My car is still dead, remember?
He shot to his feet so fast he almost tripped over himself.I’m omw, he texted, then stubbed his toe on the coffee table before he could hit Send and spent twenty seconds hopping around on one foot and gritting his teeth through the pain.
Clearly multitasking was a thing that was not going to happen—or shouldn’t happen, for River’s own safety—when he was talking to Jem. He sent the message, shot the finger at the offending coffee table, and went to find his shoes.
Jem was waiting outside his apartment in the late winter sunshine when River pulled up. He was wearing jeans and a polo accessorized with the watch River had given him, which made the possessive little asshole of River’s id feral with glee.
Jem slid into the passenger seat with a smile. “Hey.”
Dear diary, River thought.Today Jem smiled at me and I almost hit a fire hydrant.“Hey.”
He reached down to put the car back in gear just as Jem’s smile went a little saucy. “What, no present today?”
The question hit River low in the stomach, where it bloomed into a surge of lust. “I’ll make it up to you next time,” he promised, and then made himself pay attention to the road so he didn’t get them both killed.
That autopilot was probably the reason his mouth asked the generic, polite, extremely dumb question, “You sleep well last night?”
Oh Lord, he was definitely going to crash. Maybe he should hire Norm for the day too.
“Mmm,” Jem agreed. River could feel his gaze on the side of his face when he asked, “You?”
River had gone home last night and left a trail of clothes through the house on his way to the shower, turned the water as hot as it would go, and jerked himself off leaning against the tiled wall, remembering Jem’s needy little moans, the sound River’s hand made on his cock, and the way he’d looked in the mirror, red-faced and glassy-eyed and desperate.
He cleared his throat. “Eventually.”
He was a little too aware of Jem shifting in his seat. “So, uh. No big plans today?”
“This is it.”Look at the road, River.“The glamorous life of a professional musician.”
“One day you’re attending the world’s most bizarre film premiere, the next you’re hanging out at home listening to records?”
Something about the way he put that…. “Why do I feel like I invited you over to show you my etchings?”
“Didn’t you?”
River didn’t. Of course he wanted to take Jem to bed. But he wanted to do that with the understanding that it was because they liked each other and not because Jem was getting paid. River had spent his entire life writing lyrics, but if there was a way to word that conversation that didn’t involve either the absolute terror of pure emotional honesty or the extreme probability of sudden onset foot-in-mouth disease, he hadn’t figured it out yet.
“I think I invited you over to show you Taylor Swift’s etchings, actually.”
“Fair enough.”
Back at his place, River shooed Jem toward the library while he procured drinks. He came back to find Jem examining the record player, turning the album over in his hands.
“It’s not going to bite you.”
Jem raised his head. “Unlike its owner?”
For the first time, River noticed the mouth-shaped bruise in the hollow of Jem’s throat. Nope. He snapped his eyes back to Jem’s face. “You can muzzle me if you want.”
“I think I can trust you to behave.” He gestured at the record player. “You gonna show me how this works? I can tell just by looking that it’s expensive.”
“Yeah, yeah. Step aside, young grasshopper.”
River had grown up in the era of streaming music and illegal downloads, burned CDs and even stuff taped off the radio. But he also grew up in a weird cult that frowned on all kinds of material possessions, and so his mother didn’t buy him an mp3 player or a Discman or a stereo or any of that. But she had kept his dad’s old turntable and records, and River cut his teeth on those.
And now, of course, vinyl was back in vogue. Probably because it really did sound better.
He put the record down and flicked the table on, but before he dropped the needle in the track, he turned around and pointed. “Sit there.”
