“Excellent bartender,” Jem put in.
She saluted him with her ice tongs.
Tony turned his attention to Jem, and River made introductions. “Tony, Jem. Jem, Tony.”
They shook hands. Jem catalogued his clothing—generic black tuxedo jacket over a Hawaiian shirt, cream-colored linen pants, and Birkenstocks—put that together with the movie he’d just watched, and concluded this guy was either a total asshole or the biggest stoner Jem had ever met.
Which was a little unfair, he decided a moment later. It could be both.
“Jem, huh?” Tony gave him a thrice-over, then said to River, “He’s not your usual type.”
It coulddefinitelybe both. Jem offered him a bland smile. “I liked your movie,” he lied easily. “It reminded me of Liev Schreiber’s early work.”
It didn’t. Schreiber knew what he was doing, or at least what he wanted to do; Jem had no such convictions about Tony. And the subject matter was about as far removed as it could get.
Jem could almost see Tony trying to work out whether this had been a compliment.
River, not to be outdone, put in, “I thought the way you juxtaposed the Edwardian scenes with ’80s synth pop was interesting—kind of reminded me of what they did inBridgerton.”
After a moment Tony managed, “Well—art always builds on existing art, references it.”
“Ice, Ice, Baby,” River said knowingly.
Jem was going to hurt himself holding in this laugh. “Babe, uh—not to interrupt, but can you show me where thebathroom is? It was nice meeting you, Tony,” and he pulled River away before he could crack.
“Ice, Ice, Baby?” Jem hissed, leaning into River’s shoulder. “You fucking lunatic.”
“You started it. Liev Schreiber? Really?”
“I mean,” Jem said. “My initial reaction toEverything Is Illuminatedwas ‘what the fuck did I just watch?’ Which is the same reaction I had to this movie. It’s just thatEverything Is Illuminatedhas, you know, a point and a coherent narrative.”
“It was a good ‘what the fuck,’” River interpreted.
“Kind of.”
Jem didn’t actually have to pee, but River pointed out a few of the bathrooms anyway. Probably Jem would be able to find his way to at least one of them. They were meandering back toward the yard to check if the coast was clear of bizarrely dressed pretentious film guys when River pulled Jem to a stop instead. “Wait a second, I hear music.”
“Well, yeah.” It was a party. Parties had music. Jem heard it too, albeit not distinctly, with the dull roar of conversation around them.
River shook his head. “No, I meanlivemusic. Tony must’ve hired a band.”
“Are you offended?” Or would it have been worse if Tony had asked him to perform?
“No. I want to go dancing. Come on, we have to find them.”
Gamely, Jem let River pull him along, until they found the band that had set up in the enormous garage. The doors were open, and lights had been strung across the ceiling, creating an intimate, whimsical atmosphere.
Truth told the scene was a bit odd. It was a garage; Jem had anticipated a garage band. It was a sort of PostmodernJukebox knockoff group, playing modern songs in older styles. He hadn’t expected that to be River’s thing, but maybe he needed to reevaluate, because River just said, “I love this song,” and hauled Jem into his arms.
With all the changes—not to mention trying to keep River from steering them into other dancers—it took Jem several bars to recognize the Taylor Swift tune. “Just full of surprises,” he murmured, and laughed when River dipped him. “You’re a maniac. Also keep in mind I can only bend so far in these pants before I bust a seam.”
“Oh, challenge accepted.” River pulled him into a two-step, then seemed surprised at how easily Jem kept up. “Don’t tell me you went to college on a dance scholarship.”
Part of Jem recognized that they’d thrown out the rules of the game; River was only supposed to get one guess per category. But he was enjoying himself too much to care. “Nah. Remnant of my misspent youth.” Someone had to charm the older women at his father’s fancy parties. Besides, Jem made bank on the dumb bets he and Andrew made about it. “And I’m not that good.”
River slipped the tips of two fingers under the hem of Jem’s shirt again, just above the curve of his ass. “You feel pretty good.”
“I do,” Jem agreed boldly and washed with heat when River looked at him with dark eyes.
