by Andy Gallo
Isaiah wondered how much of Josh’s absence this weekend was unforeseen. It made his stomach twist sadly.
“I’m not telling you this so you feel sorry for me—because you shouldn’t. I’m telling you so you know what’s going on.”
Isaiah kept playing. He understood the pain of losing a father, but he couldn’t imagine how it would have felt if his dad had rejected him. If Darren and Josh had been as close as it seemed, Isaiah could see why Darren didn’t want to come home.
“My dad died of a heart attack when I was thirteen.” Isaiah sucked in some air to steady himself. “He always found time for Ian, Isabelle and me, even working crazy hours.”
“What type of work did he do?”
“Manager at a powerplant. He took any extra shift he could so he could save for our future. In the end, he worked himself to death.” He felt the tingle in his nose and closed his eyes tight to hold back the tears. He continued to play but the melody turned decidedly melancholy.
Darren inched closer until their shoulders touched. “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”
“It’s okay.” It was, when Darren was this close to him. “He always told us he loved us and was proud of everything we did. When I won my first awards, he would beam at me like I’d signed a million-dollar contract.”
“Sounds like he was better than great.”
“He was. My point is, if he were disappointed in me because I’m gay, I wouldn’t be okay with that. So I get it. Totally.”
He heard movement in the next room, and from the way Darren sat up, he’d heard too.
Isaiah nudged Darren with his knee and whispered, “Thank you for telling me.”
Darren moved his shoulder away, but bumped their legs together again and left them touching. He gave Isaiah a smile. “Thank you for listening.”
Peg appeared in the doorway, smiling brightly. A moment later, Josh appeared behind her. He put his hands on his wife’s shoulders and listened.
Isaiah feared Darren would move away, but he didn’t. He pressed his leg tighter to Isaiah’s. Isaiah continued to play, shifting to a much happier song.
In front of his disapproving father, Darren hadn’t moved away.
Darren
The limo passed familiar landmarks as they approached campus, and Darren finally let go of the weight of the weekend. He’d spent the entire trip back to school trying to make sense of things.
His father had surprised him by not finding an excuse to leave on Sunday. No emergency work meetings. No social events.
No paternal affection, either, but . . . maybe it was a start?
Maybe he was beginning to thaw?
The hope made his stomach jerk around.
If that wasn’t confusing enough, there was Isaiah. God, there was Isaiah.
They really needed to talk.
He’d wanted to broach this thing between them on the ride to the airport, or the flight, or the ride back to campus. But Darren had been nervous. He’d failed to spit it out.
It was just . . .
He wanted to hold Isaiah like he had in his room—only tighter, and when Isaiah would remember. He wanted to get lost in those blue eyes, and holy hell, he wanted to melt against those lips every time Isaiah flirted with him.
But it was still a tricky situation. A rather inconvenient attraction.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was so screwed.
The car stopped in front of Isaiah’s dorm, and Darren stepped out with him.
Isaiah
Darren was getting out of the car here, too?
“We need to talk . . . about next week.” Darren’s last few words tumbled out in a rush.
Darren handed the driver some money, and Isaiah felt for his wallet. “I can take care of tipping him,” he said in a low voice.
“I know you can,” Darren said, “but MAS is paying for the trip. It’s easier for me to send one expense report than both of us doing it.”
It had a ring of truth to it, but Isaiah suspected Darren wouldn’t submit an expense report to MAS Oil. “Thanks.”
The car drove off, and Darren kept rearranging their bags on the pavement between them.
Isaiah arched a brow, and Darren stopped and tucked his hands across his chest. “I know you have a performance Thursday night, and I assume you’ll want to practice Wednesday, so should we wait until next weekend to meet?”
Next weekend? So long? “Um, well. How about Monday or Tuesday?”
“I have a game Monday, and don’t you have practice every Tuesday?”
He remembered that? “Usually, but not this week. It was cancelled because other groups have their performance and need the stage. And since we perform Thursday, we're using Wednesday as our practice night this week."
“Oh.”
Did he see a hopeful twinkle in Darren's eyes? “So you're free on Tuesday?”
“Yeah, that works. We only have a light practice the day after a game. I’ll be free any time after four thirty.”
“Great.” Isaiah remembered his promise. “Since it’ll be an easy day, I’ll book a room at the yoga studio for our private lesson. We can work on the event after that.”
“Did I mention the reason we get an easy day after a game is we’re all sore?”
“Perfect!” Isaiah smiled at Darren’s attempt to get away. “This will help you work out any kinks.”
“If you say so.”
“Ask Jack if you don’t believe me. He swears it works miracles.”
Darren’s phone buzzed. He spared a quick glance at his pocket, but didn’t take it out. “I’ll take your word for it. I don’t have yoga pants. Is that a problem?”
“You don’t . . .” A realization bubbled to the surface. “Is that why you hesitated?”
“No,” Darren huffed, and avoided looking at Isaiah. “Yes.”
Isaiah tried his best, but the combination of the question and his reaction to being busted proved too much. It started small, but his laugh grew quickly. Darren glared at him, which only made it funnier, and then finally he cracked and chuckled too.
“I’m sorry,” Isaiah said when he’d gained control. “But you were so earnest. You can do yoga in whatever clothes you want so long as they allow you to stretch. Just like you can play soccer in any shorts you like.”
Darren face flushed, but he looked at Isaiah. “Stupid question.” His phone buzzed again, and then two more times. “Sorry.”
“Why don’t you see who it is? Either one person wants you badly or your fraternity is having a crisis that only you can solve.”
“If they’re having a crisis no one else can solve, I’m crashing on your floor tonight.”
The way Darren invited himself to stay over warmed Isaiah. Darren had so easily flung it out there and that it came so naturally only added to the good feeling.
Darren read his messages, and his smile faded. He closed his eyes for a moment.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just . . . weird message from Dad.”
“What’s he say?” Isaiah asked, and then snapped his mouth shut. “Sorry. That’s personal.”
Darren shoved the phone back in his pocket. “He just said to keep up the professionalism and make him proud.”
“Ah, in regards to the Gage Scholar.”
“Right.”
They were only three feet apart, but the divide between them deepened.
“You made a good impression,” Darren said.
Isaiah stared at their bags. “So, Tuesday?”
“Yeah. Five okay?”
Isaiah managed a nod. His voice came out weak. “Good luck tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
Darren didn’t seem eager to leave, and Isaiah didn’t want him to go either, but he needed to clear his head. “Okay. Thanks again for taking care of me this weekend. I appreciate it.”
He held out his hand and Darren stared at it for a second before shaking. Their connection sent a jolt through him.
Professionalism.
Isaiah hurriedly let go and beelined for the front door.
Lord, he hoped Nico was home. He really needed to talk to someone.
Darren
A handshake? After everything they shared, they parted on a handshake. Just like work colleagues would do. Which was just what his father had suggested in his text, wasn’t it?
He hefted his bag over his shoulder and dug out his phone.
Dad: Good competition you have for the Gage Scholar position.
Dad: Keep up the professionalism.
Dad: Make me proud.
He mulled over his dad’s words the rest of the walk home.
Did Mom say something to him about liking Isaiah? Was that what brought this on?
Was he genuinely concerned Darren was crushing on the competition and how that might affect his chances? Or was he so icked out at the thought of him with a guy that he felt he had to put a stop to it?
His phone buzzed again, and he was ready to scream at it.
How long had he begged the universe for his father to contact him. To say something, anything.
And now he had, and Darren felt like his stomach had sunk to his feet.
Acid flaring up his throat, he checked the message.
Jack, thank God. House meeting for the winter formal started in an hour.
He stared at the screen until it went black. Damn. Shitty timing. No way he could walk in the house, drop off his stuff, and leave unseen.
The last thing he wanted was to sit through a discussion on how to make the house look nice for a dance. A dance he wanted to bring Isaiah to.
But could he, now? Could he, without ruining whatever small amount of respect he’d earned back with his father this weekend?
Chapter Sixteen
Isaiah
“Feet?” Nico sat up with an incredulous look. “You liked his feet?”
At least Nico sounded stunned and not repulsed. “Not in the creepy sort of fetish way. They just looked so right on him.”
“Well stop the press and gather round, someone’s feet fit them just right.” Nico rolled his eyes. “’Saiah, that’s one of the most inane things you’ve ever said to me.”
“Only if you take it literally. It was meant to show how totally he pushes my buttons.”
Nico smirked. “Then what’s the problem?”
“My house could fit in his kitchen.”
“So he’s wealthy. Has he ever made you feel bad about not being so?”
“No. Though I overheard his mom wanting to pair him off to a ‘good family.’”
Nico waved his index finger in that obnoxious way he did. “Your family is awesome. The best really.”
“Right, by your definition.”
“By any definition, ’Saiah. Your mother is the most amazing person I know. And that’s saying a lot if I put her above Nonna. Besides, ’Saiah, you’re not dating his mom. As long as Darren likes you, there is no problem.”
Isaiah tossed himself onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. “Ha! We’re competing for the same prize. Darren’s trying to repair things with his dad, and his dad has made it clear we need to keep things professional. Do you really think he’ll risk worsening things with his dad for me? No. And more than that, I wouldn’t want him to.”
“Darren wouldn’t lose his dad because of you. If his dad has a problem, it will still be there no matter the boy. Don’t let that dissuade you. Also, anyone worth it would put you over stupid homophobic shit.”
Isaiah wasn’t sure it was so simple, but he admired Nico for trying to make him feel better.
“You know my philosophy,” Nico continued. “Better to have loved and lost than to never take a chance.”
“You butchered that.”
“Perhaps, but it’s true.”
Isaiah scrubbed his face and groaned. “How are you so sure this will work out?”
“I watched you at Caliber. The boy practically swooned every time you talked to him.” Isaiah felt his bed dip, and he peeked between his fingers. Nico smirked down at him. “There are no guarantees in relationships. Well, one thing I can guarantee. If you don’t try, nothing will happen.”
“This feels too complicated. And . . .”
“And?”
“Don’t laugh.”
“You say that, and I immediately want to laugh.”
Isaiah shoved Nico off the bed playfully. “I’m freaked out that I like someone this much, and so young.”
Nico didn’t laugh. He looked directly at Isaiah. “Nonna and Nonno met when they were sixteen and seventeen. Sixty years later they still look at each other and swoon.”
“Nico, this isn’t sixty years ago.”
“No, but hearts haven’t changed. People have just stopped listening.” Nico trailed off and slapped on a fake smile. “Follow yours or don’t, dear, but spare me—and yourself—the excuses for why it can’t work.”
Nico grabbed his shoulder bag and keys and left their room.
Isaiah flopped back onto his pillow. “Why?” he murmured. “Why couldn’t you have been a dickwad like the other richies?”
Darren
The Victorian house with its ground-floor café loomed before him.
Time to hoist up his big boy boxers and meet Isaiah again.
It was just a yoga session. And after, they’d go right back to being professional.
He shifted the bag with his change of clothes and pulled open the door.
Isaiah sat at a table drinking from his water bottle. When he lowered it, his smile washed over Darren like a calming scent.
Already his belly flipped indecently.
Isaiah set the bottle on the table and stood. The image stole Darren’s breath. Isaiah wore a white athletic shirt that clung to his chest, showing off every inch of his eight-pack stomach. And the yoga pants. Fuck. Light green, with a white drawstring, they had cuffs that clung to the middle of his calf. They weren’t skintight like the shirt, but they highlighted Isaiah’s great legs and amazing ass.
“Hi.” Isaiah stepped closer.
“Hey,” Darren stuttered and awkwardly held out his hand.
Isaiah looked at the hand and after a moment’s hesitation, moved closer for a hug.
Not a smooth transition, but Darren opened his arms and accepted the embrace. It didn’t last long, but the lingering squeeze left him giddy.
“Glad you could make it.” Isaiah pointed toward the stairs opposite the counter. “I have a private practice room reserved.”
Private was definitely better than public. Apart from Isaiah’s effect on him, he didn’t want to talk in a crowded room. They followed a pair of women up the stairs. They both greeted Isaiah and gave Darren a once-over. He hoped their assumptions were right.
The women walked into the main studio and glanced back when Isaiah moved toward the steps to the attic.
“You’re not teaching our class?” The women clearly sounded disappointed.
“No, Cara has this one. I’m helping my friend today.”
They eyed Darren again. “You have the cutest friends, Isaiah.”
Heat exploded in Darren’s face, and Isaiah pushed him up the stairs. “Thanks.”
They were still giggling as Isaiah let them into their practice room. “Sorry about that. They’ve seen me train Jack. He’s not quite in your league, but he is pretty cute.”
Isaiah stepped out of his shoes, and Darren followed his lead. “Cute, huh?”
A laugh shot out of Isaiah, and the look he delivered Darren had him catching his breath. “As I said. Not in your league.”
Darren searched for a place to put his bag to avoid Isaiah’s piercing stare. To avoid the very unprofessional urges that came with it. “Where should I . . .?”
“Drop it against a wall.” Isaiah’s voice held the amusement Darren always heard when he got a reaction from his flirting.
The space felt small and cozy. More so when he looked at Isaiah and his body flushed.
Isaiah handed
him a small hand towel. “It’ll get warm in here. People don’t like it when the rooms are cold. Feel free to take off your shirt if you get hot.”
The last part was punctuated with a wink.
“I’ll follow your lead.”
“Oh really?” Isaiah peeled off his shirt and flicked it to the floor. He fixed Darren with an expectant stare.
Darren’s breath hitched. Maintaining eye contact, he pulled his loose-fitting T-shirt over his head and let it drift to the mat. “Are we ready?”
“Oh, I’m so ready.” Isaiah smirked. “How much do you know about yoga?”
“A little. A little less than that. Okay, none.”
“So if I said, ‘assume the position,’ what would you do?”
“Be afraid you want to paddle my butt.”
Isaiah’s eyebrow shot up. “You quiet types are always full of surprises.”
“Quiet? Me? Not really. In the right situations I’m very loud.”
Isaiah opened his mouth as if to speak and then laughed softly.
Suddenly Darren knew what Isaiah was picturing, and—fuck. “So what position do you want me in?”
Isaiah’s grin slammed into him. “Let’s start with some basics,” he said, stretching his arms over his head. “Until I get a feel for what you can do.”
They’d worked for fifty-five minutes. Darren’s torso was covered in sweat, and Isaiah’s waistband was wet around the edges.
What would he look like completely naked?
Darren lifted his gaze and saw Isaiah watching him over the rim of his water bottle. So busted.
“So . . . um, yoga pants are a thing for guys?” He hoped the exertion would hide his blush.
Isaiah laughed and sprayed water on the floor. “Is that really what you were thinking?”
