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Trent smiles. “Oh yes. Second row, left side is ideal. Why do you think you called on me first so often?”
Ted swallows. He thinks of seeing Trent in that first press conference, the streak of silver in his hair, the smile that seemed to always be tugging on one side of his mouth. He thinks about the way it always felt like he was starting something when he called on Trent, like they were entering their own little field of play, a game all their own.
“Gotta be honest, Trent. I don’t think it was the chair.”
Or: Ted wants to know what Trent got up to in Amsterdam, but all the people flirting with Trent keep getting in the way of his questions...
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