Page 54
At one-fifteen in the morning, Bennett, utterly exhausted, punched in the new security code to his apartment and stepped into the dark interior. He was relieved to find it still and undisturbed, exactly as he’d left it.
But he knew.
The instant he closed the door Bennett knew he wasn’t alone. It wasn’t even a smell or a sound—it was a feeling. The air in the room was different, like the oxygen molecules were heavier, charged, the space transformed by the person inside it, his presence an electric jolt to the particles floating around him. Undeniable. Unavoidable.
A sizzle slid down Bennett’s spine as he set his bag on the floor. “You can turn on the light. I know you’re here.”
The lamp clicked on, a soft yellow circle appearing in the living room. Nico was in his usual chair—and when had Bennett started thinking of it as Nico’s chair?—with his legs crossed and a drink in his hand. He looked perfectly at ease, as if he belonged there, and Bennett didn’t want to think about how much he liked seeing Nico here, how much he liked having someone waiting for him when he returned from a road trip. It was . . . nice. Too nice.
I’m so fucked. Exhaling, he dropped onto the couch and let the seconds stretch.
“Allora, how was your trip?” Nico finally asked, bringing the crystal to his mouth for a drink.
“Fine. We won.”
“Two goals and an assist. Congratulations.”
“Did you watch?”
“I caught enough. Would you like something to eat or something to drink?”
The question caught Bennett by surprise. Shouldn’t he be the one offering? This was his place, after all. “Uh, no. I’m okay.”
Nico leaned forward and set the crystal tumbler on the coffee table, then unfolded from the chair gracefully. “Stubborn man.”
Dazed and worn out, Bennett watched as Nico strode to the kitchen. No suit tonight. Instead, he wore a different pair of jeans and another soft sweater that hugged his powerful shoulders, paired with expensive-looking accessories—shoes, watch, belt. All very European, which was to say effortlessly stylish and sexy in a way that North American men could never pull off. Another spark of heat went through Bennett and he was too tired to fight it. Maybe this wasn’t such a terrible idea. An orgasm followed by sleep sounded like heaven right about now.
When Nico returned, he was carrying a glass of water, which he presented to Bennett. “Drink.”
Bennett had finished half the glass by the time Nico resettled in his chair. When the other man lifted an eyebrow at this, Bennett shrugged. “Fine, I was thirsty.”
“I do not know why you fight me, bello. I keep telling you it will be easier, if you don’t.”
“Well, I’m too tired to fight you tonight.”
Nico’s expression descended into an unhappy frown. “Did you not sleep well last night in the hotel?”
No, Bennett hadn’t. He’d stayed up late, his mind whirling. “I didn’t get much sleep.”
“Come.” Nico threw back the rest of his drink and stood up once more. “Andiamo. We are putting you to bed.”
“We aren’t fucking.” There. He’d said it. Now everyone knew.
“Up.” Nico gestured with his fingers. “Stop saying things you don’t mean.”
Bennett slowly pushed off the very comfortable sofa, then winced as his bad knee took too much weight. He adjusted his balance, as he always did, and took a step toward the bedroom.
Nico was close now, his mouth set in a firm, straight line as he said a string of Italian words followed by, “What is this? Are you hurt?”
“Bad knee. Well, knees, plural.”
“Is this from tonight?”
“No. I’ve had surgeries on both of them, but the left one has been giving me trouble all season.” A tiny ligament strain in pre-season that never had time to properly heal. It wasn’t a big deal. Almost every player was fighting at least one injury, usually several, at this time of year. He was managing it. Along with everything else.
Nico’s concern didn’t appear to diminish. “Are you supposed to ice it?”
“I already did. There’s nothing more to be done for it tonight except rest.”
