by Andy Gallo
“Oh, wow. Um . . . thing is, I have a date this Saturday.”
Not at all the answer he’d expected. Isaiah’s grin felt like cardboard. “That’s cool.”
“I guess. It’s a blind date. You know how those end up.”
Isaiah nodded and nodded. “Sure.”
“I would’ve liked to go. I love live music. Even shitty garage bands have an energy you can’t capture anywhere else.”
“I know, right?” He tried to amp up his enthusiasm, but it sounded as forced as it felt. “Well, just thought I’d ask.”
Darren glanced at him. “Another time, maybe?”
“Sure. These come up now and again. The professors like to make sure the house is full so bands come back.”
“Yeah, it’d suck if you agreed to play and no one came.”
“No kidding.” It also sucked wrangling two tickets from your professor only to have your plans fall apart. “I’ll let you know if another show comes up.”
“Great.” Darren looked over Isaiah’s shoulder. “I better go to class.”
He stood and swung his sling-pack over his head. His shirt pulled up, and Isaiah got another look at Darren’s abs. His eyes lingered even after the blue polo fabric slid back over his skin.
“I’ll make sure Dad’s AA copies you on all the arrangements.”
“AA?”
“Administrative assistant. And if the plans don’t work for you, let me know.” He rolled his left shoulder, and his bag settled snugly. “Dad’s flexible as long as we give him some notice.”
“Okay. Will do.”
Darren picked up his cup. “Talk to you soon.”
Isaiah watched him walk away, shoulders set, walls in place. There was a story behind the fake face he showed the world. He’d seen glimpses of the real Darren, the one who teased, the one who lit up when he played banjo. The one who flirted? Maybe that last one had been his imagination. But there was another Darren. One that something forced into hiding.
He snatched his tickets from the table.
Enough wondering about who the real Darren was. He might be a nice guy at heart, but he was still the competition, and . . . and . . .
He had a date.
Chapter Eight
Darren
God, this date was a disaster. Max steered every conversation to himself, his family, or the cost of something he’d bought. When he wasn’t making thinly veiled suggestions about them having sex tonight, that was.
Which was not going to happen. Not unless Max planned to bash him over the head or drug him unconscious.
They were almost to Club Caliber when Max touched his arm. “How about we skip the show. Go back to your place?”
“I live in a frat house with a roommate.” Not that he’d have said yes if he lived alone. “Besides, I really want to see this. But if you don’t want to, I understand.”
“We can skip it?” Max asked hopefully.
“I meant you don’t have to come with me. I already bought the tickets.” Please say you don’t want to come.
“Oh. Okay, we can go. How bad can it be?”
Darren held back a groan. Just one evening. He’d get through it.
He didn’t give his date the chance to back out again. Fifty bucks apiece for a table seat wasn’t pricey, per se, but this wasn’t a trendy club in New York, or even Philly. It was a local cabaret, showcasing local talent. But it was high society for the environs around Harrison.
And the proceeds went to the Harrison Music School scholarship fund. Harper had taken a date here last year and had said it was good. Which from a philistine like him didn’t say much, but it had to be at least passable.
What he hadn’t anticipated when he bought the “VIP” tickets was that they’d be seated close to the stage. Front and center. Where the world could see him. Good thing he wasn’t trying to hide who he was. Especially not with octopus Max touching him all the time.
The host showed them to their table. Most of the crowd was dressed up—not black tie, but sports coats and blazers outnumbered jeans and T-shirts. Darren was glad he’d suggested Max wear the jacket and tie, given they were on display.
“Mr. Gage?” An older woman in an evening dress appeared over his left shoulder. Turning to face her gave him an excuse to recover his hand.
“Yes?” He didn’t know her, or how she knew him.
“Mary Plower. I run the scholarship fund for the music school.” She held out her hand, and Darren wiped his on his pants before shaking. “Thank you so much for coming, and for buying VIP tickets. Your family is already so generous. Had I known you wanted to come, I’d have set aside tickets for you and your . . .” She looked at Max hovering near him.
“Date,” Darren forced out. “Ms. Plower, this is Maxwell Stempson.”
Her eyebrow rose a fraction. Clearly, arriving with a Gage was proof enough that Max was a scion of the Stempson family of Stempson & Wilson Pharmaceutical fame.
“Mr. Stempson, how wonderful to meet you. I hope you’ll enjoy our show. We’re truly fortunate to have some wonderful talent tonight.”
“I’m sure,” Max muttered.
“I’m looking forward to hearing them,” Darren said with more enthusiasm. “I’ve heard some of the music students play, and if the performers tonight are half as good, this is going to be a great show.”
It was a lie. He’d only heard Isaiah play, but he had been impressed. Mary’s smile widened. “We think so. Let me send over a drink. On the house.”
“Scotch and water,” Max said before taking his seat.
“No, ma’am.” Darren shook his head. “This is a fundraiser for something important. I’ll go set up a tab.”
“Just like your father.”
“What?” The confusion in his tone left his host sputtering.
“You’re very generous. Like your father has been.”
He didn’t know how to absorb that one and forced a thankful nod.
Her eyes darted over his shoulder, and she excused herself, saying she needed to greet someone who had just arrived.
“Why’d you do that?” Max huffed. “She was going to comp us drinks.”
“Seriously?” Darren gripped the back of the chair, wondering if he should even sit. “It’s a fundraiser. Of all the people here, who needs a comp less than us?”
Max rolled his eyes. “Not the point. You had her eating out of your hand and you turned down a gift.”
“Fine.” It wasn’t, but he was over this conversation. “I’m buying anyway.”
He walked over to the bar to get his “date” a drink.
Isaiah
Isaiah chuckled as Nico entered Caliber like he owned the club. With his chiseled good looks and hair slicked back, he looked like a film star of decades past. The bright purple sports coat drew all the attention Nico had hoped. He smiled like a superstar surveying adoring fans.
The place was packed, which was a good thing for a fundraiser, but bad if you needed a seat. Fortunately, he’d scored tickets to a table. Next year, hopefully he’d be a participant. If he was still attending Harrison.
He ran into Nico’s back and stifled a curse as he watched his roommate scan the room. His head darted back and forth like he was following a ping-pong game. Isaiah knew what was happening. Nico had the most amazing talent to size up a crowded room in seconds and spot the two or three hottest guys. Like, every time.
And generally, he scored with one of them. But this wasn’t the time.
“Will you stop,” Isaiah hissed. “At least wait till we get to the table.”
“Okay, but by then you are going to owe me the apology of a lifetime.”
“What are you talking about?”
Nico’s smirk was particularly irritating as he motioned with his eyes.
“What am I looking . . .” Impossible. “Is that . . .?”
“You tell me?” Nico’s voice didn’t hide his extreme amusement. “If you were still uncertain . . . ”
Isaiah stood, stunne
d. What was Darren doing here? Sitting at a VIP table. With a guy? “His date?”
“Looks like one to me.”
The two sat almost shoulder to shoulder, and the other guy said something and rubbed Darren’s upper arm. Darren grabbed his drink and downed half the contents. From the size of the glass it was probably soda, but he drank like it was hard liquor.
“Come, darling,” Nico said, tugging Isaiah gently. “Let’s go find our table.”
Isaiah tried not to stare as they threaded their way through the crowded room, but he couldn’t stop. Every time he looked, the guy’s hand was still on Darren. It had to be a date. Darren’s body language didn’t usually invite contact, so only someone . . . someone he was dating would do it.
“Oh, this is a nice table,” Nico said with gusto. “And such a good view.”
He spun around, clearly to draw all eyes to them, and Isaiah wanted to crawl under the table. Across the room, Darren and his date turned to look at Nico. Darren’s startled gaze landed on Isaiah.
“I’m going over—”
“No.” Nico spun him around before he took a step. “You are going to sit down and not make a scene. He’s on a date.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“But nothing. He had this planned before you asked him to come tonight. And he told you the truth.”
“But it’s a guy.”
“You said you wondered if he played for our team. There’s your answer.”
God, he fucking hated Nico being calm about this. “Yeah, I wondered, but . . . I’m still shocked. I assumed he’d date girls. Publicly, at least.”
“You know what my nonno says about when you assume.”
“Ah, shut it.” He did not need Nico quoting his Italian grandfather to him.
Isaiah plopped down hard in his chair. There was no way this was real. Darren fucking Gage was out? So did that mean those times Darren’s gazes lingered . . . those flushed cheeks . . .
“I can hear the hamster running on the wheels in your brain, ’Saiah.”
“I doubt you’re guessing the exact direction of my thoughts.”
“I don’t know. You’re awfully flushed.” Nico raised an eyebrow, daring him to deny it. “But I don’t understand why. Last weekend you said even if he was gay you wouldn’t date him. What’s changed?”
Nico was right. What had changed? “Nothing.”
“Oh, ’Saiah, you are such a bad liar. What’s changed is you got to know him and suddenly he’s not the prick you assumed he was. You can admit you’re wrong sometimes.”
“I wasn’t wrong. I mean, look at him, he bought the best seats in the house. Him. A student. And he brought a blind date to a fundraiser.”
“Rrreeow.” Nico made his fingers into claws and scratched at the air. “Catty much. Also, for a blind date, he got lucky. The guy’s kinda cute.”
He so wasn’t. “I just can’t believe that’s his type.”
“Oh. My. God. You’re jealous!” Nico giggled.
“You’re an idiot. I am not jealous.”
“Oh, this is too much for my poor heart. I’m getting the vapors!” Nico used his best Southern belle voice and fanned his face with his hand. “I’m getting us drinks.”
Isaiah nodded, glad his friend was giving him a break. In Nico’s current state of amusement, Isaiah would be over him real fast.
Nico patted his shoulder on his way. “All kidding aside, leave him alone. It’s a date. Do not go bother him.”
“I’m not planning to.”
“You’re thinking about it. Don’t.” Nico melted into the crowd.
Isaiah wasn’t really planning on going over there. He did have a simmering question or two, though.
He stole another glance at Darren. Was it his imagination, or did Darren seem more interested in his drink than his date?
After a long sip, Darren turned, catching Isaiah watching him. His scowl faded, replaced by a hint of a smile. He gave Isaiah a brief wave of recognition before his jaw clenched and he turned back to his . . . date.
The first act was announced, and Darren immediately focused on the musicians. Isaiah recognized the trumpet player from his first year at school. He’d crushed it every time Isaiah had heard him perform. Tonight, even more so.
The quartet was good, but they’d be better if the piano player had a bit more life in her playing. As it stood, she was passable.
Nico put a drink in front of him, and as he shimmied into his seat, Isaiah stole another peek at Darren.
Staring at the stage, Darren smiled, tapped his expensive loafers, and drummed the table to the music. To his left, his date looked bored and disinterested. He checked his watch and nudged Darren.
Darren’s obvious enjoyment melted, and he turned his head. They shared a word, and Darren shook his head and nodded to the stage. Date boy flopped back in his chair, and Isaiah could practically hear the sigh.
“You’re doing it again, dear,” Nico whispered in his ear.
“If that’s a date, then you and I are married.”
“I never said it was a good date.” Nico raised his red drink, moving the tiny umbrella to the side of the fruit.
Isaiah grabbed his and sniffed the contents. Just cola. Nico respected his need not to drink. He smiled at that and raised his glass. A tiny ching-ching later, he promised to stop focusing on Darren and enjoy the show.
It was a promise he couldn’t keep.
The next two acts were shorter and not as good as the quartet. Darren stood, and Isaiah’s gaze tracked him as he beelined for the bar.
“I need a refill. Can I get you something?” Isaiah said.
Nico frowned. “No, dear, you’re not twenty-one and I don’t want another overpriced, under-alcoholized drink. I’ll wait till we hit Studio 63 later.” He snagged Isaiah by the arm before he got away. “He’s on a date. Don’t interfere.”
“I won’t.” He slipped away before Nico could challenge his weak denial. Besides, what could he do? Darren was on a date; a date he’d told Isaiah about. Why the hell did it bug him?
Darren fronted the counter and was waiting for the bartender when Isaiah squeezed his way past a champagne-clutching couple. He tapped Darren on the shoulder. A nervous smile greeted him as Darren’s eyes washed up and down Isaiah.
“Hey, Isaiah. You look nice.” The smile accompanying the compliment gave Isaiah a twinge of giddiness. “I’m guessing this was the show you were talking about when you asked me to go with you?”
“You’re gay!” He dropped his head. “Sorry. I evidently have no filter. I should have mentioned what show when I asked you to come.”
The bartender arrived, and Darren ordered. Bourbon and Coke, and a plain Coke. “And whatever he and his guest are drinking.”
The bartender nodded and slunk off.
“You don’t need to do that,” Isaiah said.
“It’s done.” He shrugged and leaned closer. “It’s not a secret, by the way. I’m gay.”
“I maybe wondered.”
Darren’s gaze darted toward the stage. The lights were dim in here, but Isaiah suspected a blush climbed Darren’s cheeks. “I maybe wondered, too.”
Darren glanced at him.
Isaiah blinked and grinned. He thought he’d made it clear but, apparently, not clear enough. “Totally gay.”
They shared a tingly look and hurriedly looked away.
The bartender appeared and plunked two Cokes down.
“Are you enjoying the show?” Darren asked.
“Changing the topic much?” Isaiah smiled. His reward was a sheepish grin. Dressed up, Darren looked like the stylish rich guy he was. Grudgingly, he had to admit it was hot.
“Guilty.”
“Yeah, I’m enjoying the show so far. You?”
“I liked the first act best. Especially when they played The Hot Sardines. I can’t pronounce the name of the song, but I love it.”
“Okay, stop. You knew who that was?”
“You’re still surprised?”
“No . . . never mind.” Back on his heels a bit, he reached for the familiar. “So you like them?”
“The trumpet was sick, but I was a bit meh on the piano player.”
“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
Darren shook his head. “I’ll just embarrass myself.”
“No really, tell me why. I had issues, too, I just want to hear what you thought.”
“Too mechanical. I mean, it was pretty flawless, but it came across as stiff. Strictly technical. No passion, no soul.” He dug out his wallet when the waiter returned with the other drinks. Darren dropped a five in the giant brandy snifter. The guy rapped his knuckles on the bar before moving on to the next customer.
“I mean, the trumpet guy, he was great. She was just good. Kinda like . . .”
“Like what?” Isaiah locked his gaze on Darren and waited expectantly.
“You know. She plays music. He’s a musician.”
“That’s . . .” A thrill raced through him. “You need heart in everything you do. I mean play.”
Darren tore his eyes off Isaiah and looked over his shoulder toward his table. He laughed humorlessly. “You’re right. I should get back to Max.”
“Having a good time with your date?” Yep, Isaiah went there. He schooled his self-chastising wince.
“I’m having a surprisingly good time, just not with my date.”
Isaiah’s breath thinned. “Not with your date.”
Darren sighed. “Max doesn’t want to stay, and I’m not keen on going with him to Studio 63. I’m hoping he’ll just go without me.”
“That bad?”
Darren grabbed the second drink. “My own fault. I should’ve known better, since Mom fixed me up with him. Nice seeing you. Enjoy the rest of the show.”
“You too.” He followed Darren’s progress and saw the change three steps into his trek back to the table. Passion for the music allowed him to be himself. Max . . . Max got fake Darren. The face he showed the world.
Snagging the drinks from the counter, he returned to his table. “Here. Darren bought it for you.”
“He did, did he? Bought you one too?”
