“I knew I should’ve sprung for the one that came with a vase.”
“I wouldn’t have had anywhere to put it afterward.” Jem fished out a mason jar from a lower cabinet, dumped the various dish-cleaning utensils it held into the sink, and filled it with water. “Voila.” He shook his head. “Anyway… thank you for the flowers. They’re nice.” Had anyone brought him flowers before? He didn’t think so.
A wash of pink splashed across River’s nose and cheeks, gone before Jem could even be sure he’d seen it. “Uh. You’re welcome.” He shoved his hands in his back pockets, then seemed to realize that was awkward and took them out again. “So… ready?”
No, Jem thought, but that wouldn’t change in five minutes. The only thing to do was jump in with both feet. “Let’s go.”
Part of him was prepared for River to have a fancy car and drive like a maniac. After all, he could hardly be worse than Tori. But instead they got into a perfectly normal-looking white Subaru—the least famous-person car Jem could imagine—and broke no traffic laws as they headed into the city.
“I’m going to let you do something very few people ever get to do,” River said seriously as he handed Jem a USB-C cable. “You can pick the music.”
Jem blinked at him. “So the Tibetan throat-singing album I’ve been dying to listen to….”
“Ooh, the one by the sherpa group?”
Jem couldn’t tell if he was joking. He plugged in his phone and pulled up Paris Paloma.
“Interesting choice.” River drummed the steering wheel. “So, how was your week?”
Jem thought about the fact that River didn’t know he was a kindergarten teacher and decided to have fun with it. “Well, nobody threw up on me this week, so that’s always a mark in the positive column.”
From the corner of his eye, he caught River giving him an appraising glance. “I feel like that was a red herring, but I’m intrigued.”
Good—that was the whole point. “What about you? What do rock stars do when they’re not touring?”
“Same thing we do when we’re touring, except more sex and drugs.” River didn’t bother to wait for Jem’s reaction, just kept talking, flicking his turn signal on to head downtown. “Nah, these days? It’s mostly writing, for me. Or trying to write. Uh.” Jem turned to look at him in time to see River scratch the tattoo of the moth on the side of his neck. “You don’t follow the music scene and you’re totally bound by your NDA and stuff, yeah?”
Was River about to drop some kind of PR bomb? “That’s my understanding,” Jem hedged.
“The Flat Tires is breaking up. Or, I don’t know, we’re not, like, fighting. Disbanding? That’s a bad pun.” He shrugged, shoulders tense. “Eric’s got a health issue, Ward wants to spend time with his kids while they’re young enough to appreciate it. They don’t want to tour anymore. So… yeah. Writing’s been hard.”
“I can imagine.” Eric had a family too, Jem remembered, or at least he was married. No wonder River was lonely enough to bring weirdos home with him—to hire a sugar baby, even. “So like, writer’s block, or whatever. Sucks.”
“It does indeed, as you put it, suck.” Eventually River found a parking space, and he pulled into it and turned off thecar. They got out into a fresh, breezy winter day, just cool enough for Jem’s nipples to pop through his T-shirt. Oh well. He could see River’s nipple rings through his; he didn’t think he’d be offended. “It’s not that I begrudge them or anything, right? I’m not an asshole. I’m just…. They know what they’re doing with their lives, and I feel like I’m starting over.”
For a second Jem let that sit—obviously River was having some feelings, and he was entitled to them.
But only for a second. “Except for the part where you’re already rich and famous?”
River shot him a look over the top of his sunglasses, but he smiled too. “Apart from that, yeah.”
Without discussing it, they fell into step, Jem following River’s lead. It wasn’t like he knew where they were going. “You could retire. I mean, isn’t that the dream? Retire young enough to enjoy it?”
Clutching at his chest, River pretended to stumble over a crack in the sidewalk. “I am crumbling into dust over here.”
Jem raised his hands. “Okay, okay. Sorry.” A few passersby gave them a second glance as they walked along, but so far no one had stopped them. Plenty more famous people in California than River Wild. “Ex-nay on the R-word.”
“Thank you.” Their shoulders bumped together as they walked. Jem had forgotten how nice it felt just to walk along with someone who wanted to be close to you enough not to care about personal space. “Anyway, yeah, songwriting’s been hard because, like, who am I as a solo artist? I have no idea.”
“Is that what you want to be?” Jem hadn’t done a lot of research on River, but he didn’t doubt he could pull it off. He was good-looking, but more than that, he was magnetic. He made people want to look at him and pay attention. “You don’t want to start another band?” Even as he said the words, he felt his mouthtwisting. “Okay, no, sorry, I retract the question. Why does that feel like cheating?”
“It’s more like—if I went out and got a new puppy after, uh….”
Jem felt the blood drain from his face. “Okay, wow, that’s much worse. Sorry. I am totally tanking this date.”
“Hmm.” River shot him a look from the corner of his eye. “In those pants? I don’t think so.” Before Jem could do more than flush in response, he said, “Oh—we’re here,” and reached for the door to a building.
Jem looked up at the sign. The Last Bookstore.
