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Yes, you would have.
The thought was stupidly disheartening. “Guess I don’t have much choice either.”
“You could always pitch a tent in Valley Forge if you don’t want to stay in the house.”
“Valley Forge?”
For the first time since he’d arrived, Darren’s grin lit his face. “My parents used to tell Cody and me that if we didn’t like living in their house, we could always pitch a tent in Valley Forge and see how we liked that.”
“Cody’s your brother?”
“Younger. He’s a freshman at Brown.”
“He didn’t come here?”
“Nah, said he was tired of being my little brother.”
“Makes sense. Ian—my younger brother—would rather eat his liver than have someone call him ‘Isaiah’s little brother’ again.”
Darren smiled again, and Isaiah liked how it softened his features. It didn’t last, however.
“Are you okay with everything?”
Isaiah didn’t really want to stay where it made Darren uncomfortable, but the offer had come from Mr. Gage. He needed to keep it professional. “Yes.”
“Great.” Darren pushed back his chair, ready to bolt. “Thanks for meeting with me. I’ll make sure everyone knows to expect us next weekend.”
Isaiah pulled out his enveloped peace offering and set it on the table between them. “Before you go. There’s this concert this weekend. My professor asked if anyone wanted to go. I got two tickets. Would you like to go with me?”
Darren stilled on his chair, a soft frown cutting his brow. “You want me to go with you?”
Isaiah fiddled with his hair tie. “I’ve been kind of a jerk. Consider it a white flag?”
“Oh, wow. Um . . . thing is, I have a date this Saturday.”
Not at all the answer he’d expected. Isaiah’s grin felt like cardboard. “That’s cool.”
“I guess. It’s a blind date. You know how those end up.”
Isaiah nodded and nodded. “Sure.”
“I would’ve liked to go. I love live music. Even shitty garage bands have an energy you can’t capture anywhere else.”
“I know, right?” He tried to amp up his enthusiasm, but it sounded as forced as it felt. “Well, just thought I’d ask.”
Darren glanced at him. “Another time, maybe?”
“Sure. These come up now and again. The professors like to make sure the house is full so bands come back.”
“Yeah, it’d suck if you agreed to play and no one came.”
“No kidding.” It also sucked wrangling two tickets from your professor only to have your plans fall apart. “I’ll let you know if another show comes up.”
“Great.” Darren looked over Isaiah’s shoulder. “I better go to class.”
He stood and swung his sling-pack over his head. His shirt pulled up, and Isaiah got another look at Darren’s abs. His eyes lingered even after the blue polo fabric slid back over his skin.
“I’ll make sure Dad’s AA copies you on all the arrangements.”
“AA?”
“Administrative assistant. And if the plans don’t work for you, let me know.” He rolled his left shoulder, and his bag settled snugly. “Dad’s flexible as long as we give him some notice.”
“Okay. Will do.”
Darren picked up his cup. “Talk to you soon.”
Isaiah watched him walk away, shoulders set, walls in place. There was a story behind the fake face he showed the world. He’d seen glimpses of the real Darren, the one who teased, the one who lit up when he played banjo. The one who flirted? Maybe that last one had been his imagination. But there was another Darren. One that something forced into hiding.
He snatched his tickets from the table.
Enough wondering about who the real Darren was. He might be a nice guy at heart, but he was still the competition, and . . . and . . .
He had a date.
Chapter Eight
Darren
God, this date was a disaster. Max steered every conversation to himself, his family, or the cost of something he’d bought. When he wasn’t making thinly veiled suggestions about them having sex tonight, that was.
Which was not going to happen. Not unless Max planned to bash him over the head or drug him unconscious.
They were almost to Club Caliber when Max touched his arm. “How about we skip the show. Go back to your place?”
“I live in a frat house with a roommate.” Not that he’d have said yes if he lived alone. “Besides, I really want to see this. But if you don’t want to, I understand.”
“We can skip it?” Max asked hopefully.
“I meant you don’t have to come with me. I already bought the tickets.” Please say you don’t want to come.
“Oh. Okay, we can go. How bad can it be?”
Darren held back a groan. Just one evening. He’d get through it.
He didn’t give his date the chance to back out again. Fifty bucks apiece for a table seat wasn’t pricey, per se, but this wasn’t a trendy club in New York, or even Philly. It was a local cabaret, showcasing local talent. But it was high society for the environs around Harrison.
