It's fifteen, maybe twenty minutes before Jack shows up, and- James has to admit- he's beginning to think that maybe he isn't going to show at all. The thought stings a little, and he's more relieved than he'd care to admit when he sees someone with that distinctive swagger make their way through the door.

He smirks when Jack slides onto the bench next to him. 'No need for lies,' he says mildly. He's not particularly irritated, not now that Jack is here, but there's no need to let him off the hook without any sort of sting. 'Life happens, people are late.'

'And I'm not the only one,' he continues, lifting his glass in indication of Jack's clothes. Very... bohemian chic, perhaps? Would that be the term for it? James doesn't really know. But it's a good look for Jack, regardless of what it's called. The eyeliner especially, rather to his surprised; it makes his already handsome face look almost fey, and James lets his eyes linger, an approving little once over.