Chapter 3 #2
That the long-distance had been hard but Sandro had never wavered in his commitment to Bennett? When he wasn’t needed in Burlington, he was in Chicago, and he couldn’t wait until the summer, when he and Bennett could spend every last second together before next season.
But Bennett had been . . . distant. Understandably distracted that first year after graduation, but also off in a way Sandro couldn’t describe.
I can do it myself, I don’t need anyone’s help had morphed into I’m fine, I’m always fine, and no matter how many different ways Sandro asked if he was okay, Bennett seemed to pull further and further away.
And then Bennett quit hockey and quit him. Sandro had poured his heart and soul into their relationship, had given Bennett every piece of himself . . .
But it hadn’t been enough. He hadn’t been enough.
His parents had taught him that you showed up for the people you loved, and he’d shown up for Bennett even when he only had two hours to spend in Chicago before he had to catch a flight back to Burlington.
So when Bennett had dumped him, it had shaken his very foundation.
And when Bennett hadn’t answered any of his calls after that . . . when his apartment had been empty of personal belongings the day Sandro had dropped by the first chance he’d been able to . . .
It had shaken not just his foundation, but his very self. What had happened? Where had everything fallen apart? Was it him? Had their relationship simply been too much on top of a stressful rookie season?
But that was way too personal to share with his young teammate.
Sandro’s gaze drifted to Bennett again, and despite what had happened between them, he still wanted to go over there and smooth away the divot of concentration between his brows.
“What do you keep looking at back there?” Eli turned and—“Oh, it’s Bennett.” And before Sandro could stop him, he raised a hand in a wave. “Hey, Bennett.”
Bennett looked up from his tablet, his expression clearing when it landed on Eli.
And doing something a little more complicated when it landed on Sandro.
“What are you working on over there?” Eli asked him.
“Just some work stuff,” Bennett replied with a preoccupied smile.
“Cool,” Eli said, clearly undeterred by the non-answer. “How’s the work stuff going?”
“Good. Great.”
Well, he hadn’t gotten any better at lying in the past fifteen years, so that was one thing that hadn’t changed. Sandro snorted a laugh, drawing Bennett’s narrowed gaze.
“Take a break and come join us,” Eli said.
Sandro’s stomach went a little wonky at that. “He can’t,” he blurted. “He’s busy doing work stuff.”
He hadn’t meant it as a challenge, but Bennett obviously took it as one. He raised a single oh-you-think-so eyebrow and flipped his tablet case closed. “Sure, thanks.” He rose, coffee mug in one hand, tablet in the other, and joined them, choosing the seat to Sandro’s left.
Sandro wanted to both move away and move closer. Bennett smelled warm and inviting. Earthy, kind of. Whatever it was, Sandro could smell it over the pervasive scent of coffee and, much to his annoyance, wanted to bathe in it.
Bennett wore ripped jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt pulled up to his elbows, showing off sand-colored skin dusted with fine hairs that matched the blond hair on his head.
He didn’t appear to have quite the same muscle definition as he’d had when he’d played hockey, but he was still fit, his T-shirt hugging defined biceps.
He met Sandro’s gaze with another raised eyebrow, this one a challenging I’m not too busy, don’t put words in my mouth, his blue eyes holding a glint to them that dared Sandro to send him away.
Christ, Sandro hated that he could still read him.
“When did you get into town?” Eli asked. “Did you come in from LA? Wait, do you even live in LA? Is that where all the cool filmmakers are based these days, or is it New York? Gotta say, I like New York, but I’m not a fan of winter, so if I had to choose between the two cities, I’d—”
“Sorry to interrupt.” One of the baristas, wearing a half apron and a name tag that read Lizzie, lowered a tray between Eli and Bennett. “We’re sampling our sugar cookie latte today. Care to try one?”
The tray held plastic shot glasses filled with amber liquid.
“Ooh, yes please.” Eli took two, passed them to Sandro and Bennett, then took one for himself. “Tell me—how do you get the sugar cookie flavor? Is it a combination of multiple syrups or is there a sugar cookie one? Do you make it yourselves?”
“He reminds me of you,” Bennett murmured, leaning his forearms on the table.
“Me?” Sandro murmured back. “I was never this chatty.”
“No, but that’s not what I meant. You had the same energy.”
Sandro eyed Eli, who was now discussing, for whatever reason, the sugar content of flavored syrups. “I don’t think so.”
“Who did the Macarena on a table at our graduation party?” Bennett asked blandly.
“Jimmy dared me to.”
“Who photobombed literally every single photo at Daryl’s New Year’s party?”
“I can’t help it if the camera loves my cheekbones.”
“Who skateboarded off the hood of Coach’s car?”
“Hey, at least I didn’t go streaking at homecoming.”
“Jimmy dared me to,” Bennett deadpanned.
Sandro didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help but laugh.
Before he could contemplate what that meant and why he felt a little tingly, Eli interrupted the moment. “So you do know each other. I wondered since you played on the same college hockey team, but you didn’t exchange two words today.”
Without missing a beat, Bennett said, “I was working. Sandro was giving me space to do that. How was the sugar cookie latte?”
Oblivious to the obvious subject change, Eli grinned and held up his empty shot glass. “Tastes like Christmas. How come you haven’t had yours yet?”
Bennett swirled the liquid in his own glass, then downed it like a shot. And immediately gasped for air. “Oh, Christ, that’s—” He coughed like it had gone down the wrong pipe, his face twisting into a grimace. “Don’t do it,” he said to Sandro. “You’ll hate it.”
Well, now Sandro had to try it.
“Why?” Eli asked as Sandro swished the liquid around in his mouth. “He likes the gingerbread latte.”
Bennett coughed again. “This is a wholly different beast.”
“Yeah, no, that’s terrible.” Sandro dropped his shot glass into Bennett’s before cleansing his palate with his latte.
Eli looked positively crestfallen. “But the gingerbread latte . . .”
“Is not at all the same thing. The gingerbread adds a hint of spice. This . . .” Sandro shook the shot glasses. “This tastes like . . .”
“A sugar cookie?” Eli offered.
“My grandmother’s Christmas dessert table.”
“It was a thing of beauty,” Bennett commented.
“Even though we barely ate anything off it,” Sandro added.
“Wait.” Eli waved a finger between them. “When did you spend the holidays together?”
“Uh . . .” Bennett sent Sandro an oh-shit glance. “It was in college.”
Eli looked ready to say more, but he was interrupted by his phone. He glanced at it and stood in a panic. “Shit, I forgot there’s somewhere I need to be.”
“Seriously?” Sandro checked his watch. “We’ve been here less than half an hour.”
“I know. I’m so sorry.” He whipped his jacket off the back of his chair and stuffed it under one arm. Grabbing his mug, he gulped down what was left of his flat white, leaving him with a tiny milk mustache. “Reschedule?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Thank you.” Shuffling over, a scarf dangling out of one arm of his jacket, Eli side-hugged him. “You’re the best, Zanetti.”
“Ah, okay,” Sandro sputtered. “Is hugging a thing we do now?”
Bennett cough-laughed into his fist.
“Sorry again. Bye, guys.”
He left, returning a handful of seconds later, wide-eyed and flushed. “Shit, I forgot I was supposed to drive you home. If you want to leave now, I might have time to—”
“Go.” Sandro waved him off. “I’ll call a car.”
“You don’t have a car?” Bennett asked as Eli finally headed toward the exit.
“It’s in the shop.”
“Again!” Eli yelled, pushing the door open with a wave over his shoulder. Because he might be adorable and chatty and a great hockey player, but he’d also apparently been with the team just long enough to realize that Sandro’s car being in the shop was now a running joke with their teammates.
Rolling his eyes at Eli’s impetuousness, he finished his latte and took out his phone to call a car.
“I can drive you home.”
Tensing at Bennett’s words, Sandro swallowed roughly. “That’s okay, I can—”
“Sandro.”
Bennett’s blue eyes were too intense, yet Sandro couldn’t look away.
“Let me take you home.”
Against his better judgment, Sandro nodded.
This morning’s rain had persisted throughout the day like a bad hangover.
Or, Sandro amended, side-eyeing Bennett in the driver’s seat, like an ex who just wouldn’t stop popping up where he didn’t belong.
Okay, bantering with him at the coffee shop hadn’t sucked by any means.
Quite the opposite. Instead of reminding Sandro of what he’d lost, it had reminded him of bumping into Bennett at the grocery store near campus, arms overflowing with items he hadn’t necessarily needed, and locking eyes with a hot guy who’d looked like he belonged at a photoshoot.
That hot guy’s dorm room had been on the same floor as Sandro’s, it had turned out.
Even better? They were going to be teammates on the University of Michigan’s Division I hockey team.
But Bennett was seeing someone, and that someone had followed him to U-M.
Hell, Sandro was seeing someone that he’d met over the summer while in Tobermory, a fact that he’d had to remind himself of frequently during the first year he and Bennett had played together.
Was Bennett seeing anyone now?
The windshield wipers worked as Bennett followed the GPS to Sandro’s place. Sandro shifted in his seat to look at him, the heat shooting out of the vents making him overly warm.