Neon & Nets (Venom Next Gen #1)

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Sofia

“So.” Emily lowers her sunglasses to look at me over the rims. “Have you decided on the topic of your thesis yet?”

I grimace and shake my head, taking a sip of my wine cooler so that I won’t have to say anything.

“I’m shocked. And here I thought the straight-A student would have her topic already picked out.”

I can take this kind of ribbing from Emily, but only because she’s exactly as much of a nerd as I am. We were assigned to the same dorm room in our freshman year of undergrad, and we’ve stuck together ever since. I put up with her obnoxious long-term boyfriend—who she broke up with during junior year, thank God—and she’s at least fifty percent of the reason I survived getting my tonsils removed senior year. When I came back to Vegas to get my master’s in sociology, she applied to the same program.

But in order to graduate, we need to complete our thesis. And even after all the reading and writing I’ve done in the field, I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t know where to start. One little paper, and then it’s all over.

Which is the whole problem. Every time I think about graduating, I lock up. Then I think about my future, and suddenly, I’m paralyzed by the giant swathe of question marks that is my post-secondary education life.

“What about you?” I ask. “Maybe if you tell me what you’re working on, I’ll be inspired. ”

“Are you asking to cheat off my test?” Emily teases. She shakes her head in mock disapproval and lets her glasses slide down.

“Yup, that sounds like me.” I settle back in my Adirondack and close my eyes.

My parents’ backyard is straight out of a luxury magazine—complete with sprawling patios, lush palm trees, and a shimmering infinity pool that looks more like a high-end resort than someone’s home. The space is massive, with sleek, modern furniture, fire pits, and a waterfall cascading into the pool’s deep end. Beyond that, the pool house, where I live, stands like a private villa—its own little slice of paradise tucked behind the main house. It’s the kind of place that makes you feel like every day could be a vacation.

“Too bad, because I have literally no idea what I’m doing either.” I hear the creak of Emily’s chair as she, too, gets comfortable. “I’m going to spend the weekend in the library and see if I can find some inspiration. I’m torn between wanting to do a more contemporary take on an old topic—”

“Challenge the patriarchy,” I supply without opening my eyes.

“Exactly, exactly. Or I could tackle a whole new topic from scratch. Something contemporary. Like…”

“The way tech impacts social interactions?” I suggest. “It used to be cell phones; now it’s smartwatches.”

“Yeah, except that’s overdone. It would be fun to pick something niche, but if it’s too niche, it’ll be a pain to research. Plus, I’d like it to relate to marketing in some way.”

Emily, who is generally a pretty cool person, is obsessed with marketing. It is not what I’d call a particularly scintillating area of interest. After being friends with her for so many years, I know way more about marketing than I wish I did .

In an effort to be helpful, I suggest, “Maybe you could use Serenity Shores as a starting point.”

“Maybe,” Emily muses. “It is pretty cool. Do you want to go exploring with me sometime?”

“Sure.” A couple of my parents’ friends have already moved there. My father is reluctant to let go of this huge house, but a few of his old teammates have already moved to the upscale mixed-use community built around Serenity Lake. It’s super futuristic and sustainable, with all kinds of new holo-tech that everyone is obsessed with, but that’s hard to integrate into existing buildings. It’s all over the place in Serenity Shores, while peasants like us are mostly limited to portable holo-accessories.

“You know I’d love any excuse to go back to that restaurant Cooper Harrison owns,” Emily says. “His cannolis are to die for.”

Her watch chimes. They’ve gotten so advanced that hardly anyone carries cell phones anymore. She removes her sunglasses and turns her hand over, bringing a tiny holoscreen to life in her palm. I crane my neck to see who the message is from.

“Ugh, is that Nathan?” I wrinkle my nose.

“What’s wrong with Nathan?” Emily asks. “He’s sweet.”

“He’s boring,” I complain. The two of them met at a party about a month ago and have been messaging off and on. “His nose is weird. He’s your typical medium-ugly, non-descript underachiever. You’re too good for him.”

“Seriously? A guy breaks his nose one time, and suddenly he’s damaged goods?” Emily scowls at me. “Nathan is smart, he’s funny, he’s a great cook, he works in data analytics… what’s not to like? Plus, he does this thing with his tongue—”

I hold up a hand. “Spare me the details, I beg you. ”

“You’re so prissy. Is that why you didn’t go on a second date with…” She trails off while frowning at the cloudless blue sky.

In Emily’s defense, I go on a lot of first dates. And I rarely want seconds.

“Was the last one named Andy?” she asks.

“The last one was Leon. Andy was the one before that.”

“Did they both have weird noses?” Emily asks.

I’m hit with a full-body shiver. “No. Andy wore a Lakers t-shirt. Leon really needed to moisturize. He was totally dehydrated.”

Emily lowers her hand, and the holo-screen in her palm flickers into rest mode. “You decided you didn’t like a guy because he wore a Lakers t-shirt?”

“The team wasn’t the point. It’s that he wore a ratty old sports shirt on a first date. No effort whatsoever. I did my makeup, my hair, my self-tan routine, and I waxed.”

“Was that all he did?” Emily cocks her head to one side. “Did he try to stick you with the bill? Or not wear deodorant? Or stare at the server’s ass?”

“No,” I admit, albeit somewhat begrudgingly. “He was… fine. But his shirt gave me the ick. Or not so much the shirt as what the shirt represented. The best judge of future behavior is past behavior. A man’s effort worsens over time.”

Emily stares at me like I’m an alien who is doing a really, really terrible job of pretending that I’m an Earthling. After a long minute, she shakes her head and lifts her palm again. “If that’s what works for you, I guess. Here, take a selfie with me.”

“Is this for Nathan?” I ask, clutching my half-empty wine cooler.

“Does it matter?” She leans closer to me and smiles up at her open palm. After a few seconds, a miniature 3D version of us materializes in her palm already edited and heavily filtered .

Photos are bad enough, but these holoscans make me feel even weirder about my appearance. Emily is skinny and bottle-blonde, with perky boobs and a thigh gap. I’m…

Not.

I’m stewing in my discomfort even as the back door opens and Dad comes rushing out.

“Sofia, bambina , have you heard the news?” Dad grabs the back of my chair and starts shaking it. His excitement is always like this: infectious, extreme, and a little overwhelming. But his love is exactly the same, so I’m willing to put up with a lot for that special feeling.

“Dad, knock it off!” I clutch my drink to my chest, where the cool bottle is a tiny relief against my too-warm skin. “What’s the big deal?”

Another shake before he squeezes his fingers into fists. “Knight is coming home to Vegas! Che figata !”

Emily, who has been spared the brunt of my father’s flailing, looks up. “What does that mean? Is there gonna be another Game of Thrones reboot?”

“No, no, it means that Cash Denaro’s boy is coming home!” Dad does a little victory dance, which causes his sandals to flap against the deck. The sound is reminiscent of clogging but infinitely more cringe-inducing. “Tomorrow, we are having a big welcome-home party. Layla has it all planned. Everyone is going to be there!”

“Oh.” I force a smile. “Cool.”

“I haven’t been invited,” Emily points out.

“You are not family,” Dad rejoins. “Besides, do not you have a date planned? With some boy that is highly unworthy of you?” He’s teasing Emily, but he’s looking at me because my love life is his business, obviously.

Emily squeezes her hand shut as if Dad has x-ray vision that will allow him to see her messages with Nathan if she gets careless. “So what if I do?”

Dad braces his hands on his hips and looks back and forth between us. “I have an idea for your thesaurus, bambina .”

“Thesis. And have you been spying on us?” I’m uncomfortable with how high my voice climbs, like I’m still a little kid.

He cocks his head to one side. “It is my right to know what goes on under my roof.”

I gesture to the sky, where there is no roof in evidence.

“Semantics,” he says. “I still pay property taxes on the outdoor space. Now, here is your perfect topic: why are some women too picky”—he hits me with a knowing glance before swiveling his head to look at Emily—“and others are not picky enough?”

Emily opens her mouth, possibly to tell my father how weird it is that he feels entitled to comment on her love life, but I get there first. “Why does it matter if I don’t date?”

“Because I want nipoti !” he exclaims. “I have dreamt of that day since I first held you in the warm circle of my arms.”

“So? I have two brothers. Talk to them.”

Dad’s brow furrows. “Arturo is still in high school. And Enzo has to focus on college.”

“And I have to focus on finishing my master’s,” I clap back. “Don’t you want your only daughter to have an education?”

From within the house, I hear my mother’s voice. “Marco? Is Sofia out there?”

“Your mother and I are making dinner,” Dad tells me. “And Arturo is already setting the table, so it is your turn to help. Emily, goodbye.”

Emily and I both watch my dad retreat to the house, his sandals slapping the concrete with every step .

“You know,” Emily muses, “your dad is hot, but sometimes he gives me the ick.”

I shudder as I get to my feet. “Stick with the ick. My father is not hot.”

Emily gets to her feet and straightens her shorts. “Every man with an accent is hot. And every man who wears socks with slides… ick. He’s hard to categorize.”

I pretend to gag. In theory, I can recognize that my mom is hot and was even hotter back in the day. She even posed for a couple of nude photoshoots. It messes with my head, but I get it—she’s curvy and confident and doesn’t give insults the time of day.

Dad, though? He’s such a… dad. And yes, he, too, has posed for tasteful nudes, featuring his penis piercing, but no. Just, no. I would rather go on fifty dates with boring-ass Nathan than try to wrap my head around the fact that people have ever found my dad attractive. Or sexy with his damn dick jewelry. Much less that they still do.

“Hey, what’s the deal with this Knight guy?” Emily asks as I lead her around the house to her self-driving convertible. “Why’s he so important all of a sudden? I saw your face when your dad mentioned him.”

“Oh, he’s just some kid I went to school with,” I answer with a vague wave across the street.

Emily hikes her tote up higher on her shoulder. “But your dad implied that he’s family.”

“I mean, his dad is my godfather. And my dad is his godfather.” I shrug. “They’re friends. We were born around the same time, so we became friends. Don’t read anything into it.”

“The plot thickens.” Emily sinks into the front seat of her car. “I look forward to hearing all the sordid details. Message me? ”

I nod. My watch is a few models old, but it’s not like I have a host of people waiting with bated breath for my next message. Emily can put up with my troglodyte ways.

Seeing Knight again isn’t a big deal. I may have liked him back in high school, but he’s had six years to become another meathead jock. Intolerable just like Viktor. A hockey-fueled Ken doll. I’ve heard things about him hooking up with everything that moves. Not that I was listening that intently or anything.

But who am I kidding? The prospect of seeing him again feels like ripping open a wound I’ve spent years pretending didn’t exist. Back in high school, Knight wasn’t just another guy—he was the guy, the one who saw me when I felt invisible, the one who made me laugh when I wanted to cry. The one I even thought I might end up with in the end. But that was a lifetime ago, and he’s had plenty of time to forget all about me. Maybe I’m the one who’s been fooling herself into thinking I’ve moved on, that I don’t care. But the truth is, I’m scared. Scared that if I let myself care again, he’ll just turn around and prove that all he ever was... is another guy who treats women like shit just because he can.

NHL players date women who look like models. Women who make them proud when they’re on their arms. The antithesis of me.

It doesn’t matter what Emily thinks or even what Dad thinks. There’s nothing between Knight Hale and me. Whatever it was back in the day was a small dose of reality wrapped up with a bigger dose of fantasy. He’s just another guy who’s guaranteed to disappoint me if I give him the chance.

Which is exactly why I never will.