“Don’t make him get out Settlers of Catan,” Eric begged. “For the love of God.”
River decided to ignore them both. “Well? Do I need to get you a different drink?”
“Nah. Not my favorite, but a classic’s a classic for a reason. And much better than beer.” He held up his drink to touch to River’s bottle. “Cheers.”
Despite River’s worries, it turned out to be a good night. Jem got along with Eric and Ward as easily as he had with River and Amanda—like he was just hardwired to be affable. But under that affability was the same sly, sharp-tongued bitch who’d given River shit for assuming Jem would recognize him—a tale he recounted to Eric and Ward to their mutual delight.
It made sense, River thought. Jem was from the South, after all. Weren’t Southerners supposed to be low-key bitchy, in abless your heartway? Sweet like honey, with the sting of a bee, or whatever.
The four of them talked until Ward’s watch beeped, reminding him he had to get home to put his kids to bed. Then he and Eric brought their bottles to the kitchen, said their goodbyes, and let themselves out.
This was River’s last excuse to back out. But no. Eric and Ward got along with Jem better than they had with River’s actual boyfriends.
“So.” Jem turned toward him on the couch. There was a finger of alcohol left in his second old-fashioned. “Did I pass?”
River saw through the deliberately light tone to the smugness underneath. “I was this close to telling Eric to get his own fake boyfriend.”
With a grin, Jem knocked back the rest of his cocktail and stood to take his glass to the kitchen. River followed with his own empty bottles. “I like them, you know? Uh, and you, obviously, but—I don’t know. You didn’t grow up here, right? So you know what LA can be like from an outsider’s perspective.”
River was barely twenty when the Flat Tires got their big break and moved to California. They spent a grueling year sharing a shitty cramped apartment and trying to network. Everyone they met seemed so jaded—but who wouldn’t be, when everyone wanted something from you? “Cold?” he suggested.
“Aloof,” Jem said, as if he was the lyricist. He put his glass in the sink and reached for the dish soap, as though River didn’t have a cleaning service come in twice a week and a dishwasher two feet to his right.
“They like you.” River watched Jem drop a dollop of dish soap in his glass and reach for the sponge. “Well. They like giving me shit, and you give them new ammunition. But also I think they like you.”
“Hmm.” Glass clean, Jem ran the tap over it to rinse away the soap and then set it in the drying rack. “Guess now that I’ve met the family, we’re moving forward with this plan?”
River leaned against the counter. “Guess so.”
Jem bumped his shoulder. “Are you gonna tell me what it is?”
He pretended to think about it. “I don’t know. Kinda takes the romance out of the fake romance—”
Jem flicked dishwater-wet fingers at him. “Come on.”
Sighing dramatically, River admitted, “Soft launch is on Saturday. I’ll pick you up at… mm, one?”
“Soft launch?”
“It would be pretty insufferable of me to just be like ‘Hey everybody, this is the guy I’m dating now. I’m super important, so you definitely all care. This isn’t suspicious at all.’ So yeah. Soft launch.”
“I’m not arguing the strategy, I’m asking for clarity on what it means.” He wiped his hands on the dishtowel. “But sinceyou asked nicely, I’m free this Saturday at one.” So bitchy. “What are we doing?”
River had no idea, but even if he did, he wouldn’t tell Jem. “I don’t even know what you do for a living and you want me to spoil our date?” He clucked his tongue. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. You’ll find out when I pick you up. Dress code casual.”
Jem raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine.” Then he shook his head. “I should get going, though. Some of us have work tomorrow.”
“I’ll call you a car.” God, that was so—that was weird, right? River definitely felt like he should be driving Jem home himself, even though this wasn’t a date. Embarrassed, he felt compelled to add, “My night vision sucks. Don’t tell anyone.”
Jem grinned at him. “Worried about your image?”
“Perennially.”
They moved to the front room to wait for the car, and a weird kind of silence descended until River plucked one of his acoustic guitars from the wall and started to fidget.
“So are you going to use your guesses before the car comes?”
Which—right. They’d decided the guesses didn’t roll over, so River would have to make the best of them now. He tapped his fingers on the body of the guitar, soothing himself with the hollow beats, and thought for a minute.
