by Andy Gallo
“East Bound and Down.” He messed up a few notes. “It’s one of the few songs I can play without music.”
He cycled back to the opening, and Isaiah surprised him by playing along on the piano. Not the music from the song, but it worked. They shared a smile, and Darren began to sing along.
His voice sucked, but habit took over. He’d always sung along when he practiced. A few more choruses and he faded off.
“Okay, I’m totally impressed.” Isaiah nodded. “And I apologize for doubting you.”
“It’s cool. Everyone thinks I’m joking when I say I can pick.”
An evil smirk twisted Isaiah’s lips. “Up for more of a challenge?”
Without giving Darren a chance to answer, Isaiah began playing something that sounded a lot like “Foggy Mountain Breakdown.” As if his fingers had a life of their own, he started picking. This was another of the few things he could play without the score. Hopefully.
Isaiah
Isaiah couldn’t hold back his enthusiasm. Of all the things he’d expected from the uptight golden child, picking and singing to bluegrass wasn’t even on the radar.
But Darren looked hot as fuck tapping his foot and playing the classic Jerry Reed tune. Isaiah and his dad used to watch Smokey and the Bandit when it came on reruns. Lost in those memories, Isaiah started to play along. Just like he had for his dad.
When Darren began to sing, Isaiah was sure his face would break with his smile.
Seriously? This was the same guy who’d put every page of his folder back in its special place before they could leave?
When Darren had finished the first song, Isaiah didn’t want their moment to end. He didn’t know a lot of bluegrass—practically none, to be honest—but he figured anything popular enough for him to know, Darren would too.
Darren hadn’t said no, and gamely took up the gauntlet Isaiah had thrown at his feet. Not knowing the score, Isaiah had to improvise as Darren’s fingers flew across the strings. His picking wasn’t perfect, but he gave the guy credit for trying. Major credit.
After a few minutes, Isaiah played louder and took over the melody. It surprised him, in a good—great—way, that Darren settled back to harmonize with him. Again, not perfect, but damn, this was not what he expected.
Their gazes caught, Darren’s as bright as his dimpled grin. Isaiah nodded when he was ready to give the lead. Darren acknowledged and picked right up.
Someone knocked loudly, breaking their concentration.
Nico’s face was framed in the small window.
Usually Isaiah loved Nico’s surprise visits, but tonight his stomach took a dive. He was having an unexpectedly great time. He didn’t want it to end.
Isaiah flicked his fingers for Nico to enter. “My roommate.”
Darren nodded and moved the banjo aside.
Nico didn’t let himself in, and Isaiah moved to the door.
“Hey, what’s up?”
Nico grinned sheepishly. “Nothing, really. You said you didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary with Mr. Entitlement, and your text sounded like you were done?”
Isaiah yanked at the door to shut it, but it was too late. No way Darren hadn’t heard that.
“I figured you’d need an excuse to leave?” Nico continued.
Mortified heat climbed Isaiah’s neck. “You’re such a dipshit sometimes,” he hissed and hitched his thumb toward the door.
Nico’s eyes widened. “You don’t think he heard me, do you?”
Their answer came by way of the door opening and Darren strolling through it. “I gotta go.” He held out the picks and dropped them into Isaiah’s hand. “Thanks.”
Gone was the relaxed Darren, replaced by a schooled façade. He nodded tightly and walked away, back straight and his pace crisp. Isaiah wanted to go after him and explain. He should have. Instead, he stared dumbly at Darren’s retreating back.
“Sorry,” Nico said.
He wanted to say it was okay, but it wasn’t. It really wasn’t.
But it wasn’t Nico’s fault. Isaiah had been an ass about Darren earlier, and Nico was just trying to do him a solid.
He didn’t move until Darren had rounded a corner. “Your timing sucks, Nico.” He sighed and threw an arm around his neck, crushing him into a hug.
“Sorry.” Nico bowed his head. “You were so negative on the guy all week, I thought you got sucked into something and needed a save.”
Two hours ago, Isaiah might have thanked him.
Funny what a little time listening could do.
Darren
Damn.
He knew better than to let his guard down like that. Why had he been so stupid?
Isaiah would never like him, and certainly not in the way Darren had been thinking he might when they played. It shouldn’t have made his stomach churn, but it did. It was one of the first times in years he’d just done what felt good.
Other than on the soccer field, his whole life was an act. Be the good son and don’t be the goof. Do what’s expected, and yeah, don’t let on that you like bluegrass. For a few short minutes, he’d done what he wanted. It’d felt good. Better than good. When Isaiah smiled in surprise, it had felt great.
And Isaiah. The way he improvised on the fly was flawless. Hell, with all the mistakes Darren made, it was a wonder it didn’t throw them both off. Darren played music. Isaiah was a musician. It had felt great, all right.
Until Nico pointed out it was all an act.
Maybe it was Isaiah sussing him out for their competition. Finding his weak points. “Fuck me.”
Enough.
Clearly, he was attracted to Isaiah—he was hot, and Darren had been denying himself so long. Maybe it was time to stop imagining what the right guy would be like and simply go on a date.
Maybe his mother’s idea wasn’t so bad after all?
He stopped and dug out his phone. Scrolling, he found his mother’s text with the name and number of the guy she’d found. Maxwell “Max” Stempson the third. Scion of a pharmaceutical family. He wasn’t bad to look at either.
Tapping out an introduction, he asked if Max would like to get coffee or dinner sometime. His finger hovered over the send button. It didn’t feel right. Not like playing with Isaiah had. But hadn’t that turned out well?
“Fuck it.” He hit send.
Maybe Max would turn out to be great. If not, at least he’d be a distraction from . . . the Gage Scholar Program.
Chapter Seven
Darren
His phone rang. Dad.
Darren tried to tell himself he wasn’t nervous as he dropped onto his bed and stared at the flashing screen. But a ridiculous amount of hopefulness trembled through him.
He hit the accept button.
“Hey, Dad.” His voice hitched and he closed his eyes.
“Hi, son. Did I call at a bad time?”
“Just getting ready for class.”
“Good. Good.” A moment of silence stretched, and Darren’s grip choked his phone. Dad cleared his throat, and his tone turned all business, “I wanted to catch you before you left. I need to schedule the Gage Scholar dinner.”
Darren’s shoulders sagged. “The Gage Scholar dinner.”
“Do you have a game this weekend or next?”
“Game Saturday afternoon and none next weekend.” He wanted to blurt out that he’d scored five times in three games, including a hat trick in the second game. The words stuck in his throat. He also had a date this Saturday night, but that wasn’t something he wanted to tell his father.
“Good. Then plan to come home next weekend. Can you ask Mr. Nettles if that works for him and confirm with me if it does?”
Call him? Dad would answer? “Sure.”
“Excellent. Let him know we’ll have the corporate jet pick you both up and that he’ll be staying at the house with us.”
Wait, what? “He will?”
“Yes, Darren, he will. Your mother won’t forgive either of us if you stay in a hotel,
so Nettles can’t either.”
“Isaiah.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s his name. Isaiah. Nettles.”
“Right. If you stay at the house, he has to as well. It won’t seem very equitable if we make him stay in a hotel when the only other person in the competition gets to stay in our home.”
Now Darren was the “other person”? “But . . . it’s my home, Dad. It’s not like you’re playing favorites.”
Was that a sigh on the other end? “We have plenty of room for a guest.”
“Yes, sir.” Well, wasn’t this great. He got the privilege of inviting the guy who thought he was an entitled jerk to stay at his home.
Awesome start to the day.
“Thank you. Let Isaiah know the arrangements and get back to Maggie.”
Maggie? His administrative assistant?
Darren stared at his lap. “Yes, sir.”
“Okay then, good catching up. Get back to her as soon as you can. Your mother will want time to make arrangements.”
“Of course.”
“Excellent. Your mother is looking forward to seeing you. She missed you this summer.”
But you didn’t, did you? “I’ve missed her too. Although not her attempts at fixing me up.”
“Okay, son, I need to get off the phone. I’ve got a meeting I’m two minutes late for already. Take care and call me when you can.”
“Yes, sir. I will.”
Just like that, his day went down the crapper. And he still had to deliver messages for his dad.
Isaiah
The text from Darren had taken Isaiah by surprise. They hadn’t seen, called, texted, emailed, or spoken to each other since Nico broke up their jam session. They would have to meet about the fundraiser at some stage, but Darren had asked to speak between classes. Didn’t sound like a planning session.
He glanced at the peace offering he’d brought with him. Was it going to help ease things between them? Maybe. Maybe not. He’d try anyway.
He opened the door. The café was rocking already, and he glanced at the clock. Class must have just let out from the yoga studio on the top floor. Never a good time to come, right after that.
But Darren had snagged a table. A good one that faced the door. He gave Isaiah a lazy wave and avoided making eye contact. Isaiah hadn’t expected any less, but it still made his stomach sink. The whole thing on Friday had played out like shit. And had the roles been reversed? Yeah, Isaiah would’ve been pissed with a big P.
“Hey.” He settled into the chair across from Darren. There were no cups on the table, so either Darren didn’t drink coffee or he’d just gotten there.
Darren looked up and gestured to the counter. “I waited to get something until you got here. What can I get you?”
“I’ll get it.”
“It’s fine, I’m just spending Mom and Dad’s money.” He tried to make it sound like a joke, but there was just enough pain in the words to make Isaiah cringe. “What would you like?”
“Coffee. Black. Please.” He almost apologized, but it could wait a few minutes. Timing and all that. “That’s nice of you.”
“It’s nothing,” Darren mumbled and made his way to the counter. Isaiah took in the view. Entitled or not, Darren had amazing legs. Especially given he was tall. And lean. Clearly Darren had played for years.
There was also a bounce in his step that, if you didn’t know him, shouted arrogant twat. But Isaiah suspected that wasn’t the case. Reserved, for sure, but he’d been decent to Isaiah when they’d met. And he’d even taken the dig Nico inadvertently gave him without lashing back. More than Isaiah would have done.
He was replaying Friday night when Darren appeared at the table with their drinks. “Thanks, Darren.”
“You bet.”
Isaiah sipped. The oils from the excellent grade of coffee played across his tongue, filling him with familiar comfort. Purely psychological, but it calmed him.
Mostly.
He stared at the lid of his cup. How to approach the elephant in the room? “I’m sorry about Friday.”
Isaiah looked up, meeting Darren’s guarded gaze. Darren watched him for a long beat, as if searching for something. Sincerity, perhaps?
“Really sorry,” Isaiah said.
Darren’s stiffness folded away, and he shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”
“No, I need to. It was wrong. I’m not going to lie and say I never said that to Nico. I did. But when I said it, you and I had only been sparring with each other. It was after the ‘why don’t you ask Grandpa Gage’ thing. And that sounds like the shittiest apology. I’m sorry. I don’t think that way.” Isaiah grimaced and flashed Darren a sheepish grin. “Anymore.”
That earned him a smile. Small, but still there. “Thanks. I guess I didn’t do much to endear myself.”
“Actually, you were always decent, even with my oversized shoulder chip.”
“Oversized shoulder chip. Not a bad description.”
They shared a smirk.
Isaiah fought the urge to tighten his hair. “I also really enjoyed playing together. It was different. Kinda cool, really.” Kinda a lot, actually. “I doubt I could recreate that if I tried. I’m sorry it ended the way it did.”
Darren glanced across the café. “I asked you to meet me because I have a message for you from my dad.”
“Your father? For me?”
Was it Isaiah, or had Darren’s posture stiffened? “The thing is, every year my father meets with the Gage Scholar finalists. He flies them to Philly and hosts a dinner at the house. I was always away at school, so I only remember one when I was five, and I didn’t see much before the nanny shooed Cody and me to our rooms. Point is, Dad has done this every year since he took over from Grandpa Gage . . . his father.
“He wanted me to ask if you’re free next Saturday. He and Mom want to host a dinner for us.”
“Next Saturday?”
“Yeah. I can’t meet this weekend, we have a game. The plan is to fly us there Friday night, spend Saturday in Philly, then come home Sunday. He’s going to send the company jet, so we can pick our times and the pilot can set the flight plan. And . . .” Darren took a hurried sip, sloshing coffee over his chin. He cursed quietly and dabbed his chin clean.
Isaiah felt the nervousness smack into him, and he straightened. “And?”
Darren avoided his gaze. “And you’ll be staying at the house.”
“The house? You mean your house? With you?”
“Yes. I mean the house, not in my room.”
Isaiah hadn’t meant Darren’s room, but that thought took off on a life of its own. He forced a laugh, ignoring the lurch in his gut. “Yeah, I didn’t think your parents would make us share.”
Darren stoic façade returned. “Typically they put the finalists in a hotel, but my mom wants me to stay at the house. I didn’t . . . you know, I was here all summer, so she . . . you know.”
“She misses you. I get it. My mother would do the same.” He smiled. Mothers all seemed the same. Or at least the ones who loved their kids. “Why do they want me to stay there?”
“Dad said it wouldn’t be fair for me to be there and you in a hotel.” He shrugged. “I don’t get it, totally, but that’s what they want.”
It clearly wasn’t what Darren wanted. “I see.”
“So are you free?” Darren looked up from his cup. “If you’re not, that’s okay. Dad will find a weekend that works.”
Isaiah pulled out his phone and checked his calendar. “That’s actually a really good weekend.”
“Really? Great.”
“Are you sure it’s okay to stay at the house?” What he really meant was: are you okay with me staying there?
“Yeah, of course.” It sounded genuine, at least. “I mean, in business, people competing for promotions work together on projects all the time. Part of the equation is how well they work together. Being all cutthroat and acting like your coworkers are the enemy generally doesn’t w
ork so well.”
And this would be strictly business. Of course. “True. Is that why you agreed to let me stay in your house?”
Darren snorted and shook his head. “I didn’t get a say.” His façade cracked a bit. “But, I mean, had they asked, I wouldn’t have objected.”
Yes, you would have.
The thought was stupidly disheartening. “Guess I don’t have much choice either.”
“You could always pitch a tent in Valley Forge if you don’t want to stay in the house.”
“Valley Forge?”
For the first time since he’d arrived, Darren’s grin lit his face. “My parents used to tell Cody and me that if we didn’t like living in their house, we could always pitch a tent in Valley Forge and see how we liked that.”
“Cody’s your brother?”
“Younger. He’s a freshman at Brown.”
“He didn’t come here?”
“Nah, said he was tired of being my little brother.”
“Makes sense. Ian—my younger brother—would rather eat his liver than have someone call him ‘Isaiah’s little brother’ again.”
Darren smiled again, and Isaiah liked how it softened his features. It didn’t last, however.
“Are you okay with everything?”
Isaiah didn’t really want to stay where it made Darren uncomfortable, but the offer had come from Mr. Gage. He needed to keep it professional. “Yes.”
“Great.” Darren pushed back his chair, ready to bolt. “Thanks for meeting with me. I’ll make sure everyone knows to expect us next weekend.”
Isaiah pulled out his enveloped peace offering and set it on the table between them. “Before you go. There’s this concert this weekend. My professor asked if anyone wanted to go. I got two tickets. Would you like to go with me?”
Darren stilled on his chair, a soft frown cutting his brow. “You want me to go with you?”
Isaiah fiddled with his hair tie. “I’ve been kind of a jerk. Consider it a white flag?”