Of course, they were still waiting to hear from David about whether their relationship would jeopardize Bennett’s place here, so things could go tits up at any moment. It hadn’t seemed like David had a problem with it, and it had been almost an entire day since that phone call, but although Bennett hadn’t said as much, Sandro knew he was quietly worried about David’s reaction since David hadn’t mentioned it one way or the other. Still, Sandro found the possibility of Bennett getting fired wasn’t as scary as it had been. He’d meant what he’d said—they weren’t kids anymore. Whatever the world threw at them, they’d handle it together.
“B,” he muttered quietly so his voice didn’t carry to Eli. “If you get fired . . .” He paused there, unsure what exactly he wanted to ask. By outing their relationship to his producer, Bennett had chosen him over his job.
If David fired him, would Bennett regret it?
Bennett squeezed his hand. “If I get fired, I get fired. Wouldn’t be the first time. It would suck, obviously. I believe in this project, but not only that—it was my idea. But at the end of the day, a job is temporary. You—” He looked away from the road and pierced Sandro with his blue-eyed gaze. “—are not.”
Fireworks crackled to life in Sandro’s chest. Christ, there was a lot to unpack there, not the least of which was that Bennett had quietly reaffirmed his commitment to him. Again.
Also . . . “You’ve been fired before?”
Bennett just smiled. “Hollywood is fickle,” was all he said.
“Speak up,” Eli grumbled from the back. “I can’t hear you.”
“Eavesdropper,” Sandro teased.
“It’s not eavesdropping if I’m right here.”
They arrived at the arena a few minutes later. They were early for practice, but Sandro wanted to do a light workout first, and he figured Eli could use one to sweat the rest of the alcohol out of him.
Plus, Sandro wanted to talk to Roman.
Near the locker room, they bumped into CC and Hughes in the hallway.
“Hey, guys,” Sandro said. “Have you seen Rom?—”
“Mr. Wiggles!” CC launched himself at Eli, who two-stepped out of reach with a squeak and hid behind Sandro.
“He’s mine now.”
“What?” Sandro scowled at his younger teammate. “No, he isn’t.”
“Um, excuse you.” CC jabbed a finger in their direction. “He’s not yours either, Zanetti. Did either of you win him fair and square? No. Ergo, Mr. Wiggles is mine. Gimme.”
Bennett, camera bag gripped in one hand, frowned at all of them. “Seriously, what is it with this bear?”
“I’ll give you a hundred bucks for him,” Hughes said calmly, peering at Eli between Sandro’s and Bennett’s bodies.
Eli pursed his lips. Nodded once. Held the bear out toward Hughes. “Done.”
Sandro’s jaw dropped. “Wha—Eli! A hundred bucks? You’re a cheap date.”
“What? I don’t have your salary. A hundred bucks goes a long way.”
Hughes handed Mr. Wiggles to CC. Beaming, CC kissed his cheek—Hughes’ cheek, that was, not the bear’s. “You’re the best.” He skipped past them, calling, “Better luck at the next Hughes Thanksgiving, Zanetti,” over his shoulder.
Sandro tipped his head in the direction CC had gone. “That a thing now?”
Hughes’ shrug was very casual, but his smile was very smug. “We’re figuring it out.” He edged past them in the direction CC had gone.
“Hey, wait,” Eli said. “Where’s my money?”
“My wallet’s in my bag in the locker room. Grab a few bills.”
Sandro watched Eli disappear into the locker room, then called, “You know you just got played by a child, right?” to Hughes’ retreating back.
“Worth it!”
