“Oh my God. Is this the moment?” Ward leaned forward. “Is he here? How’s my hair?”
Eric clucked his tongue and gestured him over. “Come here and let me fix it for you.”
“What about my shirt? Do I smell? Do you think I have time to change—”
River pushed him off the couch. “You always smell.” The peanut gallery shadowed him to the door like a pair of stalkers.
Good thing River wasn’t actually trying to impress this guy. He opened the door.
Jem stood on his front step, hands tucked into the back pockets of his dark-wash jeans, hair ruffling in the Santa Anas. He quirked that sheepish smile over the tall, loose collar of his oatmeal sweater, which he’d flipped up, probably to keep the wind off his neck.
Behind River, there was a loud crash. Jem blinked. River turned to look over his shoulder and found Eric and Ward on the floor in the foyer, Eric cursing a streak that would’ve made Prince blush and Ward attempting to detangle their shoelaces.
That was what they got for wearing their shoes on River’s furniture.
“Hi,” River said belatedly. “Welcome to my circus. These are my monkeys.”
Jem raised his hand in a dorky little wave. “Uh… hi.”
Having found their feet, Eric and Ward crowded around the door. River elbowed Ward back so he could step aside and let Jem in.
“Jem, this is Ward and Eric. Ward, Eric, Jem.”
Handshakes were exchanged. River closed the door before the Santa Anas could rip it out of his grip.
While Eric was making normal hello-nice-to-meet-you small talk, Ward leaned over and said in a very loud stage whisper, “Oh my God, he looks like an insurance salesman.”
Jem glanced at River, half his mouth quirked wryly.
Eric looked at Ward like he’d grown a second head. “What is wrong with you?”
“I’m not sure if they’re being nosy or protective or just assholes,” River said by way of excusing his bandmates. “Sorry.”
“It’s cool. I don’t take anything personally when it comes from a rock musician named Ward.” He toed off his shoes—like a reasonable person—and offered River a smirk. “You using that as today’s official guess?”
The four of them gravitated toward the living room.
“Official guess?” Ward parroted.
Jem opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if he didn’t know how much River had told them. River filled in the blanks. “Amanda thinks I need to be tricked into finding people interesting, so I don’t actually know his day job, and I’m not allowed to ask. I get one guess a day.”
“I’m not allowed to lie,” Jem put in. “He’s not allowed to ask about my family either. Or what music I like or whatever. One guess a day per category.”
Ward made a face. “Why does this feel kinky?”
River tensed, because someone new to sex work might take that as some kind of shaming, but Jem laughed and said, “I guess we could add sexual preferences as a category.”
He and Ward continued toward the living room, leaving River with Eric, who looked at him and said, “I can’t believe you met your soul mate like this. That’s so embarrassing for you.”
River rolled his eyes. “He’s not even my type. That’s literally why Amanda chose him.”
“I want you to know I’m picking out your china pattern right now.”
“Make sure you keep your receipt.” He paused as they reentered the lounge. “Drinks?”
“Finally,” Eric said. “The service here sucks.”
“That’s because I don’t have servants.” River looked at Jem. “Beer? Wine? Fancy cocktail? Coffee? Or should I guess that too?”
