Cotton snorted a laugh. “Hey, you asked.”
“Fine, fine. What were you going to say about expectations?”
“Set them.”
They made a right at the end of the hallway, aiming for the player’s parking garage. When a whole thirty seconds went by with no further explanation from Cotton and only the sound of their footsteps echoing off the walls, Sandro said, “Set them? That’s it?”
“You don’t need a notebook for that, do you?”
Laughing, Sandro shoved him. “Asshole.”
“When are you meeting Eli next anyway?”
“In about twenty minutes. We’re meeting at the Church Street Marketplace. He went ahead of me because he rode his bike here this morning for some godforsaken reason.”
“And how are you getting there?” Cotton asked. “Your car’s in the shop again, isn’t it? I could swear I saw you get out of an Uber this morning.”
Sandro smiled winningly at him. “I thought you were driving me?”
Cotton rolled his eyes, but he was laughing. “Sorry, who’s the asshole?” He pushed the door open to the parking garage.
Sandro hesitated a moment, glancing back over his shoulder, but the hallway was empty.
“You waiting for someone?” Cotton asked, already striding toward his SUV.
“Uh, no.”
God. Had Sandro paused in case he caught a last glimpse of Bennett for the day?
Ugh.
The Church Street Marketplace was busy with nine-to-fivers grabbing a late lunch or early afternoon coffee. Cotton had dropped him off along Main Street since the marketplace was pedestrians-only, and Sandro had scrambled out at a red light. It was cold, so why Eli was biking in November was anybody’s guess.
Probably because he still had good knees.
They’d agreed to meet at Black Cap Coffee & Bakery to grab a drink before they walked around—because although it was cold, it was sunny. Plus, walking as they talked might make this whole mentorship thing feel less awkward. Or less formal at the very least.
“Can I order for you?” Eli asked as they stood in the short line.
Sandro narrowed his gaze. “Like, you want to pay for my drink, or you want to order something off the menu without consulting me first?”
“The latter.” Eli bounced on his toes. “Well, the former too, but mostly I want to see if I can guess your order.”
“You can do that without actually ordering for me.”
“True, but it’s not as fun. Let’s see . . .” He perused the menu while Sandro did the same. “Maybe one of the specialty lattes? No, they’re all too sweet.” Eli sighed grandly. “You’re getting a black coffee, aren’t you?”
Amused by him, Sandro asked, “Why do you make that sound like a bad thing?”
“It’s just so . . . blah.”
“Maybe I’m a blah person.”
“Ha! I doubt that.”
What did that mean?
Before Sandro had a chance to ask, they stepped up to the counter, where Eli ordered and paid for them both.
