Something like irritation kindled in Bennett’s chest as he shut down and packed away his cameras. Sandro was still returning home at every opportunity for family functions? To a degree, Bennett understood—he never missed visiting his mom on her birthday. But there was a fine line between wanting to be there for family and stretching oneself too thin. The drive hadn’t been bad when they’d been at U-M, only six hours. But from here? It was double that.
Muttering to himself about idiot hockey players who did too much, Bennett hefted his camera bags to stash them back in Coach Madolora’s office downstairs and strode out behind Sandro and Roman, tempted to snap at Sandro to take it easy—he had the rest of the season to get through, and his family would understand if he didn’t attend his brother’s birthday dinner—but Roman was telling Sandro that his in-laws had taken his kids to an indoor playground for a few hours this afternoon, and he was looking forward to them being tired enough to go to bed at a decent hour because, dear god, they had enough energy for five people.
“Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow for our morning run. Bennett.” Roman nodded at him. “Have a good night.”
“You too.”
Sandro waved goodbye to a departing Roman and turned on Bennett. “What are you doing right now? Want to grab an early dinner? I’m starved.”
Every ounce of irritation fled, replaced by a powerful hope that had Bennett almost stumbling back a step. “You’ll have to drive. I walked here this morning.”
“Let’s go.”
chapter nine
“Do you always go running with Roman on Saturday mornings?” Bennett asked once they were seated at an upscale bistro in the Church Street Marketplace. He was dying to get to know this version of Sandro Zanetti, and this was the first time Sandro had given him the opportunity to do so.
“Roman and Kas,” Sandro said, gaze on his menu. “And yes. Saturdays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, assuming I’m not on the road with the team. Do you still run?”
“Almost every day. At the gym here, though. You know how I feel about winter.”
Grinning, Sandro sat back in his chair. “That hasn’t changed in fifteen years?”
“I’ve been living in LA for most of those, so . . . no.”
“Do you still have that blanket with sleeves?”
“It’s called a Slanket, as you very well know.”
“Yeah, I’m never calling it that.”
“And no.” Bennett chuckled. “I forgot it at my mom’s when I moved to LA, and she refused to give it back. Said it’d do her more good in Washington than it would me in California.”
“She’s not wrong,” Sandro said with a laugh. “How is your mom?”
He asked it with so much love in his voice that it sent Bennett backward in time to . . . their junior year of college? Senior? They’d been visiting his mom for a quick weekend trip, and when he’d returned from the store where he’d been sent to buy a few missing ingredients for dinner, he’d found his mom and his boyfriend dancing to “Toxic” by Britney Spears in the kitchen. The two of them had gotten along as though they’d been platonic soulmates in another life.
“She’s good,” he said. “She gave me the cold shoulder for a week after I broke up with you.”
He didn’t mean to say it. Didn’t mean to bring up a past they hadn’t talked about yet. But before he could mentally kick his own ass, Sandro threw his head back and laughed, drawing the gazes of the patrons at a nearby table.
Drawing Bennett’s gaze too.
Oh, who was he kidding? All Sandro had to do was breathe near him to draw his gaze.
“I knew she liked me best,” Sandro said.
“Here you go, guys.” Their server placed a couple of beers on the table. “Ready to order or do you still need a minute?”
“I need a minute,” Bennett said.
Sandro pointed at an item on the menu. “Want to share this cheese platter?”
“Yeah.” Bennett snapped closed the menu he hadn’t even looked at. “Extra crackers?”
“Obviously.”
The server left with a promise to return in a few minutes with their cheese board.
