Chapter 11 #2
Shoulders slumping, Sandro kicked at a pebble, sending it skittering across the bridge until it fell off the edge and landed in the creek below with a quiet plop.
“We met in college,” he said quietly. “We were on the same hockey team. Started dating our sophomore year, and we were together right up until he dumped me without explanation four years later.”
“Says here he played a year for Chicago before retiring,” Kas said, gaze on his phone.
“Yeah, he retired right around the same time he broke up with me.”
Roman cocked his head. “Did you ask him why?”
“Tried to. But he wouldn’t take my calls, and when I got to his place in Chicago to talk to him, he’d already moved out. Had to call his mom just to make sure he wasn’t dead.” He’d never forget how walking into Bennett’s empty apartment had been like having a knife sliced clean through him.
Kas made a sound of sympathy. “Have you asked him since he’s been in town?”
Sandro shook his head.
“So what now?”
“I don’t know.” Frustrated, Sandro dug the base of his palm into his forehead. He didn’t know anything—how much longer his body would last, if it would be up to playing next season, what he’d do after he retired, what the future looked like for him and Bennett.
“Are you going to hook up with him again?” Roman asked.
“I don’t know. What would even be the point? We’d just be going around and around in circles, repeating the past. Not to mention that he’s filming a documentary about my team. That’s a huge ethically gray area.”
When Roman and Kas remained silent, Sandro dropped into a crouch and let out a full-body groan.
“I have thoughts,” Roman said slowly. “Let me tackle the documentary first. I don’t know anything about the ethics of you dating the team’s filmmaker—”
“Wow. There’s actually something you don’t know?”
“Shut up and listen, asshole.”
Rolling his eyes, Sandro rose.
“Like I was saying,” Roman went on, a hint of attitude in his voice, “I don’t know anything about the ethics, but if you want this thing with Bennett to go anywhere, it’s something you’ll need to talk about with him.
Maybe he has the answers you need or maybe it’s not as ethically gray as you seem to think.
Now, about repeating the past . . . Why would you be repeating the past?
Who says the outcome won’t be different this time? ”
Well. Okay.
That was a question.
One Sandro hadn’t considered because the past had too much of a hold on him.
But what if they didn’t repeat it? Could they start fresh? The past would always be there, but that didn’t mean they had to let it define their future.
Bennett had broken his heart once, but life was full of pain. If he let it rule him, would it later turn to regret?
Kas leaned closer to Roman and whispered, “I don’t think he has an answer for that one.”
Sandro chuckled and hung his head back. “I’m telling your husbands you were mean to me.”
They just laughed at him.
Bennett woke up alone.
Before his stomach could sink at that realization, he listened for sounds of movement in the house. When he didn’t hear anything, he rose, pulled on underwear—noticing as he did so that Sandro’s own underwear was gone—and headed downstairs.
The rest of Sandro’s clothing was gone too, as were his coat and shoes.
He’d left?
“Seriously, Ro?”
Was this payback for fifteen years ago?
No. Sandro wasn’t that petty or mean.
Bennett mentally brought up the Trailblazers’ schedule for the day. There was a morning skate but it wasn’t for another couple of hours. Had he gone to the arena early?
“Could’ve woken me up before you left, you fucker,” he grumbled to himself.
Of course, maybe Sandro had left because he was done with Bennett. Blowing out a breath, he shook his arms out at the thought. He didn’t like it, but what he liked even less was not knowing if this version of Sandro would do such a thing.
Sandro of version past never would have.
Was this it then? They’d have one night together and nothing else?
A thought niggled at the back of his mind as he went back upstairs, where he grabbed the phone off his nightstand and found a text from Sandro.
Sandro:
Keys are under the mat out front.
Bennett let out a harsh bark of a laugh as he descended the stairs to the ground floor again. At least Sandro had acted like a considerate fucker and locked up when he left.
To go running with Roman and Kas. Right. The niggling thought coalesced into fact—Sandro went jogging with his former teammates on Saturday mornings.
He’d left Bennett’s bed to go running in the cold?
Dumbass.
Chest tightening with irritation, Bennett tossed his phone onto the kitchen counter and padded toward the front door to retrieve his keys, the tile cold on the soles of his feet. But the sound of a key being inserted into the lock froze him in place.
The door swung open, and standing on the other side of it was Sandro, wearing black running clothes, a knit hat, and expensive running shoes. As he walked in, their gazes locked for a quick second before Sandro gave him an up and down glance that had Bennett’s skin erupting in goosebumps.
“Hi,” came Sandro’s hoarse whisper.
“Hi,” Bennett replied.
Sandro closed the door and leaned back against it, giving Bennett another up and down glance.
Bennett was no longer a hockey player and he didn’t have the muscle he’d had back then, but he kept himself in shape.
He knew what he looked like, and he exploited it by planting his hands on his hips and letting Sandro look his fill.
He was still irritated that Sandro had left, but he’d come back, and that meant something.
Swallowing hard, Sandro straightened off the door. “I’m sorry I left.”
Oh. Well. Okay. That was unexpected.
“Why did you?”
Sandro rolled his shoulders backward, clearly uncomfortable with the question. “Roman, Kas, and I always go jogging on Saturday mornings. I told you that.”
Bennett made a noise of acknowledgment and advanced on him. “So you left my warm bed,” he said, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of Sandro’s running pants, “to go jogging with your friends? A warm bed where there was an equally warm someone willing to give you a morning blow job, I might add.”
Sandro’s eyes flared. “It was a dumb decision.”
“Uh-huh.”
It was on the tip of Bennett’s tongue to ask why he’d made it. Why he hadn’t stayed, or at the very least woken him up to tell him he was leaving.
Maybe he’d panicked, maybe he’d second-guessed last night, maybe he’d needed space, maybe he simply hadn’t wanted to wake Bennett from a sound sleep.
Whatever the reason, Bennett found that it didn’t matter.
Sandro had come back.
Mouth quirking into a smile that made Bennett’s stomach flip, Sandro said, “You could give me that blow job now.”
“I could.” Bennett inched forward like he was going to kiss him. Against Sandro’s lips, he said, “Or you could give me one. Consider it a refund for the hundred bucks you lost me at Thanksgiving.”
Sandro’s laughter was light and airy. “My blow jobs are worth way more than a hundred bucks.”
“A hundred bucks plus interest, then.”
Sandro nudged him backward, following closely so there was never more than a couple of inches between them. “Or you could fuck me into oblivion.” He kissed the base of Bennett’s throat. “That’s a good trade-off, isn’t it?”
“Christ.”
“I need a shower first, though. I got sweaty on my run.”
“I’m about to get you even sweatier,” Bennett growled, tugging Sandro’s beanie off to card a hand through his hair, unable to stop touching him. “Might as well save the shower for later.”
“Hm. Good point. Then we can shower together.”
“Good plan.”
Sandro kissed him quickly—much too quickly—then stepped back and pulled his shirt off over his head, revealing pert nipples, a smooth chest, cut abs, and a slim trail of hair around his belly button that disappeared into his pants.
“Know what I was thinking about on my run?” Sandro asked over his shoulder as he ambled up the stairs.
Bennett followed him up like a dog on a leash. “Tell me?”
“That game against Penn State our senior year. Or maybe it was junior year. I forget.”
“What about it?”
“Remember when you tried to sneak into my hotel room for some midnight nookie?”
Loosing a laugh, Bennett leaned back against his dresser while Sandro sat on the bed and removed his socks.
“Tried being the operative word. I ran into Jimmy getting ice, Brewers having a phone conversation with his girlfriend, and Coach Podanski. I still don’t know what he was doing out in the hallway. Is Brewers still with what’s-her-name?”
“Beats me.” Sandro rose and shucked his pants and underwear in one go. “We were never friends.”
“Yeah,” Bennett managed, eyeing Sandro’s erection. “Why was that?”
“He was jealous.” Sandro walked into his space and kissed him. “He had a crush on you, but you were all mine.”
“What?” Momentarily distracted, Bennett narrowed his gaze. “But . . . he had a girlfriend.”
“Doesn’t mean he didn’t also have a crush on you.” Sandro looked down between them and Bennett followed his gaze. Sandro’s erection, thick and red, was pointing right at him while his own was still tucked behind his underwear. “Going to fuck me with that?”
Laughing, Bennett nudged him backward until he fell onto the bed. “You’re the one who keeps talking.” He got rid of his own underwear and followed Sandro down.
Earlier, he’d worried that last night was it. Secretly thought that maybe Sandro was done with him. Done with them before they could be something again.
But here he was now, with Sandro running his hands over him like he couldn’t stop touching him and with their lips clinging like they had all the time in the world for what was about to come next.
They didn’t, though. They were both due at the arena soon.
With that time limit lurking, Bennett found the lube and condoms in the top drawer of his nightstand—purchased when he’d first arrived in Burlington on the off chance Sandro gave him the time of day.
He prepped Sandro, and when Sandro was panting beneath him, he sheathed himself and entered him one slow inch at a time.
“Shit,” Sandro whimpered.
His entire body on fire, Bennett fell over him and kissed along his neck. “Fuck, I missed this,” he whispered.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He rose onto his elbows, nosing at Sandro’s face.
Sandro clamped a hand onto the back of Bennett’s head and brought it down to his, crushing their lips together.
Bennett moaned into his mouth, wishing he could somehow erase the past fifteen years.
He ripped his mouth away from Sandro’s to ask, “You good?”
Sandro’s smile was filthier than it had any right to be.
Or maybe it was exactly as filthy as it should be, given their current positions.
“I’ll be better once you move,” Sandro murmured, his fingers digging into Bennett’s ass cheeks. “Now, B.”
Not one to ignore a command from a bossy bottom, Bennett moved, pumping his hips. Slowly at first, savoring the sensation of Sandro beneath him, but when Sandro tipped his head back into the pillow with a rough, “Fuck, B. Harder. I need . . .”
Yeah, Bennett knew what he needed. Curving one arm underneath him, Bennett tilted Sandro’s hips up, changing the angle of his penetration, grinning when he was rewarded with a gasped, “Oh, Jesus fuck, B. Yes. Fuck me, damn it.”
So Bennett did, letting loose in a way he never had except with Sandro.
Burying his head in Sandro’s neck, he breathed through his pleasure, his groans mixing with Sandro’s in the stillness of the early morning.
Sandro was sweaty and breathless beneath him, the sun filtered in through the blinds to provide an ethereal glow to the room, and the sound of their bodies slapping together was almost hotter than Sandro’s, “B. Fuck, yes. I’m coming. ”
Almost.
Bennett came right after him with a soft curse, his entire body eclipsing into a million pieces until it was brought back together again with a lazy kiss from Sandro.
“Fuck,” Sandro said with a laugh that did funny things to Bennett’s stomach. “I’d come back tonight to do that again if I wasn’t driving home right after the game.”
Bennett kissed his chin. “You could skip your brother’s birthday.”
Sandro grunted and gave Bennett’s butt a love tap. “Don’t start that again.”
“Fine.” Bennett pulled out gently and rolled off him. He tossed the condom into the trash can beside the bed, then rolled onto his side to face Sandro. “Just . . . make sure you pull over if you start to get tired, okay? Find a hotel to stay the night in if you need to.”
Sandro grabbed Bennett’s hand and kissed the inside of his wrist so tenderly that Bennett’s breath caught.
“I’ll be fine.” Sandro stretched lazily, arms over his head, his gorgeous body tempting Bennett to do things they didn’t have time for right now.
Grunting, Sandro rolled toward him and trailed a series of kisses up Bennett’s biceps to his shoulder before he plopped down, his head pillowed on Bennett’s arm. “I’m due at the arena soon.”
“Me too.”
Sandro turned his face into Bennett’s arm. His hair was a mess, pointing in every direction, and Bennett couldn’t help but kiss him right there behind his ear. His own hair was no doubt a riot of knots.
“Roman wants to meet about the stupid wellness initiative over lunch.”
Bennett took in the slack lines of his muscles and almost didn’t ask, especially since Sandro had more or less blown him off last time, but he still wanted an honest answer.
“Why don’t you want to lead this initiative?
And don’t give me that bullshit about not knowing what you’re doing. What’s the real reason?”
Sighing, Sandro dug his forehead into Bennett’s arm. “Accepting that responsibility,” he said quietly, turning his head and meeting Bennett’s gaze, “is like accepting that I won’t be playing next season. And I don’t know if I’m ready for that. I don’t know who I am outside of this sport.”
“Okay. But that’s something you’ll have to figure out at some point anyway, whether it’s at the end of this season or the next or the one after that.”
Sandro flopped onto his back with a puff of laughter. “That’s an annoyingly logical way to look at things.”
“You’re welcome.”
Heaving himself up, Sandro draped himself over him and kissed him once, twice, a third time. “We’re even for that hundred bucks now, right?”
“Hundred bucks plus interest.”
“Asshole,” Sandro said, laughing. Another kiss, then he was up and off the bed, the morning sun highlighting his body as he stretched his arms up over his head again. “Come on, B. I want that shower you promised me. Let’s go.”
Bennett would never say no to that.