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“Can I hear you play?” They both paused. “I mean, so I can get a feel for what to expect.” Only that. Nothing else.
“You want to hear me play banjo?”
“I mean sometime, not now. Or now if you want?”
“I didn’t bring my banjo to school.” Darren ran his hand through his light brown hair and the hem of his shirt rode up just enough that Isaiah glimpsed his fuzzy stomach. “Figured my fraternity brothers would laugh.”
Isaiah shouldn’t have laughed earlier. That was more than dickish. He’d just been surprised. Frustrated that Darren had a great idea for the fundraiser—better than what he had in mind.
“They have a few banjos in the music room.” Isaiah saw the deer in the headlights expression and backed off. “No pressure, just saying if you wanted to—”
“You can get us in?”
“Music majors need to practice a lot, so they allow us access to the soundproof rooms.” He shrugged. “We can do it another time if you’re busy.”
“I can’t do any bluegrass without my finger picks. They’re not one size fits all—well, the thumb pick is pretty universal, but the finger ones need adjusting.”
“You can pick?”
Darren grinned, and yeah, Nico was so right. Cute. “I started with strumming, but then I had my instructor teach me to pick.”
Yeah, Isaiah needed to see this guy handle music. He could tell a lot about a person by the way they played, and Isaiah wanted to see more of the Darren picture.
To, uh, know what personality he was working against.
He hopped to his feet. “Let’s do it.”
They packed up their papers in silence. Isaiah shuffled his into a pile and stuffed it into his pack. He waited while Darren methodically put everything back where it had come from. His binder looked perfect, not a page out of place.
Attention to detail seemed to be something he excelled at. Unlike Isaiah, who shot from the hip way more often than not.
He motioned for them to go. He wanted to get Darren to the music room fast. Not give him too much time to change his mind.
Isaiah led them briskly across the campus courtyard toward the music department. The night was a rich purple overhead. The crescent moon shed soft light over the stone, illuminating the edges of Harrison’s buildings. A few drunken students hooted their way past them—a reminder it was Friday night.
Isaiah side-eyed Darren. Night softened his profile, made the small smile he wore look dreamy, almost. He had his hands loosely in his pockets, and closed the yard distance between them to veer around a lawn. Heat walloped over Isaiah, and he rubbed the goosebumps forming on his arm. “How’d your family like hearing you practice banjo? Did it annoy them? My brother used to hate four o’clock.”
“Was that your practice time?”
“Piano lessons every Tuesday and Thursday. Daily practice every other day at the same time. He’d find any excuse to be out of the house.”
Darren glanced over with a shrug. “My family almost never heard me play. Most of my lessons were at boarding school. When I got back at end of the year—the one where we went to the parade—my parents had built a soundproof practice room in the basement.”
“You had your own music room?”
“Yeah.”
“My brother and his friends would be so noisy outside. It was all I could do to keep my ass on the bench. Man, I wish could have had my own practice room.”
Darren shrugged. “Having one was fine, I suppose.”
“Just fine? See, it’s when you say things like this, I want to call you Golden Child.”
Darren’s jaw ticked. “I appreciated having the space.”
“But?”
Darren spared him a frown. “Would’ve been nice if someone wanted to hear me play, okay?”
Isaiah’s step stuttered. Oh.
The silence between them thickened.
Memories flicked through his head. All the times his mother beamed at him when he’d mastered something difficult or commented on the passion in his playing. Without that . . . without that encouragement, he’d never have stuck with it.
“Maybe this isn’t a great idea,” Darren said.
Isaiah grabbed Darren’s arm and dragged him to the department doors. Darren’s bicep was firm. He let go, fingers skating over Darren’s skin to his elbow. He fumbled with the key. “Come and play.”
Darren hesitated, and Isaiah cocked him a grin. “I’ll only give you your phone if you come inside.”
Darren lifted a brow. “Threats, Isaiah?”
Darren said his name, gruff and amused, and Isaiah’s chest clenched.
“Haven’t you figured it out already? You don’t want to go up against me.” Isaiah leaned in and spoke in his ear. “I might be a fox in a lion’s den, but I’m scrappy. And I sure as hell would bite you.”
Isaiah felt Darren’s shiver and smiled.
He pulled back and pushed the door open. “Gonna come or not?”
Darren stepped inside.
Chapter Six
Darren
Automated lights flicked on as Darren entered the cool corridor.
