Sick of his own thoughts, he shot off the barstool and up the stairs. “Did you find it?”
“Yeah,” came Bennett’s voice from his left.
Sandro followed it to the bedroom at the front of the house. A bedroom that looked lived in, unlike the rest of the place. A suitcase tucked into a corner of the room, a pile of clean laundry on the dresser next to a powered-down laptop, a pair of rolled-up socks lying next to the nightstand, a tablet on the nightstand, and about seven thousand folders and documents and photos on the desk.
“Here.” Bennett thrust a piece of clothing at him.
The hoodie was one of the Trailblazers’ newer designs, white with the logo in dark green. Sandro didn’t care about that, though. He snatched the hoodie from Bennett, turned it around to see whose name was on the back, and growled.
Showing Bennett the back, he said, “Dabbs? Really?”
“Like I said,” Bennett said with a laugh, “your organization gave it to me.”
Balling it up, Sandro tossed it out the door. “I’ll get you a new one.”
“Will you?” Blue eyes alight with laughter, Bennett hooked an arm around his waist and drew him closer. “Will it have your name on the back?”
“Obviously,” Sandro barked. He shoved a laughing Bennett onto the bed, then dropped down onto him.
No, Sandro’s heart and body definitely hadn’t gotten the memo.
chapter eleven
The next morning, Sandro watched Bennett sleep like a creeper. It was dark in the bedroom—the sun wouldn’t begin to rise for another hour—but Sandro’s eyes had adjusted and he could make out the curve of Bennett’s cheek, the slash of his nose, and his slightly parted lips as he slept on his stomach. His hair was a wild tangle around his head, spread across the pillow.
Sandro kissed his bare shoulder. His body and his heart were still aligned—his body wanted to blanket Bennett’s with his own, and his heart wanted more cheese platter dinners and more of Bennett putzing around the kitchen making him bagels, and more laughing together. But his head had entered the game, and it was questioning every decision he’d made in the past twelve hours.
Not in a million years would he have expected to land in bed with Bennett again. He’d thought the part of his life that included Bennett Jackson was over and done with. He’d gotten over Bennett and moved past their breakup, but what he hadn’t realized was that he wasn’t over what they’d had. He’d been over the man but not their relationship.
Had he, too, compared every relationship to his and Bennett’s? If he had, it had been subconsciously as he’d searched for—and never found—a partner who made him feel like Bennett had.
He didn’t know what to make of Bennett’s admission that he’d compared his relationships to theirs. That he regretted ending things. Did that mean Bennett hadn’t fallen out of love with him? If that wasn’t why he’d broken up with him, then why had he?
Did the reason even matter anymore?
His bruised heart said yes.
Bennett let out a little snore that made Sandro’s lips twitch, but his smile faded fast. Fucking hell, he shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t have fallen into bed with Bennett. Shouldn’t have gotten out of the car and followed him to the door. Shouldn’t have asked him to dinner.
Was this a one-time thing? Would they continue to hook up while Bennett was here? Should they continue to hook up? What would happen when Bennett left? Was this even allowed? A filmmaker getting involved with one of his subjects was just stepping all over filmmaking ethics, wasn’t it? What if there was something in Bennett’s contract preventing him from getting involved with the players? That seemed a little far-fetched, but there was probably something about conflicts of interest.
And this was unquestionably a conflict of interest.
“Fuck,” Sandro muttered, scrubbing both hands over his face.
Bennett made a snuffling sound. Sandro froze, but Bennett didn’t wake.
Quietly, he got out of bed, found his underwear half hiding under the nightstand, and slipped them on. Downstairs, he collected the rest of his clothes in the dark and dressed in a hurry, then paused at the front door.
Damn it. He couldn’t leave the door unlocked behind him. Could he sneak out the back?
Nope, it had the same kind of deadbolt lock as the front door.
Crossing back to it, he grabbed Bennett’s rental car keys off the counter and tested the one extra key on the door lock.
Success.
Stepping outside, he locked the door, tucked the keys under the mat, and texted Bennett.
