God, he was so fucking cute. River leaned forward to kiss his nose and watched him fall asleep.
River’s bedroom had never looked so good. Never felt or smelled so good. The whole house just felt right with Jem in it.
River could write a hundred songs about the things he wanted to give Jem, but right now he was thinking of all the things Jem had given him in just a few short weeks.
Countless smiles and abundant laughter and companionship and joy.
A reignited enjoyment of life and music.
The first home-cooked meal River had eaten in weeks if not months.
Permission—encouragement—to do weird, dumb things because they made him happy, and not to worry what other people thought.
A convenient social buffer at a party. A shift in perspective.
And suddenly River knew how the bridge of the patter song would have to go. He leaned over and pressed one more kiss to Jem’s cheek and then slid out of bed. He needed to get to the studio.
Jem woke up in River’s bed, sleep-hazy and comfortable but sadly alone. He stretched on the luxurious sheets, rubbing at his eyes. Every inch of his body felt perfect.
His stomach was starting to rumble, though, and the itchiness of dried sweat could be done away with.
He hauled himself upright and helped himself to the decadent shower in River’s en suite and a fluffy towel, and then a pair of River’s pajama pants and a T-shirt, because his work clothes smelled like artificial grape flavor.
Obviously he’d gotten a little too close to someone’s lunch.
Bits and pieces of the conversation from earlier filtered through his brain as he meandered through the house.
The more he learned about River, the more he wanted to know, the more he wanted to crawl into the heart of him until he could really understand.
He wondered if this was what River had felt like, being offered only hints of who Jem was and having to guess the rest.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out River was doing music stuff.
Jem got as far as the hallway outside the bedroom—he knew there had to be velvet and animal print hiding somewhere and felt very validated to find it in there—and saw the little red light on above the door to the music room, which probably meant he was recording something.
He thought he’d seen that familiar twitch under River’s skin as he was falling asleep.
Given the choice between taking offense and being flattered, Jem decided to be flattered. He’d never been anybody’s muse before.
Besides, all that physical activity had left him hungry.
Once again he found himself in River’s kitchen, raiding a fridge that was way too well-stocked for someone who never cooked. Maybe Jem could just like, empty out a cupboard and move in. He didn’t think River’s fancy unused cookware would mind.
In the meantime, he rooted through the cabinets until he settled on stir fry, helped himself to a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, and set to work.
River hadn’t come out of the studio by the time he’d finished, but the light was off, so Jem left the plates in the kitchen, knocked on the door, and then pushed it open.
River didn’t notice him right away, so Jem got to watch him at work on something totally new.
He had his guitar on his lap and his phone and a notebook next to him on the table, and he was going back and forth between picking out fingerstyle notes and writing in the book, mumble-singing under his breath.
“River?”
“Hmmm?” He didn’t look up. The guitar-playing didn’t stop.
“Are you hungry?”
River’s stomach made a noise Jem could hear over the notes, and he looked up, eyes wide. “Food?”
Jem smothered a smile. “When’s the last time you ate something?”
River wavered a little on the chair. “What time is it?”
“Almost seven.” Jem had a really good nap.
River nodded like a bobblehead. “Are we counting…?”
Jesus. Jem didn’t know whether to smile, blush, or roll his eyes. He accidentally did all three. “We are not.”
“So… yesterday.”
Oh boy. Jem held out his hand for the guitar and hung it up when River forked it over. “Are you gonna fall over if you stand up?”
River perked up. “If I say yes, will you carry me to the kitchen?”
“If you say yes, I’ll bring your dinner in here and call an ambulance.”
He sighed dramatically and heaved himself to his feet, then draped himself over Jem’s shoulder. “You’ve got no sense of romance.”
“Uh-huh,” Jem said fondly as he nudged him in the direction of the door. “You don’t have the sense God gave little green frogs. Come on. You can play with your guitar again after dinner.”
They almost made it to the doorway before River let go of Jem and went back for his phone and notebook, but he didn’t fall over, and he made it all the way to the kitchen, so Jem counted it as a win, even if he did have to keep prompting River to put food in his mouth around bouts of scribbling.
Finally River put down the pen in his right hand, looked at the fork in his left, and seemed to return to his body. “Hi. You made dinner again?”
Jem shrugged mildly, charmed in spite of himself. “You were busy. Besides, I worked up an appetite.”
“Me too,” River said sheepishly. “Sorry I’m a shitty host.”
“Eh.” Jem shrugged. “Wouldn’t it have been worse etiquette to keep me from my nap?” Plus he got an orgasm and got to play in River’s kitchen. “Besides, I’m not here to interrupt your creative process.”
“Nah. You’re good for it.” River pushed his notebook aside and closed it. “I do feel bad I keep running out on you, though.”
“Hmm. Yes, it’s a terrible burden to have a man so obsessed with me he can’t stop making art about it.” Especially considering I was passed out at the time.
River ducked his head and his ears went pink around the top piercings. “I guess you heard that?”
Jem’s eyes darted to the notebook. Suddenly he desperately needed to know what River had been writing. “Uh.” Now he was the one blushing. “I was teasing, actually. But you… really?”
Maybe he was that good with his mouth.
“Jem.” River captured Jem’s right hand between both of his own. “I simultaneously can’t stop writing music you inspire and hate that it means the night’s almost over and I barely got to spend time with you. I’m plotting how to get you to call in sick tomorrow.”
“I used up all my sick days,” Jem admitted. Stupid broken foot. “But….”
With a renewed smile, River pulled Jem’s hand close to his chest and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “But? I like buts.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Jem said wryly. “After our phone call this morning, I maybe optimistically packed an overnight bag, just in case.” It had seemed presumptuous but not unwelcome. They were still feeling each other out, but Jem enjoyed being optimistic about his life for once, so he leaned into it.
River threw his head back in a dramatic swoon. “Careful, sunshine. If you’re too good to me, I might never let you leave.”
The words were delivered lightly, but Jem didn’t think he was joking, which was kind of nuts.
It was also probably kind of nuts that he opened his mouth and said, “I mean, I’d have to go home after work tomorrow and get a few more things. If you want.”
“Yeah?” Jem didn’t think he’d ever get over the way River’s eyes crinkled up at this particular smile. “You wanna play house with me?”
His stomach fluttered. “I mean, I made you dinner. I think we might already be doing that.”
“This version is a lot more fun than what I played as a kid.”
“Messier too.”
Like last time, they cleaned up the kitchen side by side. But tonight, after starting the dishwasher, Jem went out to the Subaru and got his bag, then joined River in the library, where he’d put on a classical record.
“Not what I expected.” Jem settled on the floor in front of the coffee table to do his lesson planning.
River stretched out on the couch, set one foot on the floor, and propped a pillow on it so Jem had something to lean against. “Didn’t want to interfere with your work.”
At this point in his career, Jem didn’t need to devote that much brainpower to a kindergarten lesson plan; he was mostly looking over his notes from last year and making sure he had the materials in the classroom. But it was sweet anyway.
When he finished, he packed his work bag again and leaned his head against River’s thigh. “So are you gonna play my songs for me now?”
“Your songs,” River repeated. He tilted his head on the pillow and reached down to tug a strand of Jem’s hair. “You think they’re all about you just ’cause they’re inspired by you? Pff. That’s not how muses work, sunshine.”
Jem pouted. “That sounded like a no.”
River poked him. “It’s a not tonight. You want to watch TV?”
“Nah, I’m good.” He wanted to stay here on the floor and shoot the shit while River listened to Glen Gould on vinyl. “I like this. Just doing nothing together. Underrated.”
A soft laugh. “I think I’ve only ever done that with Eric and Ward, usually while we’re touring.”
“What, seriously?” Jem turned and rested his chin on River’s knee. “Not even with, like, your mom?”
He shook his head. “No, like—I guess a little, when I was older? It’s kind of cult-kid-related. ”
Jem tilted his head. “Kind of?”
“So it was honestly more of a pyramid scheme than a cult.” River was looking at the ceiling, not at Jem, but that was okay.
“Which was lucky, looking back, because mostly it just meant we were poor with a side of brainwashing, instead of brainwashed with a side of poverty. Mom worked a lot when I was younger so she could give more money to the ‘church.’” He made air quotes.
“When she came home, she pretty much went to bed.”
Jem’s heart ached for him. “That sounds lonely.”
“Yeah.” To Jem’s surprise, River met his eyes.
“It wasn’t great. I hated not being able to have things, and it turned me into a little klepto.
Finally Mom took me to see a therapist, who was like, ‘Your son is acting out because of the extreme restriction. It’s only going to get worse unless something changes.
’ Mom didn’t want to see her only kid go to juvie for petty theft, so… .”
“So she got you out.” Those few sentences explained a lot. Why River seemed like such a magpie, for one. His home décor was definitely more maximalist. Jem liked it, though. Even if the bedroom was a bit much, the house felt cozy.
But it wasn’t big. It wasn’t flashy. River didn’t drive an expensive car either.
Or maybe he did now that he’d foisted the Subaru off on Jem—
“I can see the wheels turning,” River teased. “Spit it out.”
Fuck it. Jem shrugged. “I’m trying to work out why you bought an SUV instead of the Porsche you mentioned.”
River snorted. “Oh, that’s easy.” He held up his hand as he rattled off reasons on his fingers.
“First of all, speeding tickets? Not shiny. Also, a Subaru is not a great big ‘take me’ sign.” The second finger went up.
“Two, my mom can get in and out of it without complaining about her knees.” Oh shit, that was adorable.
“And three.” He quirked a self-conscious little smile.
“You can’t thrift furniture in a Porsche. ”
Jem laughed. “Too bad we didn’t live closer together.
We’d probably have run into each other sooner.
” Maybe they could tell people they met thrifting.
That was cuter than River hired me to be his sugar baby.
If Jem practiced the lie enough, he might even believe it.
Instead of dwelling on that, he said, “So—mama’s boy, huh? ”
River gasped theatrically. “How dare you.” Then, with that same self-conscious expression, “When the band made it big, I tried to get her to come with me to California. Very rock star, right? Twenty years old and I still wanted to live with my mom. But she said she had to stick around in case anyone else needed help getting out.”
“Total badass.”
“What about you?” When Jem only blinked, not following, River prompted, “You do a lot of sitting around doing nothing with people?”
He huffed. “I’ve done my share. With uh—with Andrew, as a kid—my best friend growing up. World-champion shit-shooters. And with my mom, before….”
“Before?”
Before I found out she and my father agreed to lie to me my whole life.
Yeah, he didn’t want to go there tonight.
It wasn’t like he’d been in a cult; this wasn’t Competitive Trauma Dumping.
He shook his head. “Before I went to college.” Close enough.
“And then in college, obviously, doing nothing in a group is a time-honored rite of passage.”
“Yeah? You weren’t too busy playing with sticks and putting balls in holes?”
Jem grinned. “I might’ve been, but on my first day, I got assigned Tori as my lesbian BFF, and she made sure I cultivated other interests.”
River snickered. “If I knew that was part of the college experience, I might’ve actually gone.”
Still smiling, Jem tried to imagine it. River was hot and wild and charismatic, smart but not studious. He probably would’ve started a band anyway, concentrated on that, then taken six years to finish school because he was too focused on which college party he was playing next.
He would’ve been the most popular guy on campus.
“You still could,” he said. “I mean—it’s not like there’s an age limit.”
“Hmm.” River glanced down. “You think I should?”
Jem shook his head. “No. I think you should figure out if you want to.”
A soft, soppy smile. No one would believe Jem if he told them River could smile like that. “You’re such a fucking kindergarten teacher.”
The way River said it made it feel like the highest compliment. “And you’re a music nerd. If you want to go be a nerd about it at college, do it. You can audit courses too, you don’t have to get graded.”
“You’re something else, Jem Anderson.”
Jem pressed a kiss to River’s knee. “Likewise.”