Tori crunched an M&M. “This is why they pay me the medium bucks.”
“I’ll take my naked kindergarteners, thanks.”
Miraculously, they all kept their clothes on for the afternoon. After the excitement of the morning, they mostly conked out during quiet time and left Jem twenty blissful minutes of silent contemplation at his desk with his enormous travel mug of coffee.
Andblissfulwas the right word for it. Unfortunately. Because the thing he was contemplating was the way River’s thumb fit under his jaw, how his long, callused fingertips had brushed Jem’s ear, and the touch of his sharp nose against Jem’s cheek.
Jem didn’t remember the last time someone had kissed him like that. Maybe never. It didn’t seem fair that it had happened to him now, when it was just for show.
I was going to ask about your date, Tori had said.
Jem was glad she didn’t get the chance, because he didn’t know what to tell her.
He liked meeting River’s band, thought it was considerate of River to invite him to get to know them before things wentpublic and got weird. But he liked Eric and Ward just as Eric and Ward too—the way they interacted with River reminded Jem of him and Tori and Ivy. They obviously all loved each other, and they expressed that love with a combination of mockery and physical touch. Such a close-knit group could easily have lent itself to inside jokes and ribbing that made Jem the target, but instead they included him in the laughter.
And then there was River… and River’s house. Jem expected something ultra-modern and cold like you saw in magazines, or professionally designed and decorated like his father’s mansion, or just ostentatious and covered in glitter and velvet. (Look—he had to Google the guy at least alittle. The photoshoots suggested glitter and velvet. Or maybe animal prints.) Instead River lived in a normal house—normal for Silver Lake at least—with a weird ’70s sunken conversation-pit living room that any sane person would’ve renovated to avoid the tripping hazard. The furniture was quality, but it had obviously been chosen for comfort, not looks. With its terra-cotta floors, stucco walls, mismatched rugs, and soft lighting, it was a house for living in, not showing off.
Also, the kitchen, with its high-end appliances and tall ceilings, its natural light and huge island, made Jem want to cry with joy.
But none of that would’ve mattered if not for River.
Jem had gone into the sugar-baby business with his eyes open. He was prepared for a demanding, self-important client—someone who knew what they wanted and didn’t hesitate to ask for it. Jem had no problem with that; it was the kind of environment he thrived in. But he’d still hoped for someone he could get along with.
Jem figured a bona fide rock star would be pretty self-absorbed. Instead River had gone right along with making agame out of learning things about Jem—even seemed to enjoy it. Where Jem had expected a disaffected attitude and a fake for-public-consumption façade, he got something real—more genuine than any true first date he’d ever been on. Hell, more genuine than most of his long-term relationships.
To be fair, he didn’t think Rivermeantto show his hand when Jem turned his celebrity-crush question back on him. River seemed as surprised as Jem by what his choices revealed.
Which didn’t mean anything—at least nothing more than that they were able to have a conversation and learn things about themselves. That could happen with anyone.
But nobody had ever talked with Jem like that before, frank and casual and teasing, and then looked surprised when Jem made an observation about them, and then kissed him about it afterward.
A kiss that probably also didn’t mean anything, because he and River were playing roles and they had a story to sell, but—
Jem pressed his head against his desk and admitted that he wanted it to mean something, damn it. And that was why he couldn’t tell Tori.Hey, Victoria, I think I’m catching feelings for the guy I’m being paid to hang out with? Yeah, she’d hit him with a horse tranquilizer and lock him in her basement until he came to his senses.
Well, that or she’d laugh in his face. Kind of a toss-up, with Tori. Either way, she had enough on her plate worrying about her pregnant wife and her fourth-grade migraine and preparing to be a mom. Jem wasn’t going to put this on her too. He would just handle it. A little heartache in the name of financial security wouldn’t kill him.
So by the time she did ask him about it, while they waited in Jem’s classroom for his kids’ various minders to collect them, he’d figured out what to say.
“Okay, the suspense is killing me. Spill it, Anderson.”
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and then turned to wave goodbye to Violet and her father. “It was nice.”
Tori had a sneaky way of committing physical violence on his person without the kids witnessing—as they both leaned against the desk, she slipped her hand down next to his thigh and pinched him.
Jem yelped.
“Nice!?” Tori echoed. “I’m going to need more words, Jem.”
“It’s not like we went out to dinner. I just went to meet his friends and talk a little before our date on Saturday.”
“His friends?” Tori glanced around and then leaned closer. “You mean the band? You met the band?”
“Some of them, at least?” Jem had no idea how many people were in the Flat Tires. “I met Eric and Ward. They’re cool. At least in the sense of, like, they give River endless sh—uh, grief, but they were nice to me. They think our guessing game is hilarious.”
“I’m so glad they’re not weirdos.”
Jem snorted and set her straight. “Oh, no, they’re definitely weirdos, but like, our kind of weirdos.”
