Better Have Heart Read online

  “Yeah.” Isaiah sipped and let an idea bubble up with the carbonation.

  “Sooo . . . what’d he say?”

  “He liked the music, doesn’t like his date.” He saw Nico’s eye roll and quickly added, “He said Max wanted to go to Studio 63, and he wished he’d go without him. Sounds like it’s not going so well.”

  “Like the time my nonna set me up with a ‘nice Italian boy.’ God, he was a stiff. I think the problem is they don’t know many gay men, so any they hear about who are from the right group get the moniker ‘nice.’”

  “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.”

  Darren turned to Isaiah, who gave him the barest of nods. “Sure. I’ll text you when the show is over.”

  “Great!” Max nodded to the exit. “We should leave before the next act starts. Don’t want to walk out while they’re playing.”

  “No indeed,” Nico said. When Max walked off, he added, “You owe me. Both of you.”

  Darren flopped back in his chair and watched until they’d both left.

  “Postmodern?” Isaiah said when they were out of sight.

  Darren twisted back until he faced Isaiah. “Your guess is as good as mine. I only met him tonight. But he did seem sincere when he said it.”

  Isaiah smirked and, Christ, Darren liked it. “You planned that.”

  “Not totally. Nico said he’d float the idea and if Max took the bait, he’d run with it.”

  A smile bubbled from inside. “No one’s ever rescued me from a bad date before.”

  Isaiah laughed nervously. “You looked miserable.”

  “And if Max hadn’t wanted to leave?”

  “Then you’d be stuck with him.” Isaiah’s smile morphed into a frown. “I didn’t mean that you’d be stuck . . . I mean . . . you know.”

  Darren tucked his head and snickered. “I’d still have been grateful for the attempt.”

  The emcee announced the next act, and as they came on stage, Darren motioned to Max’s empty seat. “These are great seats. It’d be nice to sit with someone who can talk to me about the music. Unless sitting with me was just a line?”

  “Let me get my drink.” He left before Darren could answer.

  Darren picked up his glass and stared at the side Isaiah had used. He had drunk from it without hesitation. He’d gone to lengths to save Darren. How should he interpret that?

  He wanted it to mean something. Something more than just helping him out.

  It did, didn’t it?

  Warmth flushed his cheeks.

  Out the corner of his eye, he saw Isaiah returning. His grin lit up the room, and he settled in his seat as the band began their set.

  He leaned over. “These guys are good. I’ve heard them before.”

  God, he wished he’d said yes to Isaiah
instead of asking Max. Even if it wouldn’t have been a date. Before Isaiah could move away, Darren touched his arm. Through his sleeve, he felt Isaiah’s warmth and the small twitch he gave.

  Darren’s heart drummed. “Thanks. For helping me, for keeping me company. For thinking to invite me to this.”

  “You bet, Golden Boy.” Isaiah winked. “But don’t think this means I’m not still bringing my A game to the competition.”

  The reminder had him pulling back his hand. “Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

  They were just friends. No, not even that. Fellow students.

  He could live with that.

  Totally.

  Isaiah

  Being early sucked. It gave him too much time to think. And since he had no idea what to do about Darren, he liked not thinking.

  His gaze skipped over the bustling café to the door. Darren would be here any moment to work on the fundraiser. He’d stride over to the small table Isaiah had secured and squeeze into his seat. They’d be practically on top of each other, and Isaiah wasn’t going to lie. He kinda hoped it brought back memories of Darren’s unintentional innuendo from their first solo meeting.

  Ahhhhh, and there he was again, getting caught up in Darren Gage.

  It was just . . . the guy pushed his buttons. All of them. Clichéd as it was, he was smart, funny, hot, and cultured. And, from what Isaiah had seen last Saturday at Caliber, kind and generous too. Not a lot like that among the billionaire boys’ club.

  “Why?” he whispered softly. Why did this guy have to be the one standing between him and the Scholar award? No matter how much he liked Darren, losing the position to him would ruin any feelings between them. And, honestly, he had to expect he’d lose.

  Like it or not, Darren’s family practically owned the school. Hell, his namesake great-great-grandfather founded Harrison. Toss in that Darren was likeable, smart, and worked hard—there really wasn’t a reason to give it to anyone else.

  He stared at his shoulder bag, resting against the leg of the table. Inside was his last paycheck. Three hundred and fifty dollars for ten classes. It’d sounded like good money when he started, but it always ended up being less than he expected.

  Ian had sent an email that Isabelle’s soccer cleats were too small, and Mom told her to hold on another couple of weeks until the mortgage was paid. Ian had tried to pay but didn’t have enough either.

  The whole email left him gutted. He hated that money was so tight for his mother, hated the fact his seventeen-year-old brother spent his part-time job money on anything other than himself, and he couldn’t stand knowing Isabelle had to do without stuff.

  The weight of responsibility made him hyperventilate.

  Ian telling him that Mom’s card declined in the store yesterday had slammed home just how tight things were. She’d joked it off on the phone, said payday was tomorrow and it wasn’t so bad.

  He’d listened to her with his eyes screwed tightly shut, his throat one big ball.

  He had to try. Had to fight hard for the Gage Scholarship, no matter the outcome. If there was even a chance he could win it, he owed that to his family.

  His phone vibrated and he saw Darren’s “OTW” text.

  He sent back a smiley face.

  And there Isaiah went again, grinning wildly, stomach lurching with giddiness. Ridiculous, how good a text from Darren made him feel.

  He blamed it on their evening at Caliber.

  Once Nico had taken Max off Darren’s hands, they’d had a great time together. They avoided talking about school, the Gage Scholar program, and money. Instead, they’d debated music—discussed the different groups, who elevated the music, who weren’t ripened enough. Darren’s thoughts were carefully considered; critical, but fair.

  But for one tiny little enormous thing, Darren was his ideal date.

  He laughed darkly. Someone clearly hated him.

  His phone lit up with an email notice. He was about to pocket his phone and ignore the email, when he saw who sent it. Phone unlocked, he opened the email and sucked in the contents. He read it three times to make sense of the words, and barely refrained from throwing the phone across the room.

  “Son of a bitch.” Someone really did hate him.

  Darren

  This was crazy. It shouldn’t make him this happy to be seeing Isaiah. And just to work on the fundraiser. But it did.

  He liked the way the guy smiled. How his eyes twinkled when Darren said something Isaiah didn’t expect. It sent a zing—and zang—when he impressed Isaiah. Not that he tried, because he knew better. Either Isaiah liked him as he was, or he didn’t. He wasn’t going to pretend anymore. Not to him or anyone else.

  Still.

  Heart thumping, he opened the door to the café. Isaiah sat at a small corner table. One step in, and Darren froze. Isaiah’s posture seemed stiff, and he glared at his phone, jaw ticking. Something was wrong.

  The door tapped his back, urging Darren toward him.

  “Hey.” He tried to sound casual and stifle the sense of dread in his throat. What happened to the guy who’d sent the happy emoji? Had he sent it feeling like this?

  “Yeah, hi.”

  He hesitated. Did Isaiah want him to sit? Remaining on his feet, Darren cautiously rested his palms on the back of the chair. “What’s up?”

  “What’s up?” Isaiah’s head snapped up, blue eyes blazing. “What’s up is I’m getting screwed, and not in the fun way.”

  “What happened?”

  “Are you so insecure about me winning that you put in a fix?”

  The fuck was going on? “What are you talking about? Why are you so mad at me?”

  “There’s a meeting next Thursday with our faculty advisors and mentors.”

  “Yeah, I know. Jenkins sent me an email.”

  “I have a mandatory performance that night. A test. Not just for me, but my entire practice group. I can’t change it. And Jenkins won’t change the day or time to accommodate me.”

  “Shit, Isaiah.” What could he say?

  “If I don’t go, I’ll bomb out of the program. If I go, I’ll miss my test, screw my performance group, and lose my scholarship. Either way, screwed.”

  “There has to be a way to fix it.”

  “Nothing I can do.” He glanced up, frustration and anger tempered by an ounce of confusion. “And I can’t imagine you’d care. This way, you win. Right?”

  Darren recoiled and took a calming breath. Isaiah had a right to be angry. Not at him, but he understood his frustration. Darren wasn’t going to feed it right now.

  “Sorry, Isaiah. I didn’t know about your test. I had nothing to do with the date. They asked me if I was free, and I said I could make it work. That’s it. I . . . we can fix this.” He waited for Isaiah to look up and realize he wasn’t the enemy here. When he didn’t pull his gaze from his phone, Darren stepped back. “I’m going to go. This clearly isn’t a good time to discuss the fundraiser. If I can help resolve this, let me know.”

  Isaiah didn’t look up, and he didn’t stop choking his phone.

  Isaiah

  When Isaiah finally pulled his head up, Darren was gone.

  Shit.

  He’d messed that up. He hadn’t meant to lash out at Darren.

  But the whole thing had his stomach in knots.

  Darren hadn’t picked the date, but it didn’t change things. There were enough people on his side helping him win.

  And the thing was, even without the added help, Darren was going to win. But fuck, dropkicking him from the program? Did they spare a moment to think how this would affect him later? The head of the business school was involved. There’d be notes about his performance in his file. Even if he didn’t win, as long as he worked hard and did a good job, it got recognized. But this?

  The school would slant this as Isaiah’s incompetence at time management and organization. It was the opposite of losing respectfully.

  This was playing with his future. Just lik
e Jenkins wanted.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  His eyes stung as he stared at his phone.

  He felt miserable and stuck, and on top of that, he hated how he’d treated Darren.

  None of this was Darren’s fault, and the hurt in his eyes wasn’t going to leave Isaiah anytime soon.

  He scrubbed his face and finished his water. Nothing was going to get solved sitting here. He needed to take a walk and apologize to Darren for being an asshole.

  Darren

  “Thanks, I owe you.” Darren ended the call and entered the admin building. This shit had to stop. He had no idea if Jenkins would meet with him, but he had to try.

  Yes, he wanted to win, but he wanted to do so in a way that didn’t ruin Isaiah’s life. And that wasn’t being dramatic. If Isaiah got booted from the competition, that would follow him as surely as failing out.

  The administrative assistant glanced up from her computer screen. He liked her only slightly more than he did Jenkins. She had that same attitude as her boss. Probably why she worked for him. But she understood who he was, and he needed that perk right now.

  “May I help you?”

  “Hi, Darren Gage to see President Jenkins.”

  Her sour expression told him what she thought of his request. “You don’t have an appointment.”

  “Really? My dad told me they’d spoken and President Jenkins wanted to see me.” Let her chew on that. So what if it was bullshit. She wouldn’t have time to find out otherwise.

  She looked at her screen. “He didn’t mention it to me, and he didn’t add anything to his calendar.”

  “I can call my dad and let him know this was a mistake.”

  “Hold on,” she said with a new sense of urgency. “Let me ask him. Please have a seat.”

  “Thank you so much.” He was pleased that he actually sounded grateful instead of nervous—or worse, condescending.

  The picture of his great-great-grandfather called to him. He stared up into the man’s eyes. Darren Sr. had died before he’d been born, but his grandfather talked about him enough, it was like he knew him. He was a man with a strong sense of fairness for those less fortunate. It was why he founded the school and endowed it so well. Hopefully, Darren would make him proud.