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?—”
