And annoyance. Would’ve been nice if Bennett had spoken to him about how he felt before announcing their relationship to David. Sandro had been quietly angsting about what he and Bennett were doing and what it meant and whether or not Bennett wanted a future or if this was simply a while-in-Vermont fling, all the while trying to remind himself that they didn’t have to repeat the past. And all this time, Bennett had been . . . what? Secretly hoping for something more than a while-in-Vermont fling, just like Sandro?
Ugh. Roman had been right—he should’ve talked to Bennett a long time ago. At the very least defined what they were doing.
The game against Pittsburgh had been leaning in the Trailblazers’ favor since the first period, when Owen Cotton, CC, and Sandro scored within seven and a half minutes of each other. Pittsburgh responded with a couple of goals in the second, but when the Trailblazers retaliated with two more in the third, Sandro knew in his gut that his team had this in the bag.
Still, his own game was a mixed bag. He struggled to concentrate, his mind on Bennett, who was somewhere in the building, probably interviewing some of the Trailblazers’ medical, equipment, or media staff. Bennett had plans to interview fans at some point, though Sandro couldn’t remember if that was today or sometime in the near future.
And because his mind was on Bennett, his passes were sloppy and it was an effort to keep up with his teammates. He wanted time to sit with what had happened in the car. Digest it, overthink it. Overthink it some more. Instead, he’d gone from a medical emergency to a non-medical emergency to Bennett not-so-subtly staking his claim and finally, to the game. There’d been very little downtime to process any of it, and by the time the game ended, he wanted to fall into bed with Bennett.
They still needed to talk, but his brain was fried. In fact, it was so fried that he tried putting his left dress shoe on the right foot after his post-game shower. A few stalls to his right, Eli seemed to be having just as much trouble getting dressed. He eyed a green tie with candy canes on it critically, then a red tie with floating Santa heads and Christmas trees.
“Getting into the holiday spirit?” Sandro asked.
Eli whipped toward him. “Which one? Green or red?”
“For the short walk from the exit to your car and the car to your apartment? I don’t think it matters, Eli.”
“Nolan invited me out for drinks. To catch up.”
“He’s still in town?” Sandro said, finally getting the correct shoes on the correct feet. “Well, wherever you’re going, you’ll be the best-dressed person there regardless of what your tie looks like.”
Wearing a slim-fitting royal blue suit, Eli looked handsome in a little-brother-attending-prom kind of way.
“Wait,” Sandro said, a thought occurring to him. “You’re not riding your bike there, are you?”
“Nah. I retired the bike until the spring since the weather’s been for shit. I’ve got my car, even though I hate driving it.”
“Why?”
“Well, it’s a billionty-seventy years old, for starters. Like you.”
“Fuck you, Eli,” Sandro said, laughing.
“It’s rusted, the heat doesn’t work, the AC doesn’t work, the sunroof opens but doesn’t close, and it has a weird smell. So?” Eli waggled the ties at Sandro. “Green or red?”
“Red,” Bellamy Jordan said, heading past them toward the exit. “It’ll pop more against your suit.”
Eli held both ties up to his chest and turned to Sandro like this decision would haunt him if he didn’t make the right one.
God, Eli wasn’t still crushing on Nolan, was he?
“Red?” Eli asked.
He was definitely crushing on Nolan.
Sighing, Sandro nodded. “Red. And hey, Eli?” He didn’t know what he wanted to say here. Try not to get your heart broken? Be careful? Don’t get your hopes up?
“Yeah?” Eli prompted. He looped the tie around his neck.
“Just . . . have fun,” Sandro landed on.
“Thanks. We’re just going to a sports bar. Do you think I should order food?”
Oh, Jesus Christ.
Rising tiredly, Sandro shrugged into his wool coat. “I don’t know, Eli. Are you hungry?”
“I could eat.”
