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Move on to what?
He was already teaching as many yoga classes as he could, and while the money was okay, he smuggled most of it home. And he was tired.
His body ached from work, study, music practice, rinse and repeat.
It wasn’t like he assumed he’d get the scholarship if he’d applied on any other year, but trying felt like he was doing something to get out of the rut. It made him hopeful.
Nico’s cold hand landed on his shoulder, and Isaiah jumped.
“Easy, ’Saiah. Just me.”
“Sorry, just thinking.”
“It’s brave of you, doing this. Challenging the system.”
Isaiah’s throat tightened, and he nodded. “Thanks. It just gets under my skin. All I want is a fair shot, and all I see is how they kiss Darren’s ass. Worse, he struts around like he’s entitled to all the perks he gets.”
“You have a right to get worked up about getting an honest chance to compete. You’re a fox in a lion’s den in this competition; you gotta be scrappy.”
Isaiah laughed. “Lions, eh?”
“Yeah, you against the golden king.”
Isaiah sighed and shot Nico a sideways glance. “At least he’s easy on the eyes.”
Nico slapped him on the back. “There you go.”
He zipped the backpack shut and slung it over his shoulder. “Right, I’m outta here. Have a shitty night.”
“Love you too, ’Saiah.”
Darren
“Christ, could they have given us a smaller room?” Darren scoured the one table and four chairs squeezed around it.
Isaiah, a block of heat at his side, took in the closet. They’d met outside the Commons and traipsed through the eerily quiet halls to the study room his professor had given him a key to.
Isaiah shrugged. “Plenty of room.”
“If you don’t mind sitting on top of each other!”
They both stiffened. Did that actually just come out of his mouth? He’d meant to throw out the expression. Not to have the imagery linger. “Um, I mean . . .”
Isaiah’s eyes glittered insanely blue in the hard light. “I know what you men.”
“Did you just say men?” Darren eyed Isaiah curiously, his pulse all kinds of wonky.
“Mean, dammit. I know what you mean.” Isaiah pushed into the room and claimed a seat. “Let’s do this. The fundraiser work.”
“Thank you for that clarification.”
Isaiah tossed him a friendly middle finger, and Darren settled into the opposite seat.
Without a suit, Isaiah looked different. The T-shirt hugged his body, showing off every muscle as he pulled out his binder. His hair was tied up but looked rushed, more than a few strands hurriedly tucked behind one ear. He’d nicked himself shaving, too—
Nice. He had a tattoo on his left bicep. If Isaiah would only lift his sleeve so he could see it properly.
Crap this room was small. Every breath, Darren was inhaling whatever woodsy deodorant Isaiah was wearing, and the energy pouring from the guy prickled him.
Fundraiser. Fundraiser. Fundraiser.
He pulled out the notebook he’d worked on over the summer and spread it out on the table. His pocket hopped with a buzz.
Darren whipped out his phone, and Isaiah threw up his arms. “Easy, soldier.”
Oh. Just an incoming text sent to all his frat brothers.
He forced a grin and shrugged. “Thought it was a call.”
Thought it was his dad. He’d sent a message that he’d scored the winning goal in his game earlier. Thought maybe Dad might take the bait and answer back.
He had to stop looking at his phone. Stop jumping at every buzz.
It buzzed again, and he jerked his head toward it. Just frat party stuff he didn’t care about.
“Expecting a call from your girlfriend or something?” Isaiah’s gaze stroked Darren’s face, and Darren shifted on his seat at the intensity.
“Or something.”
Another buzz—
“You know what? Hand it over.”
Darren clutched his phone. “What? It’s on silent.”
Isaiah curled his finger. “Which doesn’t stop you looking at it.”
He wanted to deny it, but Isaiah was probably right. Reluctantly, he handed it over.
Isaiah arched back in his chair like a cat and slid Darren’s phone into his pocket. Crap, he was flexible. Darren shot his gaze to his notebook.
So much for not thinking about his phone for the next hour.
“Fundraiser,” he said and cleared the rasp out of his throat. “Let’s talk about that.”
Isaiah shifted his gaze to where Darren was pulling out all his notes. “You did all that since Tuesday?”
“I’ve been working on this all summer.” He’d expected to need to hit the ground running.
“All summer? Why?”
Darren raced a hand through his hair. “Because I . . . it wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be.”
“I mean why were you working on it at all?”
“Contrary to what you might think, the title wasn’t going to be handed to me. I would have followed the program just like anyone else.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because the scholar competition has two fundraisers that help support a woman’s center and a foster care program. They both depend on the funds. If there were no competition this year, they’d lose the money.”
