Better Have Heart (Harrison Campus 2)

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.”