Darren’s expression warred between amusement and something darker—and a hell of a lot sexier. “It needs someone who’ll touch it confidently, who knows all the right keys to press and when to press them.”
Isaiah’s pulse skedaddled.
“It should definitely be you seated there.”
Darren didn’t flirt at every opportunity like Isaiah did. Isaiah couldn’t help it in general, and especially couldn’t help it around Darren. But when Darren dabbled in a little innuendo?
Holy shit. Slay him already.
This weekend was going to be like walking on a live wire.
Professionalism. Professionalism. Professionalism.
Hot boy. Hot boy. Hot boy. Who was just getting hotter as he pulled a banjo off a rack and slipped on some finger picks.
Isaiah settled behind the piano. He played a few notes and then ran the scale over a few octaves to test the tuning. To his ear, it sounded perfect. Before he decided what to play, Darren started playing the banjo.
Isaiah’s mouth parted in shock. “Rose Tattoo?” Now Darren was playing Drop Kick Murphys? “On a banjo?”
“I know. It was made for a mandolin, but this comes close.” Darren closed his eyes and started to sing.
God, Darren looked so at ease playing music. The stiff, formal persona melted, and he looked happier. Much happier.
Isaiah played a gentle beat to accompany, careful not to overpower.
The song ended, and Darren reopened his eyes. They sparkled, and his face glowed. “You made that up as we played, didn’t you?”
“A bit. I’ve always wanted to play that song with someone, but none of my friends who are DKM fans can play mandolin—or banjo.”
“None of my friends are DKM fans, period. They hear Celtic punk and think weird. They read about their social activism and are turned off.”
“But not you.” Not a question; he knew the answer.
Darren shook his head. “Bill Gates and Warren Buffet are two of the richest people in the country and they’re using their money to help people. Not exactly the progressives that DKM are, but they’re proof you don’t have to be a douche because you’ve got money.”
Add Darren J. Gage to the no-douche list. “You said you can play sax. Is that true?”
“Probably better than banjo. Which isn’t saying much, I know.” He pulled the strap over his head and set it down. “Give me a minute to soften the reed.”
“Go for it.” Isaiah tapped out a few keys. “Any good at being the Big Man?”
“Jungleland?”
“Good ear.” He dove into the song. “Can you do it?”
“Not like Clarence, but I’m game.”
“No offense if you’re a Clarence fan, but I think Jake is a better player.”
Darren took the reed out of his mouth. “So did Clarence.”
“Less talk, more working that thing into shape.”
“Yes, sir,” he said.
“Sir, mmm.” Isaiah winked. “Maybe you have a kink after all.”
Darren stared at him, the thin sliver of cane paused at his lips. Whatever he was thinking, he didn’t let on, quickly schooling his face.
He slipped the reed in his mouth and worked it. The sight stirred Isaiah. He couldn’t tear his gaze from Darren’s mouth.
What would those lips feel like around him?
Professionalism!
Isaiah closed his eyes and focused on the crisp sound of the piano keys.
The saxophone joined in.
Isaiah almost didn’t trust himself to look for fear of melting inside.
But as Darren missed a few notes and gamely persevered, Isaiah couldn’t help it.
Darren’s body molded with the instrument as he played. The guy might not be Jake Clemons, but he had style. He connected to the music.
They played a few more songs before Darren put the sax down and grabbed his banjo. Isaiah got up from the piano and took up a guitar. Together they broke into “Foggy Mountain Breakdown.”
A loud buzz cut through the music.
Isaiah gave Darren a questioning look.
“My mother. She had an intercom built in so she didn’t have to come down here to call me.” He walked to a small box in the corner of the room and pushed a button. “Yeah, Mom?”
“Why don’t you boys come up and get ready for dinner. It’ll be ready soon.”
“Gotcha. We’ll be up in a couple of minutes.”
“Make sure it really is only two minutes, sweetie.”
“Yes, Mom. We’re just going to put things away.”
“See you in two minutes.”
Isaiah grinned at him. “She knows you too well.”
“I guess.” He held out his hand for the guitar. “Well, except for setting me up with Max, right?”
Isaiah handed the instrument over. Don’t flirt. Don’t flirt. Don’t— “Yeah, Max wouldn’t know all the right keys to press or when to press them.” He strode toward the door, calling over his shoulder. “Beautiful piano, by the way. Perfect for pounding out music.”
He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard Darren curse under his breath.
Darren
Without his father, they had an informal dinner in the kitchen as opposed to a formal one in the dining room.
His mother used the skills gleaned from twenty-five years of hosting business dinners to keep the mood friendly, almost festive. She treated Isaiah like a family friend, not Darren’s competition.