“Hmm.” He hooked his chin over Jem’s shoulder. “It’s a great album.”
“Really?”
River quirked an eyebrow. “I’d be a pretty sad excuse for a musician if I only liked music that sounded like my own.”
“So you weren’t joking about the Tibetan throat-singing? Because I was definitely joking.”
“Such a personal question. And on the first date too.” River took the album and tucked it under his arm. “Come on. You’ve indulged me here long enough. Let’s go nerd out over books.”
They spent another half an hour browsing the store, competing over who could find the most ridiculous title in the used section. As he tended to, Jem eventually gravitated to the kids’ books, just to see if he could find something new for his class.
“Nurturing your inner child?” River teased as Jem flipped through a well-loved, familiar title calledCan’t You Sleep, Little Bear?
“Something like that,” Jem said lightly. He was probably giving too much away, but what was he supposed to do,notlook at the children’s books?
“Or is this just your reading level?”
Jem gasped in mock offense. “Nowwho’s being rude?”
He was so involved in his overacting that he almost didn’t feel the tug on the knee of his pants. “Mr. A?”
Uh-oh. Busted.
He caught only a glimpse of the wide, delighted surprise in River’s eyes before he turned to look down at the child who’d recognized him. “Abbott! Hey, buddy.”
Abbott was looking at Jem with the disbelieving expression of all children forced to confront the fact that their teachers existed outside the school. “Mr. A, what are you doing here?”
Abbott’s mother suppressed a smile and shot Jem an apologetic look. “It’s a bookstore, sweetie. Mr. A likes books, right?”
“Ilovebooks,” Jem confirmed. He glanced over his shoulder at River, trying to decide how to play it. But fuck it. If Abbott’s mother wanted to try to get him fired for being bisexual, let her. Jem had stayed in California so he wouldn’t have to go back in a closet.
Abbott, however, didn’t need to ask awkward questions about Jem’s love life, so Jem doctored his words a little. “My friend River brought me today.”
River gave a little wave.
Abbott waved back uncertainly, while Abbott’s mother looked back and forth between Jem and River and obviously did the math on both what Jem meant byfriendand where she recognized River’s face from.
“Hello,” she said pleasantly.
In front of her, Abbott was pursing his lips. “Mr. A?” he said.
God give me strength. “Mm-hmm?”
“You said we’re not allowed to use markers on our skin.”
Abbott’s mother made a noise Jem identified asparent dying of mortification. They’d recently moved from some kind of wholesome Midwest paradise. Jem would make that sound too if he lived in California and his kid somehow didn’t know what a tattoo was. Special bonus—he’d decided the person to accuse of being a miscreant was a famous stranger.
“And you’re not,” Jem said, calling on years of experience coming up with off-the-cuff reasons for shit because kindergarteners always wanted to knowwhy, “because markers aren’t good for skin. River had a professional use special markers to draw those. Right, River?”
“Uh, that’s right,” River said. “And these ones won’t wash off, so I had to make sure the artist did a really good job.”
Abbott squinted at the tattoo that peeked above the collar of River’s shirt. “I like your butterfly,” he said after a moment.
Jem, who had Googled the tattoos after their first meeting and knew this one was a death’s head hawkmoth, and that the full tattoo showed its life cycle, bit down on a squeak of amusement.
“Thank you,” River said seriously.
Abbott’s mother gently took his hand and led him away. “Come on, sweetheart, say goodbye to Mr. A. We’re late for lunch with Grandma.”
