by Andy Gallo
The saxophone joined in.
Isaiah almost didn’t trust himself to look for fear of melting inside.
But as Darren missed a few notes and gamely persevered, Isaiah couldn’t help it.
Darren’s body molded with the instrument as he played. The guy might not be Jake Clemons, but he had style. He connected to the music.
They played a few more songs before Darren put the sax down and grabbed his banjo. Isaiah got up from the piano and took up a guitar. Together they broke into “Foggy Mountain Breakdown.”
A loud buzz cut through the music.
Isaiah gave Darren a questioning look.
“My mother. She had an intercom built in so she didn’t have to come down here to call me.” He walked to a small box in the corner of the room and pushed a button. “Yeah, Mom?”
“Why don’t you boys come up and get ready for dinner. It’ll be ready soon.”
“Gotcha. We’ll be up in a couple of minutes.”
“Make sure it really is only two minutes, sweetie.”
“Yes, Mom. We’re just going to put things away.”
“See you in two minutes.”
Isaiah grinned at him. “She knows you too well.”
“I guess.” He held out his hand for the guitar. “Well, except for setting me up with Max, right?”
Isaiah handed the instrument over. Don’t flirt. Don’t flirt. Don’t— “Yeah, Max wouldn’t know all the right keys to press or when to press them.” He strode toward the door, calling over his shoulder. “Beautiful piano, by the way. Perfect for pounding out music.”
He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard Darren curse under his breath.
Darren
Without his father, they had an informal dinner in the kitchen as opposed to a formal one in the dining room.
His mother used the skills gleaned from twenty-five years of hosting business dinners to keep the mood friendly, almost festive. She treated Isaiah like a family friend, not Darren’s competition.
It wasn’t a big leap to wonder if this would be how she’d treat a boyfriend.
If it was, Darren was happy. God, he missed his mom.
A whole summer away had been too long.
Necessary, but too long nevertheless.
She understood his moods better than anyone, and she never failed to give good advice. And when she looked at him, the hard exterior he built up thinned every time.
The meal itself was amazing. She’d clearly planned it to be part of the formal welcome event, but without her husband, it became a fantastic culinary experience. Darren had even allowed himself some of the Riesling his mother selected. Isaiah also succumbed to her sales pitch, and the three of them finished the delicious bottle.
Dinner over, his mother excused herself to her rooms to wait for his father.
That left Darren in an awkward situation. If Isaiah didn’t want to retire for the night, Darren had an obligation to entertain him.
But he didn’t want to hang out anywhere his father would walk in on them. He’d managed to shunt his anxiety into tomorrow, and he wanted it to stay there.
“Did you want to hang out a bit before bed? We can watch a movie or listen to music in my rooms.”
It sounded logical when he parsed out the why, but hearing it spoken aloud sounded like a proposition.
It reminded him of their moment in the music room earlier. Of Isaiah’s not-so-subtle—and awkwardly effective—flirting.
God, if the situation were different . . .
As it was, he had to resist.
“No pressure if you want to sleep. It’s just, no one’s going to bother us if we’re in my room.”
He slammed his eyes shut. Making it worse, much? “Sorry, this isn’t coming out right. If we hang out anywhere else, you’ll probably have to meet my dad when he comes home. That’s not a bad thing, per se, but I thought you might like to do it in a more . . . controlled way.”
Isaiah’s smile helped relieve his apprehension. “I’m not sure I want to meet your dad for the first time at 10:00 p.m. Let me race to my room for a minute and come to yours when I’m done?”
“The door to my rooms will be open. Just come on in.”
Darren used the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and put on shorts and a T-shirt before heading back to what his mother called the sitting room. Isaiah hadn’t arrived, so he connected his iPhone to the sound system, sat on the floor in front of the couch, and thumbed through his playlists.
He settled on a compilation of baroque he liked to play while studying.
Isaiah appeared in the doorway. He had changed into shorts and a collared shirt and had his phone in hand. He cocked his head and listened. “Albinoni’s Adagio in G Minor?”
“Good ear.” Of course, Isaiah knew more about music than Darren.
“Did you know Tomaso Albinoni probably didn’t write this?”
“Seriously?”
Isaiah kicked off his sneakers and sat a foot from Darren on the floor. Heat prickled down his side, thinning his breath.
“The story is that Remo Giazotto, a music historian who catalogued Albinoni’s works, was salvaging manuscripts from a library in Germany that had been bombed during World War II. He said he found fragments of the manuscript and completed it. But near the end of his life, he claimed he composed it himself. Since no one ever saw the manuscript fragment he claimed to have found, he probably wrote it. Which is amazing, since it’s probably Albinoni’s best-known work. It also makes Giazotto a brilliant composer in his own right.”
Darren liked how earnest and engaged Isaiah was in the history of the piece. For him, it was a nice song but he had never delved past the notes.
Isaiah stopped suddenly, flushed. “Geek much, here?”
“It’s pretty cool that you know all that. I was going to suggest we could change the music if you didn’t like it, but it sounds like this is okay.”
“Yeah, sure, but I thought maybe we could listen to some jazz? Maybe see if we hear anything for the show?”
“You mean to see if there’s anything I can pull off?”
Isaiah shook his head. “I already know what I want you to play. This would be something I would play.”
Darren held out his hand. “Can I see your playlist?”
“Planning to find the most difficult song you can for me?”
Darren snorted. “Maybe.”
Isaiah scooted closer, the warmth between them intensifying, and opened his phone. “Let me see yours too? I’m curious to see what other musical surprises you have for me.”
“Just want to see my playlists? Right.”
“Why? Are you hiding something?”
“Sadly, I’m super boring. The last thing I want on my phone is something someone can use to blackmail me or my family.”
He barely had any social media presence, and he didn’t even have a shirtless photo of himself in the photos—or anywhere else—just in case someone stole his phone.
“Right, that’s me. Isaiah Nettles, international blackmail artist. You found me out.” He tossed over his unlocked phone. “Now, hand it over. Unlocked, so I can actually see the songs.”
Darren placed the phone in his hand. “Have fun.”
Isaiah side-eyed him. “I already am.”
Chapter Twelve
Isaiah
Bright lights assaulted Isaiah’s eyes.
Huh? Where . . .?
He blinked in his surroundings. He was on the floor of Darren’s room, listening to music. Harry Evans was killing it and—what the actual fuck?
Darren was asleep, wrapped around him.
Isaiah stilled as he took in the heat of Darren’s head against his shoulder and his arm slung over his waist. Deep, steady breaths drizzled warmly over his collar, and Isaiah felt the slight shift of Darren’s long, muscular legs against his.
Isaiah should . . . move. Should wake Darren.
Except. It had been forever since anyone had held him this way. The contact felt good. B
etter than good.
Hell, it was giving him a throbbing hard-on.
The clock on the TV said 11:43. When had they fallen asleep? He remembered comparing music and selecting a jazz playlist. Remembered how they’d settled on Alone in San Francisco. Remembered listening to the first two songs, the music washing over him, intensifying the pure and raw excitement skipping between them.
He’d shut his eyes, absorbing it all, and must have drifted off on the high of it.
He couldn’t see Darren’s face. Was he relaxed? Peaceful and content, like Isaiah felt? Or just exhausted? Maybe it was the latter, and yet . . .
Maybe not?
Maybe if he woke, Darren would like this, too.
He bowed his head, nose inches from Darren’s hair. He breathed deeply. Darren didn’t use overscented soap or product. He had a clean, natural smell that fit who he was. Not showy or loud. Just him.
Isaiah leaned closer, lips grazing the top of Darren’s hair.
Damn, this was nice. He liked that Darren felt comfortable enough with him to have fallen asleep so close. Liked simply being held.
Darren stirred.
Isaiah closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. It would be totally awkward if they both woke at the same time. This way, Darren could realize his mistake and pretend it hadn’t happened.
The short breath against his neck told him Darren had woken with a start. He waited for the arm around him to recoil sharply. For Darren to pull back, roll away, pretend they’d never touched.
Nothing.
The warmth of Darren’s arm radiated through him.
It took effort not to give away he was awake. He focused on keeping his breathing even. If Darren didn’t do something soon, Isaiah might lose control, roll atop Darren and kiss him.
Darren slowly dragged his hand back and gently nudged him.
His voice was soft, gentle and anxious. “Isaiah?”
Their bodies still touched, but he’d lifted his head from Isaiah’s shoulder.
“Hmm?” If he pulled this fake wake-up off, he’d demand an Emmy.
“We fell asleep.”
Darren
How had he fallen asleep on Isaiah? With his arm around him, too?
“Did we?” Isaiah stretched and yawned. “Didn’t realize. I was so tired.”
Darren needed to move back, but he liked the closeness. Liked it too much, considering how hard he was. “Never thought the floor would be so comfortable we’d conk out.”
Isaiah laughed. “If I’m tired, I could sleep on a bed of nails. I hope it didn’t take too much to wake me. I’m a sound sleeper.”
Thank God. “Not too much.”
He rolled his neck. Sleeping with his head on Isaiah’s shoulder had left a crick in it.
“Stiff neck?”
“A bit. And my back.”
“I could show you a few stretches to help.”
No way he wanted to stretch with his cock trying to free itself from his shorts. He was so glad he’d worn trunks. They didn’t hide everything, but he didn’t flop around either. “It’s kind of late. Tomorrow?”
Isaiah looked at the TV. “Crap. It’s nearly midnight.”
“Do you turn into a mouse or something at twelve o’clock?”
Isaiah stretched again and smirked. “More like a bear in the morning, if I don’t get enough shut-eye.”
“My brother’s like that. I learned to stay away if he had a late night.”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those chipper people first thing in the morning.”
Darren laughed, hiding his groin from Isaiah as he pulled himself up. “Definitely not chipper, especially before I’ve had coffee.”
“Good. Then I won’t have to kill you.”
“You’d better avoid my father in the morning.”
Isaiah groaned. “He a big morning person?”
“Used to drive me nuts when we’d run in the morning. Apart from wanting to get up at oh-dark-hundred, he’d want to talk while we stretched. Half asleep, I’d blurt out anything.”
Isaiah laughed and turned to the side to get up. Was he having the same problem? “I think your dad played you. What a way to pull information.”
Darren smirked. “I learned my lesson after a few slipups.”
“Are you going running with him tomorrow morning?”
“No.” Darren frowned before he could stop himself. He forced a smile, but it must have looked as fake as it felt. “I mean, we didn’t talk about it so I doubt it.”
“Gotcha.” Isaiah grabbed his phone from the floor. “I think I’ll go to bed. I don’t want to be grumpy when I meet your dad.”
Did Darren walk him to the door—all six steps—or not?
He stayed put. “Sleep well.”
“You too.” Isaiah paused, still angled in a way that had Darren curious. “Thanks for today. You could have ignored me and spent time with your mother. I appreciate you making me feel welcome.”
“Like it was a chore.” Darren wasn’t going to forget waking up next to Isaiah for a long time. “I had fun, too.”
Isaiah waved, and disappointment flooded Darren the second he disappeared into the hall. It took a herculean effort not to jump up and ask him to come back.
Darren adjusted himself, swallowing a moan.
On the other hand, some alone time was exactly what he needed.
Isaiah
He should have cut his hair.
Darren Josiah (Josh) Gage, IV would take one look at Isaiah and brand him unacceptable to be the Gage Scholar, let alone to work at MAS Oil.
He tied his hair up. It’d be fine. He’d gotten up early and would be chipper. Hopefully it’d score points with Josh Gage. Small points for sure, but something an A game required.
He slid his phone into his front pocket and headed for the kitchen.
The house was quiet as he walked down the grand staircase. He hadn’t heard anyone moving about since he left Darren’s room the night before. Not surprising, given the size of the house.
His heart pounded as he walked around the house alone for the first time. He kept expecting someone—Josh—to pop out of a room and stop him. Eye him up and down and wonder—even for a split second—what this intruder was doing here.
He saw no one, but as he approached the kitchen, he heard voices.
“He was an ass, Mom. Gave Ms. Plower a drink order as if she was a waitress, not the event host.”
“You can’t judge him on a single action.”
Should Isaiah leave or announce his presence?
“It was more than that. There definitely won’t be a second date.”
“That’s fine, dear. Plenty of men from good families available. I’m sure I can find you a few to choose from.”
Darren didn’t answer immediately, and Isaiah wished he’d backed away sooner.
He turned and walked toward the patio.
So, Darren’s mother had ideas about who was acceptable for her son. Men from good families. Rich families with the right pedigree. No-names from the bad side of a small city need not apply.
He opened the patio doors and stepped into the brisk late-September morning.
This was his kind of weather. After the heat, but before the snow. Snow Erie got far too much of. Snow Ian and Isabelle would have to shovel, now that Isaiah wasn’t there.
God, he needed to move all of them away.
He glared at his groin. “Listen to the big head. Or you’re gonna ruin our chances.”
Darren
She wasn’t listening. Did she think he was a hideous troll? Too timid to ask anyone out?
“Mom, stop. Please.”
“What’s wrong with me looking around for you? You don’t have to marry any of them. I’m just making an introduction.”
He knew she was trying to be supportive and do something nice. But the “good families” part set his teeth on edge. She didn’t say it, but she meant wealthy. Not that she was a snob. Those were the only families she knew. Well,
she knew other people, but they were tangential to her life.
“So if Gabrielle had a gay son, you’d call me to make an introduction?” It was a bit mean asking her if the cook’s son was acceptable.
His mother’s face tightened from the nerve he’d struck. It was wrong to insinuate she’d never suggest he date the cook’s son.
“Would you be okay if I dated the child of someone who worked for us? Or sold clothes at Macy’s? Or a plumber?”
Or whose mother was a nurse?
“You make it sound like I’m telling you to only date the people I introduce to you. I never said that, Darren.” She cupped his left check and pulled him closer to kiss the right one. “But you do need to be careful. There will be people who’ll want to go out with you just to take advantage of you. Or worse, try to hurt you.”
“Or the family.” He nodded because he understood her point all too well. “I know. It’s why I keep a low profile on social media. Believe it or not, I don’t want anyone to use me to hurt our family.”
Her face softened and she smiled. “I know, honey. It’s just sometimes I fear we sheltered you too much. You never mingled with kids who weren’t from a certain social class. I worry you won’t see their motives for what they truly are and you’ll get hurt.”
“I might be a bit more worldly than you imagine,” he said with a smirk. “But you realize that some of the kids from these good families might be more of a threat? They have the resources to fund a smear campaign. And they know the family’s finances better than those who don’t run in the same social circles as we do.”
“That’s rather astute of you, but I shouldn’t be surprised. You were always quick to figure things out.”
“Not everything.” She didn’t take the bait, and he knew she expected him to continue. “I totally didn’t figure Dad out.”
“Darren . . .”
He shrugged. “I know. He’s working through things, but it still hurts. You guys haven’t come to any of my games, he doesn’t call anymore—other than to tell me to set up this trip with Isaiah. Honestly, if I knew he’d react like this, I’d have kept it secret.”
