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  The assistant waved him over. “He has a few minutes to speak to you.”

  Darren nodded and exhaled. “Wish me luck,” he whispered to the painting.

  The walk into Jenkins’s office felt like he was approaching the throne. Jenkins sat behind his desk. He had his coat off and his glasses perched on the end of his nose.

  “Ah, Darren. I think there is some miscommunication. I never spoke to your father. Do you know what this meeting is about?”

  “Yes, sir. I spoke to him about the Scholar program scheduling. It seems someone keeps picking dates that conflict with Mr. Nettles’s schedule. Isaiah has a test on the day of our next appointment.”

  “Yes. So Mr. Nettles said.” He folded his hands in front of him. “Why are you talking to your father about that?”

  “Dad is all about this being a fair competition. He expects me to win on merit. Dad feels so strongly about this that he’s having Isaiah stay at the house this weekend for the Gage Scholar Dinner.”

  Surprise flickered over Jenkins’s face. “Is that right?”

  “Yes, sir. You can call him and ask if you like, although when I expressed some disagreement with those arrangements, he didn’t appreciate me questioning him.”

  “No, I imagine your father wouldn’t want you questioning his decisions.”

  “Not at all.” Darren kept his voice even as he subtly drove his point home. “My father’s used to people doing what he tells them. Anyway, I was hoping you would change the date or time to ensure Isaiah doesn’t have to pick between failing a class or missing the meeting?”

  “Unfortunately, Mr. Nettles didn’t provide us with his full schedule. We selected the date that worked for everyone else.”

  Another lie, but one he expected. “Odd, I thought both our schedules were emailed to everyone involved.”

  “As I said, it wasn’t complete.”

  “Right. My apologies, you did say that. That aside, I’m sure you could help fix this.”

  “It’s not really up to me.” His computer made a noise, and Jenkins spared a glance. “Hold on a moment, please.”

  He clicked his mouse, and his eyes moved back and forth as he read. Clicking again, he typed rapidly, almost pounding the keyboard. Another mouse click, and he looked up.

  “It appears you’ll get your wish, Darren.” His phony smile made Darren’s skin itch. “Fred writes that he has a conflicting meeting in Texas that day and won’t be back in time. He gave me an alternative date that works. What about the following Wednesday?”

  Darren pulled up the email with Isaiah’s schedule. No class, and no performance. He might have a yoga session, but that was likely easy enough to change. And if Isaiah really needed the cash, he’d suggest taking a yoga class himself whenever worked for him.

  He wouldn’t be opposed to spending more time . . . stretching.

  He slid his phone away. “The date works for me, and it seems to work for Isaiah as well.”

  “How wonderful.” Jenkins’s lips pressed tightly together. He turned back to his computer and typed out another email. “I’ve sent the new date to everyone. Is there anything else?”

  “That’s it, sir. I appreciate you helping out like this.”

  “Of course.” Another plastic grin. “As you said, the competition needs to be equitable.”

  Darren couldn’t agree more.

  Chapter Ten

  Isaiah

  Ring or just walk in? What did one do when showing up at a frat house?

  Isaiah pushed the buzzer nervously. He’d practically jogged here, and his heart banged about in his chest. Less from exertion than anticipation of seeing Darren. Of apologizing.

  No one answered, and he buzzed again. Yelling erupted inside, asking if anyone was going to answer.

  Air whooshed over him as the door swung in.

  “Yeah?” A large guy stared down at him, scratching his belly.

  “Is Darren Gage here?”

  “Yeah, he lives here.” Well, this guy sure lived down the frat-boy stereotype.

  “I know he lives here, is he here at the moment?”

  “Beats me. You can go check.” He stepped back, and Isaiah walked in.

  Great. Trudge through the house and hope he didn’t make an ass of himself. He should have asked Jack for help, but he respected that Jack wanted to remain neutral.

  “Can you tell me where his room is?” Isaiah was sweating enough as it was; he didn’t need to worsen it by getting lost or walking into the wrong room.

  “Second floor.” The dude pointed to the grand staircase. “Turn left, third on the right.”

  “Thanks,” Isaiah said, heading for the staircase. He got a lazy wave in return.

  Isaiah jogged up to Darren’s room and paused outside his closed door. He heard a shuffle behind the door and knew Darren was in there. His pulse pounded so hard his fist shook as he knocked.

  “Come in.”

  The room was softly lit, late afternoon light slicing through the blinds. Darren sat on a twin bed with his back against the headboard, a statistics book open on his lap. His hair looked damp from a recent shower, and all he wore was a pair of navy soccer shorts.

  Isaiah tried his best not to stare.

  But there was enough fodder here to steal all his thoughts for weeks.

  “Isaiah?” Darren nearly dropped the book as he scrambled to get off the bed. His muscles flexed, and the striped light added an intensity to the atmosphere that had Isaiah responding. He looked fit, and that body hair . . .

  Most guys this age had either a smattering of chest hair and stomach hair—like Isaiah—or were bears. Darren had what Isaiah considered the perfect amount. Not too thick, but his chest and stomach were covered.

  Darren was too damn hot to be real.

  Isaiah cast his gaze over the room, and Darren grabbed a shirt from his dresser. “What are you doing here? I mean—sorry. I didn’t expect a visitor.”

  “Probably should have called. I wanted to talk in person.” Isaiah rocked on his heels. “I can come back another time?”

  “No, this is fine.”

  They stood a few feet apart, postures stiff, gazes washing over each other with apprehension and curiosity. The way Darren’s gaze roamed over him was not helping Isaiah’s nerves.

  “You’re busy. Studying. I can—”

  “Seriously, it’s no problem.” Darren scanned the room, and then swiped the clothes off a chair.

  The room felt nothing like the Darren he envisioned. There were two distinct looks. On the side where Darren sat when Isaiah walked in, soccer posters dotted the wall and a stack of books sat on the end of a desk. He had one of those clocks with big red numbers in a clear rectangle. He’d tossed his soccer stuff on the floor, and he scrambled to pick it up.

  The other side was an abundance of color and a collage of family photos.

  “Sorry.” Flushed, Darren picked up the clothes and shoved them into a laundry bag. “I got back from practice and jumped into studying.”

  “It’s really okay.” Isaiah used the chair Darren had cleared. “I didn’t give you any notice.”

  Darren perched on the end of his bed, facing Isaiah. “What brings you here?”

  The flustered, innocent way Darren reacted tugged at Isaiah, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss the guy to make him stop. Kiss him, press him back against his bed. Undress him and feel that fuzz slide against his stomach, chest, thighs.

  The images were enough to make him dizzy. His blood pulsed with a rush of heat. “I wanted to . . . thank you.”

  “Thank me?” Darren avoided meeting Isaiah’s gaze. “For what?”

  Isaiah had bet himself Darren would pretend not to know anything. What he hadn’t bet on was how strong a turn-on that was. Darren helping him and refusing credit? Really, awkwardly strong. “You know what you did. You left, and forty-five minutes later I got an email from Jenkins saying they had to change the date.”

  “Um, right. I got the same email. Why do yo
u think I had anything to do with that?” Darren shrugged. “Fred had to cancel because of a trip.”

  Isaiah fought not to laugh at just how bad Darren was at lying. The darting gaze. The flush on his cheeks. “Poker is not your game, okay?”

  “Huh?”

  Isaiah cocked a brow. “The email never mentioned Fred had to cancel.”

  “Oh, um. He told me before he called Jenkins?”

  Isaiah slid off the chair and knelt on the springy carpet in front of Darren. He touched Darren’s chin and gently steered his face until he was looking right at him. “Can we stop playing this game, please? You did something to change the dates. You said you were going to fix my problem and you did. I’m not asking if you did this, I’m asking why.”

  Darren’s breath wafted over the side of his hand, and the electricity had Isaiah’s fingers twitching. “Because it wasn’t right.”

  Isaiah dropped his hand, and immediately Darren glanced at his lap between them. “I called Fred and asked him to change the date. I hope you’re not mad, but I had to tell him what they were doing to you.”

  “Why?”

  “He asked me why I didn’t ask Jenkins, or my advisor. I had to explain that they were picking dates they knew were a problem for you.”

  “And he just happened to pick the one day that week I’m free?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Would you believe that was pure coincidence?”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t think so.” Darren rubbed the back of his neck and finally looked him in the eye. “I have your schedule and I looked first. I’ll need to leave practice early, but Coach and I have an agreement, so it won’t be an issue.”

  “Agreement?” The coach worked with him, but the music department wouldn’t help Isaiah? “What kind of agreement?”

  “I get one extra lap for every three minutes early I leave.”

  “Why didn’t you pick a different time?”

  “It was the only free night you had, and that was the time Fred picked. I’ll make it work.”

  “Is that why you were late for the first meeting? To cut down on the laps you were going to get?” No matter what he said, Isaiah knew that was it.

  “Yes, but no.” He snorted. “Sorry, usually I’m more articulate than that. Yes, I stayed longer than I should have and got fewer laps, but it wasn’t intentional. I lost track of time.”

  “You switched the day and time for me and picked a time that’s going to cost you laps? Why would you do that?”

  “Payback for saving me from Max?”

  “Nope, not buying that.”

  “You sure?” Darren’s breath came out quick and shallow, and the race of it echoed in Isaiah’s veins.

  Isaiah rested back on his heels, lest he forget what was at stake and jump the guy.

  The added distance barely helped. But it was something.

  “What they’re doing, Isaiah,” Darren said, “you were right. I didn’t question when things went in my favor. But this was going to affect your grades and maybe even your ability to stay in school. I don’t want to win that badly. I mean I do, but I couldn’t accept that. Not even for this.”

  “Can I ask why being the Gage Scholar is so important to you?”

  Darren turned away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  As Isaiah suspected, this was about something bigger than a family tradition. “Try me.”

  His gaze flickered to Isaiah’s. “It just is, okay?”

  Not really. Darren was infuriatingly impossible to figure out. He wanted to make sense of the guy and couldn’t. But Isaiah wasn’t going to press him.

  Isaiah pushed up and stood directly before Darren, almost between his knees. “I don’t get you, Darren. But thank you. If they hadn’t changed the date, it would have hurt me bad.”

  “No worries.”

  Darren looked up at him, and Isaiah still didn’t move away.

  “I’m not just here to say thank you,” Isaiah said, scooping up the wisps of hair that had come free from his hair tie and redoing it.

  Darren’s gaze dropped to Isaiah’s crotch and whipped back up. “What else are you here for?”

  Isaiah froze. Dammit. He wanted to say he was here for crossing those lines with him. But the sudden wariness in Darren’s eyes put any such thoughts back in their rightful place.

  Isaiah stepped back and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m also here to apologize. I was a dick to you back at the café.”

  “You had every right to be angry.”

  “Not at you.”

  Darren’s expression softened, lips twitching up at the sides. “Not at me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Darren shrugged it off.

  Isaiah shook his head. “Nah, man. You’ve got to let me make it up to you.”

  “You don’t have to.” A spark of curiosity lit in Darren’s eye. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Private yoga lesson. Yoga is a great way to improve your performance . . . on the field. I’ll book an hour for just us.”

  Darren

  The town car made its way to where the small jet sat waiting to take them home. His home. But Isaiah was coming with him, so that counted right? The driver took the bags from the trunk, ignoring Isaiah’s protests that he could do it himself.

  Before he made for the stairs, Darren slipped the driver two twenties and thanked him. He’d tried to do it surreptitiously, but Isaiah stood on the stairs watching the exchange.

  The entire day had left him unnerved. He both wanted and didn’t want to go home. Isaiah traveling and staying with them should have been a buffer, but it only added to his anxiety. He was maddeningly close, yet completely unattainable. The desire to have more suffocated him. Like Saturday at the cabaret. Like three days ago in his bedroom. Like that promise of a one-on-one yoga session, damn.

  He’d taken that image with him every shower he’d had since. It was like all he had to do was reach out, and yet he couldn’t.

  Add to that, he was seeing his father for the first time since that day, and he wanted to curl up on his bed and be alone. Something else he couldn’t do.

  The cabin attendant helped them stow their carry-ons and brought them drinks before she advised the pilot they were ready.

  Darren stared out the window, and the plane taxied toward the runway. It was a short half-hour flight, followed by a twenty-minute drive to the house. Less than an hour before the show began.

  Isaiah

  The entire afternoon was surreal. A limo picked him up. A driver toted his bags. An attendant waited on the two of them, and he was seated in the personal opulence of the private jet of the CEO of one of the world’s most recognizable corporations. For a kid from Erie, Pennsylvania, this shit didn’t happen.

  Darren kept to himself. He’d been responsive in a friendly way whenever he spoke to or answered Isaiah, but something weighed on him. Something he didn’t want to share.

  “This is amazing,” Isaiah said, running his hand over the polished wood and soft leather. “Do you fly this way all the time?”

  Darren laughed softly and shook his head. “No. This is the corporate jet. We get to use it because the program is corporate business. I usually fly commercial, just like everyone else.”

  Bet you never fly coach like everyone else. As soon as he thought that, he chastised himself for being a tool. Whatever else he might be, Darren wasn’t smug about his family’s wealth. He’d even tried to hide the fact he’d tipped the driver for both of them.

  Stop!

  He couldn’t go there. Darren might be a great guy, but Isaiah was in this to win it. He didn’t need to demonize Darren, but he couldn’t get soft where he was concerned.

  Darren had said he wanted to win badly, too.

  No point in mixing more emotions into things when one of them would end up with their dreams crushed.

  The soft leather seat enveloped him as he leaned back. He had to check himself so he didn’t fall into the “this is so nice”
trap. One round trip, and done. This was Darren’s world, not his.

  Across the aisle, Darren stared out the window. He wore khaki pants, a blue-and-white-checked trendy oxford, and his loafers. Isaiah equated loafers with stuck-up rich kids, but on Darren they seemed right. And he’d gotten a haircut.

  Despite looking insanely good, Darren held himself stiffly.

  He hadn’t relaxed since the plane taxied toward the runway. Not that it was any of Isaiah’s business, but Darren didn’t seem happy to be going home. What had he said? He didn’t go home last summer? Were things that bad at home?

  That didn’t make sense. Hadn’t his mother arranged for him to meet Max? Granted, Max was a douche canoe, but obviously his mom didn’t have a problem with him being gay.

  Darren scrubbed his face with the heels of his palms and looked over. He smiled when their eyes met, and then his walls slammed back into place and he sat back.

  Isaiah leaned back, too.

  Not my business.

  It wasn’t.

  But . . .

  He didn’t like seeing Darren like this. It worried him.

  It made him want to hold his hand and squeeze tight.

  The iron gates opened, and they entered Chateau Gage.

  Isaiah’s pithy name for Darren’s home notwithstanding, the property made for a handsome and commanding sight. Set on a small hill, surrounded by an immaculate lawn, it was an intimidating collection of brick and pillars.

  He’d managed to engage Darren in enough conversation to know his parents moved into the house right after they’d married. This was Darren’s childhood home.

  Isaiah found it impossible to believe Darren and his brother had been allowed to frolic on the grounds like little ruffians the way he and Ian had torn around their small yard. That was too bad. Some of his best memories as a little kid were of running around and playing wildly.