Jem shivered at the warmth of River’s breath over his ear. These pants had been a mistake. He’d have to put his foot down about the size next time.
Except he knew he wouldn’t. He liked wearing what River bought him a little too much. That was part of the problem. “You don’t have to flatter me, you know.” If River didn’t mean it, Jem didn’t want to hear it, part of their cover or not. But what was Jem going to say?Hey, back off complimenting the guy you’re paying to hang out with you or he’ll think you like him for real?Instead he went with the more flippant, “I’m kind of a sure thing.”
It didn’t come out flippant, though. It came out sounding like Jem was the loneliest man in the world.
His breath caught in his chest as humiliation surged through him. How pathetic could he get, begging for scraps of attention from a man who’d paid for his company? First admitting he liked when River got handsy, as if he were some kind of touch-starved orphan—
“Jem.”
He hardly knew he was shaking until River’s hand touched his and their fingertips skidded against each other. River curled his fingers into Jem’s and held tight until Jem looked up. “I like it,” River said, echoing Jem’s earlier admission. He was quiet, no longer teasing. “Making you feel good, making you blush. Knowing that I can affect you like that. But only if you like it too.”
Jem’s lungs released a shaky breath. His throat was too tight to speak, so he nodded.
Then River pressed a kiss to the back of his hand, tugged him back into his arms, and pulled until Jem was almost in his lap, both of them facing out at the partygoers. “Now. Give me the mean girl rundown of these fashion offenses.”
Somehow Jem managed to relax into the embrace.
“Hmm. There,” River said. He didn’t point, but the tilt of his head against Jem’s showed him where to look. “Madame Ferrero Rocher.”
Yes, Jem saw her. “I think I recognize her from something.” Definitely an actress. The gold dress she wore didn’t do her any favors; it had the effect of washing all the color out of her skin. “If you can’t win an Oscar, at least you can still dress like one.”
He felt River smile against his ear. “Okay… two o’clock, in the salmon blazer.”
“Aiming for Chris Pine’s gay grandpa look, doesn’t have the rizz to pull it off.”
They passed twenty minutes canoodling while Jem riffed on this person’s hair or that person’s shoes, and then River nudged him up to do another round of small talk and handshakes with famous people.
He’d thought he might get away without the host asking him what he thought about the film, but unfortunately that was not to be. He caught up with them near the bar—Jem was sure someone had hired models to staff it—when River was trying to guess Jem’s drink.
“Hm, I don’t know,” he said, looking back and forth between Jem and the cocktail menu.
Jem pointedly stared up at the sky, not wanting to give himself away. “No hints.”
The bartender leaned across the bar, studying him, then tapped her fingers on the bartop. “You tried an old-fashioned?”
Why did everyone think that?
“That was my first guess,” River said.
“Hmm.” She flicked her gaze over Jem again.
Jem raised his eyebrows.
“Sorry,” the bartender said. “Can’t help you.”
Jem grinned skywards.
River heaved a long-suffering sigh. “G&T?” he said at last.
“I’ll drink it, but it’s notmydrink.”
Although after sampling the quality of the gin, Jem thought he couldmakeit his drink. It wouldn’t be the worst.
He was halfway through an effusive compliment to the bartender when the host clapped a hand on River’s shoulder. “River! You made it.”
Jem took half a step back to widen the conversational circle.
“Tony, hey.” River gave the man a bro hug. “Great party.”
