Chapter 14 #3
“The bank’s fine,” Sandro said, and as soon as Bennett backed into a spot, he detached his seat belt and popped his door open. “Get out, B.”
“Are you okay?” Bennett asked again, scrambling out of the car as Sandro rounded the hood.
“B.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
Sandro kissed him, eliciting a muffled noise from Bennett’s throat. He could’ve done this in the car, but he wanted full-body contact, his hands in Bennett’s hair and Bennett’s hands on his ass.
Sandro kissed him again, softer, trying to convey thank you and I appreciate you and never go away again with his lips. Trying to make Bennett understand, without actually saying the words, that he was willing to risk it all again if Bennett felt the same.
Which he suspected he did.
Bennett kissed him back just as fiercely, his hands on Sandro’s ass just like he’d wanted. Sandro walked them backward until Bennett was up against the car, taking his mouth again and again with no thought to passersby.
Who cared about them anyway?
Cupping Bennett’s face, Sandro breathed a near-silent “Thank you” against his lips.
“What for?” Bennett panted.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.”
“Called me, I hope.” Bennett ducked down slightly, digging his fingers underneath Sandro’s coat. “I’m glad your dad’s okay. Up on a ladder by himself, huh?”
“Yeah.” Sandro hugged him tight, holding on for a long minute as he let Bennett’s warm fingers against his skin draw the lingering panic and fear away. “What a dumbass.”
“Like father, like son, right?”
Sandro reared back to stare at him. “What are you talking about?”
“I seem to remember another Zanetti putting up Christmas lights all by himself.”
Thanksgiving, Sandro recalled, swallowing a hysterical laugh. Bennett launching himself out of his car to swear at him and call him out for being up a ladder on his own, looking all beautifully pissed.
Bennett raised an eyebrow. “Guess you’ll think twice about that next time.”
“Christ.” Losing the battle against his giggles, Sandro rested his forehead on Bennett’s chest.
“Let’s go home, yeah?” Bennett patted his butt. “Unless you want to give those teenagers over there even more of a show?”
Sandro looked over his shoulder, where a couple of teenagers in Catholic-school kilts and stockings and the lightest of jackets—because apparently teenagers didn’t feel the cold—giggled and fast-walked away.
“Yeah,” Sandro said, chuckling. “Let’s go home.”
Sandro was dozing when Bennett’s phone rang.
Glancing over at him in the passenger seat, Bennett considered not answering it.
They’d crossed back into the United States and were only about five minutes away from Sandro’s house.
Sandro was slumped in his seat, head lolling forward, chin to his chest. He’d fallen asleep almost an hour ago, shortly after speaking with his dad and his coach.
Bennett wasn’t inclined to wake him, but it was David calling.
If he could keep the conversation short, he might not wake Sandro.
He pressed the Answer button on the steering wheel. “Hey, David.”
“Ben,” David announced at three times Bennett’s volume.
Sandro jerked awake with a sharp inhale. Blinking lazily, he straightened and scrubbed his eyes before taking in their surroundings.
So much for trying not to wake him.
“Fowler mentioned you left town,” David said. “Is everything okay?”
Bennett had texted Fowler before he’d driven away from the bank, though his too-brief I was heading to Tobermory for an emergency, but I’m on my way back now had clearly confused the man, judging by his return text.
Fowler:
Are you okay? Is someone hurt? What’s a Tobermory?
Bennett had laughed when he’d seen the message come in, but he’d already been on the road, so he hadn’t yet replied.
Fowler must’ve reached out to David for more information, but seeing as informing David of his whereabouts hadn’t been on Bennett’s must take care of Sandro to-do list, Fowler would’ve hit a dead end.
“Yeah, my friend’s dad had a bit of an emergency,” Bennett told him. “So I was driving him to his hometown. He wasn’t in any state to drive himself.”
Sandro narrowed his gaze on him.
“Plus, his car’s in the shop.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” David said. “How’s he doing? Your friend’s dad, I mean.”
“Actually, it ended up being nothing, so we turned around. We’re back in Burlington now.”
“Well, that’s good. I was going to ask if there was anything I could do to help, but I’m glad it was nothing.”
“Oh, that’s . . .” Bennett had likened David to the pseudo-villain in his life with his demands and micromanaging and refusal to use Bennett’s full name like he’d repeatedly asked.
Truth was, David was simply doing his job, and if their roles were reversed, had Bennett been the producer and David the filmmaker whose previous documentary had been panned by critics, Bennett wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have acted similarly.
David wasn’t a bad guy. He’d given Bennett a chance—was still giving him a chance—and Bennett needed to stop seeing him as an obstacle.
Sandro’s hand landed on his thigh. Bennett placed his own over top.
“Thank you, David,” he finally managed. “That’s nice of you to offer.”
“Of course. Anyway, I’ll let you go. I was just calling to check in.”
“Before you go,” Bennett said quickly, pressing his palm into Sandro’s hand. “Just . . . if you have a second, I’d like to talk to you about something that could . . .” Looking away from the road for a quick second, he met Sandro’s confused gaze. “That could jeopardize the series.”
“Okay,” David said slowly. “Do I need to sit down for this?”
“No. I mean, yes? I mean, no.” Bennett huffed out a breath. “It’s nothing bad. It’s just—”
“Spit it out,” David growled.
With Sandro’s hand warm underneath his, Bennett said, “The friend I was driving home?”
“Sandro Zanetti?”
Shocked into silence, Bennett met Sandro’s wide-eyed gaze with his. “Uh . . .”
“You told me you played together in college,” David said. “That you used to be friends. When you pitched this series to me, remember? In the interest of full disclosure, you said. So what about him?”
“Um . . .” Anxiety seethed in Bennett’s chest, but he couldn’t second-guess this. David needed to know. It sucked and he could get fired, but it had to be done.
“B,” Sandro murmured urgently, as if he knew what Bennett was about to do.
“We’re dating,” Bennett blurted without looking at him.
Silence. From David, from Sandro.
Sandro was looking at him like he’d lost his mind, though.
Fuck, maybe he had.
“We dated in college,” Bennett continued when the silence became uncomfortable. “We broke up and . . . Well, I broke it off, but . . . Anyway, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’re dating. Now. Again.”
The GPS told him to turn right onto Sandro’s street.
“What the fuck?” Sandro whispered. His hand was still on Bennett’s thigh, squeezing hard enough to hurt.
“Sorry.” Bennett winced and parked at the curb in front of Sandro’s townhouse. “Shit. I should’ve talked to you about this first.”
Fury snapped in Sandro’s gaze. “Ya think?”
“Why do you have to complicate all my projects, Bennett?” David asked, and he sounded . . . amused? “Listen, you two clearly need to discuss a few things, so Ben, we can chat later if you want.”
“O . . . kay?” That was it? David wasn’t going to ask more questions? Demand answers? Curse at him for jeopardizing their series? “I was planning on going to the arena for the game. Should I still do that?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
God, David was so confusing. “I’m not fired then?”
David hung up on him.
“I think that’s a no?”
“Jesus fucking Christ, B.” Sandro slammed out of the car.
Bennett turned the car off and joined him on the sidewalk, his stomach sinking.
If he’d thought he’d been anxious telling David about them, it had nothing on this.
Had he completely fucked up? Was Sandro about to tell him that this was just a fling and he’d torpedoed his own career for nothing? “I know you’re mad, Ro, but—”
“Zanetti,” Bellamy Jordan, one of Sandro’s teammates, called from the townhouse he shared with their team captain down the street. “Want a lift to the arena?”
“Give me a minute,” Sandro called back. “You.” He poked Bennett in the chest. “What the fuck?”
“Okay, look, I know we haven’t talked about this.
” Bennett waved between them. “And I know I should’ve talked to you before I said anything to David, but .
. . the way you kissed me earlier, and .
. . just . . .” He couldn’t get his thoughts in order.
Between their past and their present and the way Sandro had clung to his hand on the way to Tobermory as if Bennett was the only thing keeping him afloat .
. . it was all jumbled together in his head.
Raking his hands back through his hair, he growled, “I’m compromised, okay?
This—” He waved between them again. “Compromises me. There are ethics to consider, and—”
“Oh, shut up.”
Bennett was startled enough by Sandro’s vehemence to shut right up.
“I know about the ethics, okay?” Hands on his hips, Sandro’s eyes blazed. “I considered them myself. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, but I keep putting it off because . . .” He swallowed, his throat clicking audibly. “Because what if David sends you away?”
What if . . . David sent him away? But. . .
Oh. Oh. Sandro wasn’t mad that Bennett had told David about them. Or he was, but not for the reason Bennett thought.
Sandro was worried David would take him off the project and he’d disappear from his life again.
Fifteen years ago repeating itself.
Relief hit, making Bennett’s vision swim. Bennett reached for him. “Baby—”
“Zanetti!” Dabbs now, tapping his watch as he stood next to his car in his driveway. “Go get your suit on and let’s go.”
“Give me one goddamn minute!” Sandro yelled back. Grabbing Bennett’s face in both hands, he kissed him hard. “We’ll finish talking about this later.”
“Yes. We’ll talk about all of it.”
Bennett needed to finally tell Sandro about his rookie season, and as if Sandro read that desperation on his face, he nodded once. “All of it,” he agreed. Then he jogged into the house.
Bennett looked over at Dabbs and Bellamy where they were leaning against Dabbs’ SUV. One of them was eyeing him with concern—Dabbs. And the other with amusement—Bellamy.
Dabbs jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You want a lift too?”
Bennett shook his head. He needed to stop by his townhouse before heading to the arena.
He had no reason to linger, but he did anyway, standing out in the cold with his hands in his coat pockets. At least it wasn’t raining here.
He was rewarded a couple of minutes later with Sandro striding out of the house in a tan suit that didn’t match the cold winter season.
The pants were a slim-fit and hugged his long legs.
The blazer hit him at crotch-level, accentuating his package.
He’d paired the outfit with brown shoes and a white shirt, no tie.
Jesus, he was gorgeous.
Sandro winked at him as he came down his walkway. “Think your mom will like this one better?”
“I like it better,” Bennett admitted.
Sandro laughed, squeezing Bennett’s wrist on his way past. “Come over after?”
“Count on it.”