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“Wouldn’t know. My mom knows to not meddle.”
The next act was announced, and he couldn’t hear Nico when they played. They were a fun act, peppy and spirited. They missed a few notes, but he enjoyed them. When he wasn’t watching Darren.
Every time Max touched him—which seemed to be all the time—Darren looked miserable. Not quite a cringe, but enough that if Max were attuned to anyone but himself, he’d see it.
He felt bad for Darren. Sure, he was the competition. The guy standing between him and the scholarship he’d come to Harrison to pursue. But he was also the guy Jack had said bailed out his friend, and who bought him and Nico drinks without asking for anything.
Who played the banjo with charm.
“Nico,” he said when they were changing the stage for the next band. “I need a favor.”
Chapter Nine
Darren
Darren didn’t like this last band as much as the others, but as long as they were playing, Max couldn’t talk him into leaving. Why didn’t the guy take a hint? No, Darren wasn’t going to the club, and no, he wasn’t going to sleep with him either. That had to be clear by now.
Evidently not.
“Hey, Darren.”
Isaiah and his roommate—at least it looked like the guy who’d shown up at the music school—stood just behind him.
“Isaiah. Hi.”
“Last time you met, I didn't get the chance to introduce my roommate, Nico.” He angled his body so Nico could move up. “Nico Amato, Darren Gage.”
Darren pushed through his bewilderment and stood. “Nice to meet you, Nico. Last time wasn’t the best first impression. From either of us.”
“Sorry about the insulting part.” His smile and wink told Darren he was hoping they’d move past it. Darren slipped on an acknowledging smile.
Nico continued, “Isaiah hasn’t stopped talking about you, and I insisted he introduce us so I could apologize.”
Darren sensed Max stir on his seat. If he had any manners, he’d have gotten to his feet. Nevertheless, Darren introduced him. “This is Max Stempson.”
Max finally caught on and pushed up lethargically. “Nice to meet you both.”
“Stempson?” Nico asked. “Of Stempson and Wilson, perchance?”
Max’s face brightened. “My great-great-grandfather started the company.”
“My family owns quite a bit of stock in the company. Your great-grandfather was a big fan of my great-grandfather’s cannolis and visited often. Great-grandpa Giuseppe took his advice and bought a few shares.”
Darren gave Isaiah a questioning look, but got a beats-me shrug in return.
“Amato’s Bakery,” Max said, delighted. “My grandfather still goes there when he gets to Brooklyn.”
“That’s us,” Nico said, preening. He turned to Isaiah with an exaggerated whine. “How much longer until we can go to the club?”
“There are seven more acts,” Isaiah answered, smiling widely.
Too widely. What was he up to?
Why was Darren hoping it would work?
“Seven? Honestly, child, had you told me this would be an all-night event, I’d have made up an excuse not to come.” He turned to Max. “The drinks here are abysmal, and the crowd doesn’t exactly inspire me to write love sonnets.”
Isaiah’s gaze darted to Darren and back to Nico. He lowered his voice, but Darren still caught the exchange. “Love sonnets? Really, Nico?”
Nico waved his hand dismissively and tsked. “It’s an expression. I didn’t mean it literally.”
Max let out a relieved sigh. “Thank God, it’s not just me. I’m ready to head out too. How about you, Dar?”
“Darren,” Darren corrected.
“Well, I’m not twenty-one,” Isaiah quickly chimed in with a pointed “follow my lead” look. “I can’t afford to get stopped for fake ID right now.”
Darren grabbed the lifeline with both hands. “Same. Coach would toss me off the team.”
Isaiah shrugged nonchalantly. “How about Darren and I finish listening to the show and we meet you after?”
“Really, ’Saiah? You’d be cool with that?”
Isaiah turned to Max. “I mean, if you don’t mind?”
“Thing is, Dar . . . Darren,” Max said sweetly. “This isn’t really my thing. It was super nice of you to find something like this for us, but I’m not a big fan of postmodern music.”
Isaiah snorted and turned it quickly into a cough. He waved his hand as if to signal he was okay, but continued to cough in earnest.
“You okay?” Darren picked up his half-full glass of Coke. “Here, drink this.”
Isaiah accepted the offering and sipped. The liquid seemed to soothe the cough. “Sorry. Not sure what happened.” He handed the glass back to Darren, and their hands touched. Isaiah’s gaze darted to his, fingers lingering. “Thanks.”
“You bet.” He pivoted to Max. “You don’t like the music?”
Max hedged. “No, it was good, just not my thing.”
Darren smiled politely. “My bad, I took a chance you’d like it.”
“I appreciate that you put a lot of thought into tonight. But if you don’t mind, I’d like . . . you know . . . to go with Nico. We can meet up afterwards.”
