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Isaiah
Isaiah couldn’t hold back his enthusiasm. Of all the things he’d expected from the uptight golden child, picking and singing to bluegrass wasn’t even on the radar.
But Darren looked hot as fuck tapping his foot and playing the classic Jerry Reed tune. Isaiah and his dad used to watch Smokey and the Bandit when it came on reruns. Lost in those memories, Isaiah started to play along. Just like he had for his dad.
When Darren began to sing, Isaiah was sure his face would break with his smile.
Seriously? This was the same guy who’d put every page of his folder back in its special place before they could leave?
When Darren had finished the first song, Isaiah didn’t want their moment to end. He didn’t know a lot of bluegrass—practically none, to be honest—but he figured anything popular enough for him to know, Darren would too.
Darren hadn’t said no, and gamely took up the gauntlet Isaiah had thrown at his feet. Not knowing the score, Isaiah had to improvise as Darren’s fingers flew across the strings. His picking wasn’t perfect, but he gave the guy credit for trying. Major credit.
After a few minutes, Isaiah played louder and took over the melody. It surprised him, in a good—great—way, that Darren settled back to harmonize with him. Again, not perfect, but damn, this was not what he expected.
Their gazes caught, Darren’s as bright as his dimpled grin. Isaiah nodded when he was ready to give the lead. Darren acknowledged and picked right up.
Someone knocked loudly, breaking their concentration.
Nico’s face was framed in the small window.
Usually Isaiah loved Nico’s surprise visits, but tonight his stomach took a dive. He was having an unexpectedly great time. He didn’t want it to end.
Isaiah flicked his fingers for Nico to enter. “My roommate.”
Darren nodded and moved the banjo aside.
Nico didn’t let himself in, and Isaiah moved to the door.
“Hey, what’s up?”
Nico grinned sheepishly. “Nothing, really. You said you didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary with Mr. Entitlement, and your text sounded like you were done?”
Isaiah yanked at the door to shut it, but it was too late. No way Darren hadn’t heard that.
“I figured you’d need an excuse to leave?” Nico continued.
Mortified heat climbed Isaiah’s neck. “You’re such a dipshit sometimes,” he hissed and hitched his thumb toward the door.
Nico’s eyes widened. “You don’t think he heard me, do you?”
Their answer came by way of the door opening and Darren strolling through it. “I gotta go.” He held out the picks and dropped them into Isaiah’s hand. “Thanks.”
Gone was the relaxed Darren, replaced by a schooled façade. He nodded tightly and walked away, back straight and his pace crisp. Isaiah wanted to go after him and explain. He should have. Instead, he stared dumbly at Darren’s retreating back.
“Sorry,” Nico said.
He wanted to say it was okay, but it wasn’t. It really wasn’t.
But it wasn’t Nico’s fault. Isaiah had been an ass about Darren earlier, and Nico was just trying to do him a solid.
He didn’t move until Darren had rounded a corner. “Your timing sucks, Nico.” He sighed and threw an arm around his neck, crushing him into a hug.
“Sorry.” Nico bowed his head. “You were so negative on the guy all week, I thought you got sucked into something and needed a save.”
Two hours ago, Isaiah might have thanked him.
Funny what a little time listening could do.
Darren
Damn.
He knew better than to let his guard down like that. Why had he been so stupid?
Isaiah would never like him, and certainly not in the way Darren had been thinking he might when they played. It shouldn’t have made his stomach churn, but it did. It was one of the first times in years he’d just done what felt good.
Other than on the soccer field, his whole life was an act. Be the good son and don’t be the goof. Do what’s expected, and yeah, don’t let on that you like bluegrass. For a few short minutes, he’d done what he wanted. It’d felt good. Better than good. When Isaiah smiled in surprise, it had felt great.
And Isaiah. The way he improvised on the fly was flawless. Hell, with all the mistakes Darren made, it was a wonder it didn’t throw them both off. Darren played music. Isaiah was a musician. It had felt great, all right.
Until Nico pointed out it was all an act.
Maybe it was Isaiah sussing him out for their competition. Finding his weak points. “Fuck me.”
Enough.
Clearly, he was attracted to Isaiah—he was hot, and Darren had been denying himself so long. Maybe it was time to stop imagining what the right guy would be like and simply go on a date.
Maybe his mother’s idea wasn’t so bad after all?
He stopped and dug out his phone. Scrolling, he found his mother’s text with the name and number of the guy she’d found. Maxwell “Max” Stempson the third. Scion of a pharmaceutical family. He wasn’t bad to look at either.
