Chapter Twelve #2
“Best not let Ivy know you called her enormous,” Frank cautioned as Tori skittered out of the lounge.
She waved acknowledgment over her shoulder as she went.
“Your boyfriend has good taste,” Frank commented. “You gonna bring him to Easter dinner?”
Shit, when was Easter? It was almost April now; it had to be coming up. “I don’t know. He might be on tour.”
“You let me know. Always room for one more. He can bring the wine.”
“Wine?” Jem snorted. “Nah. If he’s coming, he can bartend.
He makes a mean cosmo.” And no one could drink like a bunch of teachers.
They’d have to come up with a good story for how they’d met, since the thrift shopping thing wouldn’t work—though maybe online dating could kind of blanket cover it. It wasn’t a total lie.
It might be nice, actually. He’d met River’s friends. Tonight River’d meet Tori and Ivy. The idea of bringing River into the circle of people he cared about made him feel like his lungs were too big for his chest. “I’ll, uh, I’ll ask him.”
The rest of the workday passed in a blur thanks to Jem’s guitar and a song about all the places you shouldn’t wipe your nose, which the kids enjoyed laughing along with even if they failed to internalize the message.
Then suddenly it was three o’clock and the last of the students were leaving his care.
Tori waved at him on her way out. “See you tonight?”
“You better.”
Of course, River wasn’t home when Jem got there. He was already at the venue doing sound check and lighting stuff and whatever rock stars did to prepare for concerts.
But on the kitchen island, Jem found a box with a bow on it and a note written in River’s familiar scrawl.
Sunshine,
Wasn’t sure you brought anything to wear to the concert, so I took the liberty.
See you tonight.
River
He’d drawn a little heart next to his name. Jem might swoon.
After he opened his present.
The deep red silk bow came undone easily in Jem’s hands, and he lifted the top off the box and peeled back the tissue paper.
He didn’t know what he expected. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected any of River’s gifts—not the flowers or the album and certainly not the car. Today’s offering appeared to be a simple V-neck T-shirt. A nice one, sure, but a bit tame for River.
Until Jem picked it up and realized it was cashmere, and that the burgundy material was almost translucent, and that it would fit him slightly looser than a second skin.
There was another note beneath it, stuck to the plastic on the front of a VIP badge. Wear the jeans. You know the ones.
The ones River bought him, presumably, and which almost strangled Jem’s dick to death every time he wore them.
He had to admit the fit would make a statement. The same statement he’d made at that dumb film release party—Property of River Wild.
Unfortunately, that was still hot. Even less fortunately, he didn’t have time to jerk off about it, because he had to shower and change and then a car would be picking him up in half an hour so he could eat dinner with the band.
Twenty-five minutes later, he stood in front of the mirror, evaluating the look. The shirt fit perfectly. The jeans were probably not prepared for the abuse Jem was about to subject them to, but it couldn’t be helped. The watch turned the whole thing into a statement.
Something was still missing, though. The green jacket would look good, but it wasn’t what Jem wanted. He debated for a moment and then pushed open the door of River’s closet for inspiration.
River had at least three black leather jackets, two of which fit Jem well enough—too small in the shoulders but in a way that made him look jacked—but they weren’t what he was looking for.
The motorcycle boots were tragically too small.
Jem wasn’t pretentious enough to wear a tie with a T-shirt, and even if he was, he wasn’t cool enough to pull it off.
He didn’t know why River had a cowboy hat.
Okay, he did know. River had a cowboy hat because he was a magpie and cowboy hats, in their own way, were kinda shiny.
Either way, it was a no on the headgear.
After a moment of pushing clothes around, his hand touched something spiked and cool, and he thought, yeah, that.
He’d just finished doing up the buckle on River’s studded belt when his phone pinged with a text from the driver. Time to get the show on the road.
Jem hated being in the back seat when he was riding by himself, so he hopped in the passenger side. “Hey, Norm.”
“Hey, Jem.” He looked him over. “Trying to give himself a heart attack?”
Jem slid on his sunglasses and grinned out the window. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He literally picked out everything I’m wearing.”
Just maybe not for Jem.
Norm gave a low chuckle and exited the gate. “Just do me a favor and see if one of the boys can get his reaction on video.”
He dropped Jem off at the performers’ entrance, where Jem only had to flash his badge to be waved inside. A tiny brunet girl dressed all in black met his eye once he was inside and said, “You must be Jem. The guys are this way.”
“Thanks. I definitely would’ve gotten lost.”
“You wouldn’t be the first.” She might have short little legs, but they moved awfully quickly. “I’m Nat. River sent me. I guess I’m your chaperone, or whatever.”
Jem snorted. “Of the two of us, I don’t think I’m the one who needs a chaperone.” Hell, he was supposed to have been River’s chaperone.
Possibly he should have been fired after the film party incident. Oh well.
Nat smiled up at him. “Don’t worry. He’s got a whole crew keeping him on the straight and narrow. They can spare one body for you. Oh—here’s the green room. Dinner should be arriving in twenty minutes or so. Do you need anything else?”
Did he? “I have no idea.”
With a practiced motion, Nat excavated a walkie-talkie from her back pocket and handed it over.
“Just in case,” she said. “I’ll be back with your hearing protection and escort you to the VIP area after dinner.
” Then she swiped a key card to unlock the green room door and pushed it open for him. “See you in a bit.”
“Thanks—”
Nat was already gone. Apparently she had other things to worry about while Jem was with the band.
With a deep breath, he clipped the walkie to his pants—no way was it going to fit in his pocket—and stepped inside.
The green room was playing host to not only River, Eric, and Ward, but three or four other musicians Jem vaguely recognized—touring musicians who weren’t part of the core group.
No one noticed him at first, which didn’t surprise him given the volume in here.
For a minute he just stood and took it in.
Eric was drumming on a notebook, Ward was holding a toddler, and River and two of the other musicians seemed to be deep in conversation about fruit superiority.
Any lingering impression Jem might’ve had that River actually fit the cool rock-star stereotype evaporated.
Only a huge dork could be so passionate about mango.
Specifically, about hating it.
“—like an air freshener.” River made an exaggerated gagging noise. “If I wanted that flavor in my mouth, I’d lick a pine tree. Strawberries, on the other hand—”
“It’s a ritual,” said Amy quietly, at Jem’s elbow. “Meaningless debate before the show. Helps channel his energy.”
“I’m guessing yoga was a no-go,” Jem said, blinking as River gestured so expansively that he narrowly avoided hitting the woman next to him in the face. She dodged so fluidly Jem guessed she’d been touring with the band for a while.
Amy made a derisive sound in the back of her throat. “Have you ever tried to make him sit still? I thought the photographer at our wedding was going to tie his hands to his legs just to get a decent shot.”
Admittedly, Jem had not. He did have experience with River making him hold still, however, pinned under River’s mouth and on his fingers in his bed.
He had a momentary flash of trying it—telling River to keep his hands where Jem could see them and sit pretty while Jem rode his dick—and then flushed and decided that was an avenue of thought he could explore another time.
“Jem!”
Apparently River had clocked his arrival.
“That’s Jem?” asked the woman he’d been talking to. Her dark hair was done in two thick braids, and she wore no makeup. She could have been fifteen or thirty-five.
The expression on her face—first assessing, then calculating, then gleeful—said River was about to get yet another earful.
“Come tell Lara strawberries are the superior fruit.”
“I’m from South Carolina. It’s obviously peaches.”
Lara’s face split into a delighted grin even as River clutched at his chest. “Okay, first of all, I thought that was Georgia—”
“Oh, I forgot fruit trees respect arbitrary boundaries like state lines—”
“—second of all, you better not be eating anyone else’s peaches.”
“You couldn’t have picked pineapple?” Amy said into the sudden chaos as everyone complained at River for the innuendo.
“Pineapples are for swingers. Even kindergarten teachers know that.”
More squawking, and then River swooped in and slung his arm around Jem’s waist and kissed him. “Hey, sunshine. I like the shirt.”
“He’d like it better on his floor,” Lara put in.
Jem had to break the second kiss because he was laughing. “I like her.”
“Back at you, Not-So-Mysterious Jem.” When Jem blinked in question, she elaborated, “River can’t shut up about you. I feel like we’re already friends.”
“Oh my God,” River said. “The two of you are not allowed to speak without a chaperone. New rule.”
Dinner in the Flat Tires green room was a chaotic free-for-all. Jem didn’t know if the group couldn’t decide or if several people had ordered assuming no one else had or what, but there was Chinese—miraculously shrimp-free—and pizza and sushi and, for some reason, KFC.
“Don’t look at me,” River said when Jem shot him a judgmental look. He clutched the bucket closer to his chest.