He removes his shirt completely and drops it on the floor, and I can’t help it: I stare at his chiseled chest and muscular arms. Bennett is a big guy, but he’s still on the leaner side, and I like that about him. He doesn’t look like one of those gross body builders. He’s just the right amount of muscled.
I slowly raise my eyes to his, and I expect to find amusement there but instead I’m shocked to see lust. I stumble a step back, breaking our eye contact.
“You should … uh … try that on,” I stutter.
He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he proceeds to undo his belt and drop his jeans. And surprise, surprise, he is wearing underwear. I knew it.
Bennett grabs the new jeans and puts them on. They fit him so much better than the ones he normally wears, and when he turns with his back to me to put the shirt on I nearly groan at how good his ass looks in them. People are going to be looking at him even more than they usually do.
Bennett buttons the shirt and tucks it into his jeans.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“You look hot,” I tell him honestly.
“I don’t look like I work at a bank?” he asks.
I laugh and shake my head. “Definitely not.”
He walks into his small attached bathroom and looks in the mirror. “Hey, I actually like this,” he calls out. “You’re good at this,” he comments, stepping back out and unbuttoning the shirt.
“Thanks.” I sort through the bags and set aside the next outfit for him to try.
This time, he wears a pair of tan-colored pants and a gray sweater. “I look like a grandpa,” he comments, suppressing a laugh.
“I like it.”
He grins. “This is what turns you on, Wentworth? Men in sweaters?”
I shrug. “No, men with style.”
“Ah—” he nods “—and I have none?”
“I don’t think what you normally wear can be considered a style.” I laugh and point to the next outfit I want him to try. It’s a navy suit with a purple shirt and a gray tie. “You need suits for interviews, right?” I ask him.
He nods. “Yeah, that’s a nice one.”
“It cost a lot,” I admit. “But I figured it was a good investment.”
He sighs and a dark look flashes over his eyes. “If I ever get to play again.”
“You will get to play again,” I tell him.
He gives me a sad look. “We’re days away from December. Matthews is getting exactly what he wants.”
“Whatever happened with the steroids thing?” I ask. He never told me anything more, and I didn’t want to ask because I hate how sad he looks when he talks about his team and asshole coach.
“Coach Harrison had me do a drug test, which of course came back negative. The league had me do one too, also negative—so, thank God Matthews wasn’t able to tamper with it. But Matthews is still keeping me benched. So that’s why I’m still here. Coach Matthews won’t let me even practice with the team, and at least Harrison lets me train with the college team.” Bennett lets out a long-winded sigh.
“Can’t the guys on your team do anything to help you?”
He sighs again. “No one goes against Matthews, ever.”
I frown as he changes into a different pair of pants. “Why is Matthews so great?”
Bennett buttons his pants and zips them, holding out his hand for me to hand him a shirt. I hand him a navy sweater. “He was a hell of a player back in the day. One of the greats. He’s someone a lot of people admire, and when he started coaching, everyone was vying to be on his team.” He shakes his head and he looks pissed. “He’s not what he seems, though. He’s a liar and a cheat.”
“You admired him? Before? Didn’t you?” I question.