“And I almost got married in Vegas last year when I met an actor while the team was there for a game.”
Bennett’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.
“I don’t remember no actor,” Deeley said. “So I’m going with that last one.”
“The dance competition is the lie.” Hughes nodded decisively. “I’ve seen him dance.”
“Rude,” Sandro said. “But fair.”
The guys were divided on their answers, but it wasn’t until Bennett said, “All of the above,” that Sandro laughed.
“Wha—All of the above?” Eli gaped at him. “What the hell, Zanetti?”
“Cheater,” CC announced. He pointed at Sandro with the creepy bear’s arm. “Mr. Wiggles says you’re a cheater.”
“Mr. Wiggles says I’m clever.”
“Mr. Wiggles says . . . wait. What’s that, Mr. Wiggles?” CC put his ear to the bear’s mouth. “Yeah, he says you’re a cheater.”
“How is this my life?” Bennett muttered to no one, but he laughed along with everyone else.
A few hours later, he and Sandro—and Eli, since he lived in the same complex—headed out. Bennett stood in Hughes’ driveway with Sandro while Eli searched inside for his left shoe, which had mysteriously gone missing. Sandro, three sheets to the wind and temptingly flushed, was singing a refrain of “ba-pa, baaaaa, ba, ba, ba, ba-pa” to a rhythm he seemed to make up on the spot while he twirled in place.
Bennett’s stomach tumbled over itself. Longing and regret pulsed within him, and he wanted nothing more than to draw Sandro to him and kiss him under the stars until neither of them could breathe.
He was beautiful, whether he was sitting in a coffee shop with Eli or gearing up for a game. But with his arms stretched out as he twirled and singing to the tune in his own head, he was the magic Bennett had been missing in his life.
“Found it!” Eli announced, bouncing outside with one shoe on and the other held aloft in victory. “Can we get McDonald’s on the way home?”
“Definitely not.” Bennett held a hand out to Sandro. “Keys.”
Sandro passed them over without argument. “Don’t puke in my car,” he said to Eli as they climbed in.
“Please.” Eli scoffed. “I’ve got an iron stomach. Hey, Bennett?”
“Yeah?” Bennett said, following the GPS to Eli’s place.
“How come you’re sober?”
In the passenger seat, Sandro angled himself to face him. “Good question.” He poked Bennett in the shoulder. “How come you’re sober?”
“Because I chugged two half glasses of beer during the obstacle course about, oh, five hours ago, and I’m really good at two truths and a lie. Besides, I don’t drink much anyway. Not since Vegas.”
Eli yawned in the back seat. “How long did you know that model for before you almost married him? Or her.”
“Him. And four days.”
Sandro rested his cheek against the back of his seat and regarded him with eyes made darker by the night. “Did you wish it was me you were almost marrying?”
“Christ, Ro.” Squeezing the steering wheel in both hands, Bennett groaned. “Don’t ask me that.”
A snore came from behind him.
Sandro looked back at Eli and dissolved into laughter.
“I’m surrounded by children,” Bennett said, mostly teasing.
That just made Sandro laugh harder.
