by Andy Gallo
The car pulled up to the front, and Darren got out before the driver. “We’ll get the bags, Henry. Thanks for getting us. Give Linda my best.”
“Of course, Master Darren,” the older man said with a smile. “It was good to see you again. And to meet you, Master Isaiah.”
After they closed the trunk and the car drove off, Isaiah turned to Darren. Afternoon sun shimmered, and a warm breeze flowed around them, rustling the leaves in a nearby maple. They stood close, only their luggage between them. Darren’s gaze caught on Isaiah, and Isaiah’s skin prickled under his coat.
“Master?” His voice traveled softly. “That your kink?”
Darren’s startled laugh was the best thing he’d heard since they entered the plane. Light and amused, it washed away the tension stiffening his shoulders. “No-no. Henry has been my family’s driver since I can remember. Evidently he didn’t feel it proper to address me by my name even as a child, so I was always Master Darren. I think until I get married, he’s going to address me like that. Then I get the joy of being called Mr. Gage.”
Before Isaiah could respond, the front door opened, and a woman with dark eyes, darker hair, and a lean figure emerged. Darren dropped his bags and greeted her.
“Hey, Mom,” he said before she enveloped him in a hug. “You look amazing. I guess you like your new trainer.”
“Robert is a tyrant, but I can’t complain about the results. And you.” She pushed him back and assessed him. “You look tired.”
“I’m good. We had an away game yesterday, so I had to catch up on my studying.”
Isaiah knew he’d had a game, but didn’t for a second believe that was the cause of Darren’s tiredness. Stress had built in his posture and deepening frown from the moment the car picked them up.
“And you must be Isaiah.” She opened her arms. “Margret Gage. Welcome to our home.”
Unsure what to do, he let her hug him. “Thank you, Mrs. Gage. It’s very nice of you to allow me to stay.”
“It’s no problem at all, and please, call me Peg.”
“If you insist?” He never called parents of friends by their first name. Peg waved off his hesitation.
“Children are all in a hurry to grow up, but now that you are, you don’t want to act like grown-ups.” She raised an eyebrow. “You’re an adult now, Isaiah. You don’t have to call parents Mr. and Mrs. anymore.”
“I’d listen to her,” Darren said. “Calling her Mrs. makes her feel old, and since she most certainly is not old, you don’t want to make her mad.”
Peg let out a charmed laugh. “Oh, Darren. I missed you.” She grabbed his hand in both of hers. “Come on, let’s get you settled. Your father has a business dinner. It’s just us three tonight.”
“How’d you get out of going?” Darren asked.
“No spouses invited, plus this was last minute. Your father wouldn’t have gone, but it’s an important deal they’re trying to close.” She smiled and tugged him toward the house. “Which means tonight is not about school or work or the Scholar program.”
She hooked her arm under Darren’s, and he smiled as he hugged it to his side. A bit awkward for Isaiah, but he didn’t begrudge Darren a little time with his mother.
“Go get settled while I make sure dinner is on schedule,” Peg said once they cleared the threshold. “We’ll eat about six thirty.”
Isaiah glanced at the grandfather clock in the hallway. They had two hours.
“Darren, all the rooms are made up, but I’d suggest—”
“The back bedroom, second from the stairs,” he said in a monotonous tone. “It has a nice view and it’s quieter than the first one.”
She slapped his arm playfully. “Don’t you mock me like that, Darren Josiah Gage. I just want to be sure our guests are comfortable.”
“Yes, Mother dear.” He scooted away before she could swat him again.
She managed to grab his hands again before she left. “It’s so good to have you home, dear. No more skipping out on the summer. Okay?”
Darren didn’t answer immediately, and once more Isaiah wanted a glimpse into his head.
“I’ll try not to.”
Her smiled dimmed, and she corrected course. “Not good enough, but it’s a start. Now go, or else dinner will be late.”
Darren glanced at Isaiah, and Isaiah slipped to his side with a sneaky wink. “Lead the way, Master Darren.”
Chapter Eleven
Darren
Darren watched Isaiah’s awestruck look as they climbed the central staircase. His mother had done an amazing job here, designing the interior and ensuring the grand house felt like a home.
“Did your parents build this house?”
“It was built in the late 1890s by Alexander Cassatt for one of his children.”
“Alexander who?” Isaiah asked.
“He’s not a household name outside of the Main Line. He helped make the Pennsylvania Railroad Company into a big deal around the turn of the twentieth century.”
“The place has history.”
“Mom said when they bought the place, it was a nightmare. A previous owner had ‘modernized it’ in the fifties and it ruined most of its charm. Mom spent years poring over the original plans to restore it. Most of the original woodwork and details were destroyed, though.”
“Still pretty cool.”
It was, actually, but he didn’t want to gush too much.
Isaiah scoped out the place while they climbed, his expression so dazed it evoked both a sense of pride in Darren and an edge of embarrassment. It was a lot of wealth to take in, and Darren didn’t want Isaiah feeling uncomfortable. Really, really didn’t want that.
He wanted Isaiah to look at him and see the guy behind the name, the normal guy who played soccer, worked his ass off for his classes, and loved music so hard he thought he could live off it.
He wanted Isaiah to look at him and like him.
Dammit. Those were thoughts best left at the door.
He was here this weekend for his dad. The dinner was a step toward proving he wasn’t a disappointment. That he was the same boy Dad had always loved.
Only difference, he didn’t like girls.
He liked guys.
He liked Isaiah—
Crap.
“Darren?”
Darren startled, and Isaiah smirked.
“Where to?”
Right. They’d reached the landing. He had to show Isaiah to his room.
Darren turned left. “Let me put my stuff down.” He waved Isaiah to follow. “This way you’ll know where to find me once you’ve settled in.”
“What’s on the second floor?” Isaiah asked. “I mean, if that’s not an off-limits topic.”
Darren turned and smiled. “Second floor is my parents’ room and some of the private living space. TV room, Dad’s home office, a study for Mom. When we were younger, the nursery and kids’ playroom.”
“And the first floor?”
“The public rooms. The library, dining room, kitchen, and the parlor/living room. If my parents have a party they use the great room to the left of the stairs. The rooms up here are for the family. And house guests like you.”
“House guests? Is that different from just guests?”
Darren stopped in front of the open door to his suite of rooms. “House guests are people who are invited to stay overnight. Guests are just visiting a few hours. So, like if mom has people over to discuss a fundraiser or charity event, they wouldn’t come up to the second floor. But if her friends from college or her siblings visit, they would use the family rooms on the second floor. They’re more what you’d expect in someone’s home. Not the formal rooms downstairs.”
Isaiah paused at the doorway, gaze scanning Darren’s room. “Should I wait here? And please let the answer be ‘come in,’ because I really want to come in.”
And there Isaiah went again, making his insides somersault. “Come in.”
Darren moved through the outer room and p
ointed toward a couch with an end table at one end. “I’d say you could watch TV or listen to music, but I really am just going to drop my bag on my bed and we’ll go.”
“No rush.” Isaiah put his bag down and looked around. “No rush at all.”
Darren dropped his stuff and came back into the room Isaiah was checking out. Isaiah stood in front of a bookshelf looking at things his mother had put there. It wasn’t really his space to do what he wanted. Even his bedroom had things his mother set out. But it was private, and he had the urge to shut the door and curl up in here with Isaiah until it was time to head back to Harrison.
Isaiah stretched to pluck a ribbon off a top shelf. His body extended, lithe and sexy, and Darren wanted to press into Isaiah, lock their fingers together against a shelf, and kiss his throat. He wanted Isaiah to lose himself in a moan, press back against him, make demands . . .
Darren scrubbed his face, forcing himself out of the sudden fantasy.
Keep it together.
“Holy shit, Darren. You’ve got a lot of trophies.” Isaiah turned, impressed.
“It’s not as impressive as it seems. I went to a small boarding school. If you could run without tripping over your feet, they ‘encouraged’ you to play sports. Otherwise we wouldn’t be able to field teams.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Isaiah pointed toward a large statuette with a red ribbon hanging over it. “This says you were second in the five thousand meters for the state. And this one,” he picked up a silver cup, “says you were the MVP of the league championship game last year, at Harrison. That isn’t just for showing up.”
No, it wasn’t. “I guess.”
“Oh, come on. You can be proud of this stuff. You earned it.” He moved to his right and picked up a frame. “Is this your dad?”
Darren knew the picture, but he didn’t want to be reminded of how things used to be. At least the reminder of Dad cooled him down. “It was after we won the league championship my senior year.”
“And this one? Clearly that’s your mom. Is that your younger brother?”
“Cody, yeah.”
Isaiah moved over and looked at few of the older awards. “Swimming, baseball, soccer. What didn’t you do, Mr. Jock?”
“The school needed everyone to play to field a team.”
“Still.” Isaiah picked up a picture from a swim meet with Darren on the starting block. “Oh my God, you’re like thirteen in this picture.”
Face burning, Darren took the award and set it down. Why had his mother used that photo? He was such a dork at that age. “My mother put this stuff out. I’m . . . I was never here much, so she just did what she wanted.”
“What do you mean?”
Darren motioned for them to leave. Better get Isaiah out of here before he died of embarrassment. Or worse, begged Isaiah to kiss the fuck out of him.
“I almost never lived at home. They sent me to boarding school, and in the summer we went to the house in Rhode Island. I doubt I used this room more than eight weeks a year.”
“Really?”
“Yep. C’mon. I’ll show you your rooms.”
“Rooms? You mean I get a suite too?”
Darren rolled his eyes. “You don’t think my mother would let you stay in a shoebox, do you?”
“Probably not.”
They walked down the hall, past the staircase, and Darren stopped at the second door. “This is the room my cousins always fight over. It’s not as big as the one we just passed, but it’s quieter, and I’m told the bed is more comfortable. Firm.”
“I like sleeping on firm things.” Isaiah smirked, and at this rate, Darren would spend most of the weekend under a cold shower.
He hurried into the rooms. “This is the sitting room, the bedroom is over there. There’s a closet for your stuff, the dresser should be empty, and the bathroom’s at the back of the room.”
“I get my own bathroom?”
“All the rooms have their own bathroom. At least on this floor.” He pointed up. “There are some rooms upstairs that are smaller and don’t have one, but I don’t think anyone ever stays there.”
“Ever?”
“The nanny and some of the house staff used to use them, back when my parents had live-in staff. They stopped hiring live-in staff when Cody went to school.”
“Oh.”
“Well, take your time. If you want to relax, I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”
“Why are you in a rush to leave?”
Because if he didn’t get space, he might flirt the fuck back. “You probably want time to settle in.”
Isaiah dropped his bag. “Done.” He prowled toward Darren, sending his pulse into a stutter.
Darren’s voice came out choked. “What?”
“Can you show me what I most want to see now?”
“Y-yes. I mean, what do you want to see?”
Isaiah’s smile was like a damning stroke to his . . . resolve. “Your music room, of course. What else?”
Isaiah
The “basement” of Chateau Gage was as impressive in its own way as the rest of the house. No attempt was made to preserve the age or feel of the original house. Built for teenage boys by parents with an unlimited budget.
The game room had a TV the size of the pool table behind the couch. The weight room had enough weights to train the university football team and enough cardio machines for everyone else. And the wet bar belonged in a nightclub, not the basement of someone’s house.
Tucked into the far corner, just as Darren had said, the music room looked like a bunker from the outside. The cinder block exterior belied the perfect interior. To Darren, it might have felt like an attempt to isolate him, but the acoustics were perfect. And it had a Steinway grand piano.
“I can’t believe your parents bought a Steinway for your practice room.” He’d only played one once, and it was the difference between a Toyota and a Maserati.
“They moved this down here when they bought the Fazioli for the music room on the main floor.”
“No fucking way. You have a Fazioli?” Forget Maserati, a Fazioli was the Bugatti Veyron of pianos.
Darren’s face lit up, a departure from his usual downplaying of his family’s wealth. “You need to play it before you go. The sound is unbelievable.”
“I can play it?”
Darren gave him a bewildered look. “Of course.”
No “of course” about it. It was probably a half-million-dollar piano. Not just anyone should be able to touch that.
“It was made to be played,” Darren said.
Isaiah fucking fanboyed. “That would be . . . oh my God, are you serious?”
Darren’s expression warred between amusement and something darker—and a hell of a lot sexier. “It needs someone who’ll touch it confidently, who knows all the right keys to press and when to press them.”
Isaiah’s pulse skedaddled.
“It should definitely be you seated there.”
Darren didn’t flirt at every opportunity like Isaiah did. Isaiah couldn’t help it in general, and especially couldn’t help it around Darren. But when Darren dabbled in a little innuendo?
Holy shit. Slay him already.
This weekend was going to be like walking on a live wire.
Professionalism. Professionalism. Professionalism.
Hot boy. Hot boy. Hot boy. Who was just getting hotter as he pulled a banjo off a rack and slipped on some finger picks.
Isaiah settled behind the piano. He played a few notes and then ran the scale over a few octaves to test the tuning. To his ear, it sounded perfect. Before he decided what to play, Darren started playing the banjo.
Isaiah’s mouth parted in shock. “Rose Tattoo?” Now Darren was playing Drop Kick Murphys? “On a banjo?”
“I know. It was made for a mandolin, but this comes close.” Darren closed his eyes and started to sing.
God, Darren looked so at ease playing music. The stiff, formal persona melted, and he looked happier. Much hap
pier.
Isaiah played a gentle beat to accompany, careful not to overpower.
The song ended, and Darren reopened his eyes. They sparkled, and his face glowed. “You made that up as we played, didn’t you?”
“A bit. I’ve always wanted to play that song with someone, but none of my friends who are DKM fans can play mandolin—or banjo.”
“None of my friends are DKM fans, period. They hear Celtic punk and think weird. They read about their social activism and are turned off.”
“But not you.” Not a question; he knew the answer.
Darren shook his head. “Bill Gates and Warren Buffet are two of the richest people in the country and they’re using their money to help people. Not exactly the progressives that DKM are, but they’re proof you don’t have to be a douche because you’ve got money.”
Add Darren J. Gage to the no-douche list. “You said you can play sax. Is that true?”
“Probably better than banjo. Which isn’t saying much, I know.” He pulled the strap over his head and set it down. “Give me a minute to soften the reed.”
“Go for it.” Isaiah tapped out a few keys. “Any good at being the Big Man?”
“Jungleland?”
“Good ear.” He dove into the song. “Can you do it?”
“Not like Clarence, but I’m game.”
“No offense if you’re a Clarence fan, but I think Jake is a better player.”
Darren took the reed out of his mouth. “So did Clarence.”
“Less talk, more working that thing into shape.”
“Yes, sir,” he said.
“Sir, mmm.” Isaiah winked. “Maybe you have a kink after all.”
Darren stared at him, the thin sliver of cane paused at his lips. Whatever he was thinking, he didn’t let on, quickly schooling his face.
He slipped the reed in his mouth and worked it. The sight stirred Isaiah. He couldn’t tear his gaze from Darren’s mouth.
What would those lips feel like around him?
Professionalism!
Isaiah closed his eyes and focused on the crisp sound of the piano keys.
