Neon & Nets (Venom Next Gen #1)

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Sofia

I’m swiping through selections on my holoscreen when I hear Viktor’s voice.

“On your left!” he booms.

I glance up to see if he’s on his electric bike—and, if so, why he’s not on the damn road—but he’s only jogging. I roll my eyes and turn back to my screen, deliberately sticking to the middle of the sidewalk. A flash of movement in the corner of my eye confirms that Viktor’s about to get taken down a peg.

He steps aside to run around me, taking a shortcut through the grass. “Geeze, Sofia, watch where you’re go—aurgh!” Viktor’s lecture is cut short by a hiss and a yelp. Cool water mists against my back and shoulder. I lift my head again and give Uncle Cash a thumbs up.

From his porch, Uncle Cash answers me with a nod.

Viktor hops back off the lawn, arms spread wide, as he studies the soaking wet spot right in the middle of his chest. He glowers at me, but he knows better than to yell at me here, especially when he’s the one who broke the sacred rule: Thou Shalt Stay Off the Lawn.

A few houses down, Noah calls, “Your aim is getting better, Hale!”

“Thanks for noticing,” Cash replies. He waves me closer and gets to his feet for a hug. “Hey there, kiddo. How’s it going?”

“I’m good.” I return his hug. Since most of the people who live on this street are like family, I’m used to getting hugs. When I was younger, it bugged the crap out of me, but when I went away to school, I missed it. Emily says that old dudes hugging younger women is a red flag, and I’d agree that, in most cases, it’s an ick factor. On the other hand, my dad’s Italian. I’m lucky that the rest of my parents’ friends don’t try to kiss me on the cheek. The one time I went to Italy with my parents, I met some of Toni Harrison’s extended family. A bunch of them tried to kiss me on the mouth.

All this to say: I like Uncle Cash’s hugs. He’s not creepy. He loves me like his own daughter. Ick is in the eye of the beholder.

I make a mental note to use that line in my thesis.

Viktor is holding his arms out, too, although I think it’s because of the water dripping from his shirt rather than his anticipation of a hug. Uncle Cash turns to him without a smile. “You’re here, too,” he says. “Why is that?”

Viktor wrings out his shirt. “I was invited?”

Uncle Cash crosses his arms. “Question or answer?”

Viktor shakes out his shirt. “Question? I mean, answer! Sorry, Cash, Knova invited me for movie night.”

Cash keeps glaring.

“Sofia will be there too.” Viktor flashes the same grin I’ve seen in all his promo photos online. Journalists have variously described it as “winning,” “charming,” “fun-loving,” and, after a particularly contentious game in college, “shit-eating.” I’m partial to that last one. Cash must lean that way, too, because whatever Viktor’s selling, Cash isn’t buying it.

When you really think about it, Viktor is nothing like Noah. Or Molly. Or Viv. He’s the anti-Abbott. If my mom hadn’t verified she saw Molly pregnant with him, I would swear he was adopted. Although, he does kind of resemble Molly with his hair and eye color .

Cash reaches back to open the door and calls, “Knight! Sofia’s here!” According to the neighborhood legend, Uncle Cash does this whole three-word schtick when he’s angry, but half the time, I think he does it just to mess with us. It adds to his grumpy old man mystique, even though he’s not actually that much older than my dad.

Viktor crabwalks around him and darts through the living room toward the door. I take my time, stopping in the living room to greet Aunt Kingsley. She’s basically my cottagecore aunt and has recently taken up cross-stitch. As a result, there are now dozens of framed cross-stitches around the house, mostly with floral decals and little sayings like Be Nice or Fuck Off . She’s writing in her notebook, which means there’s a fifty-fifty chance she’s designing another aggressively positive project or penning a song for her new album.

“Thanks for letting us use the theater tonight,” I tell her.

She closes her notebook, keeping her thumb on the page to hold her spot. “No problem. Just promise me one thing: if Knova gets too rowdy, give us a shout?”

“I won’t let her send Viktor to the hospital… again.” Admittedly, it’s been years since that happened, and it was mostly Viktor’s fault. He should have known that his Captain America costume wouldn’t grant him the gift of flight. An impartial witness might suggest that I could have intervened before he jumped off the pool house roof. What can I say? We were nine.

Aunt Kingsley was not amused at the time, but she’s able to laugh about it now. “Enjoy the movie.”

“Should we order something for you?”

“You’re a sweetheart, but no, thank you. We have plans later this evening.”

I wave goodbye and retreat to the media room. Knova, predictably, has Viktor pinned on the couch, face-down, while she sits on his back.

“Seriously?” I ask Knight. “We got here five minutes ago, and she’s already torturing him?”

“This isn’t torture,” Knova says. Viktor flails beneath her, trying to extricate himself, to no avail. “I’m happy to let him go as soon as he admits that I’ve won.”

“Never surrender!” Viktor shouts into the cushions. “Dead first! I will be sent home with my shield, or on it!”

Knight just shrugs. We’ve long since given up on trying to break up their fights. If they want to act like fifth graders for the foreseeable future, that’s up to them.

Calling the Hale’s rec room a ‘room’ is a gross understatement. The space has evolved over the years from a finished rec room to a true home theater, including foam panels on the walls to improve the sound quality without subjecting the rest of the house to whatever film we’ve got on. Knova likes to turn the sound up to max. There are four sofas, with enough seating for eight or for everyone to lie down for the film—take your pick—and a YourFood vending machine.

In addition to the usual snacks, the vending machines have a menu set by the company that rotates every day, kind of like a school cafeteria. It’s not the best food in the city by any means, but some of the options are really good. Mom and Dad refuse to get one on the grounds that they’re too expensive, don’t allow us to pick our own ingredients, and cut into family time that could be spent cooking together. They’re new enough that I didn’t grow up with them, so I don’t have strong feelings on the subject, but Arturo has been bugging them about it ever since I moved back after college.

“Too bad Viktor’s determined to spend his evening getting smothered in couch cushions,” I say. “I’m starving. Do you mind if I…?”

Knight pops to his feet. “Of course. Need me to show you how it works?”

Even though I’ve used it before, I nod. “Yes, please.”

Viktor makes another escape attempt at the mention of food and succeeds in flipping Knova off the couch. She squawks in dismay.

The YourFood menu of the day has a decidedly TexMex theme. I start my order with a glass of pineapple Agua fresca but struggle to decide on my meal option.

“Stuck between the nachos and a burrito, huh?” Knight asks.

I wag my head back and forth. “It’s so hard.” I do a mental coin toss and order myself a burrito, scanning the various options. The YourFood menu designers are good about offering vegan and celiac-friendly options, but I scan past the alerts for allergens in search of the no-cilantro button. That shit tastes like soap.

A minute or so after ordering, the dispenser opens to reveal my meal. I still don’t understand how this whole system works… like, does the food teleport to me or what? Arturo tried to explain it one time and he totally lost me when he started talking about synthesizer charge packs. Either way, my burrito smells amazing. I take my meal back to the sofa where Knight was sitting earlier.

I’m taking my first sip of Agua fresca when Knight plops down next to me and sets a plate of nachos on the table. “Want to share?” he asks.

I stare at the nachos; they look incredible, with the perfect ratio of cheese to chip. “Are you sure? Did you even want nachos? Are you getting what you want?”

His smile lights up his whole face. “Yes, Sofia. I’m definitely getting what I want. ”

“Do you want half my burrito?” I offer.

“Sure.” He offers me a knife, and I carefully divide my burrito in half. We leave the nachos on the shared plate. Knight went for the works with beans, salsa, guac, sour cream, and shredded chicken. The only thing he skipped?

Cilantro.

My heart skips a beat. He was paying attention.

“I really like your necklace.” Knight nods to my chest. My blouse is cut low enough that the ammonite pendant is visible, hanging just between my breasts.

“Thanks. I made it.” Of course, it’s possible that he’s just complimenting it as an excuse to look at my boobs, but it’s one of my favorite pieces.

“Really?” His eyes widen. “It’s so unique. I didn’t know you made jewelry.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I tease.

Viktor and Knova have finally stopped fighting long enough to retrieve their food. Knova takes up the whole sofa in the front row while Viktor sulks behind her. Seriously, those two are impossible. They should just bang it out and get it over with.

Knova cues up the movie. As promised, it’s an alien invasion thriller. Ten minutes in, I can already see how it’s going to end. The special effects are cool, I guess, and the fight scenes are kinda epic, but it’s not really my thing. I like world-building and character development. The director of this particular film only seems to care about blowing things up.

At first, I’m pleasantly distracted by the way Knight’s fingers brush mine anytime we both reach for the nachos. When we’re finished, he leans back and lifts one arm to the back of the couch, giving me plenty of room to snuggle up against him. Which, of course, I do. I fit right into the crook of his arm .

“I never thought I’d say this,” Knight whispers, “but I miss the nuanced storytelling of the Megashrimp franchise.”

I smother a laugh by pressing both hands to my mouth. “Nuance?” I whisper back.

“More nuanced than this,” Knight insists.

My watch buzzes, and I lift my hand to check my holoscreen. A rotating check mark pops up in my cupped palm. Looks like I got a new match on the dating app I signed up for this morning. That makes six so far.

“Is that what I think it is?” Knight asks.

I lower my arm. “Maybe.”

“Sofia, did you sign up for a dating app? What happened to focusing on your thesis?”

“I am.”

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “By going on dates with randos?”

I twist away from him. “Yes, as a matter of fact. So what?”

“I was under the impression that you were trying to focus on school, not guys.” His features are pinched together, and I swear, he has never looked more like his dad than he does right now. What the hell? Knight: cute. Knight trying to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do with my time: not cute. I don’t need yet another person dictating how I run my life.

“I’m doing this for my sociology thesis,” I tell him. “I’m trying to figure out if I’m being too picky… but I’m also doing this for a grade. It’s a graduation requirement.”

Knight opens his mouth but stops short when a balled-up napkin hits him right between the eyes.

“Quiet in the peanut gallery!” Knova calls. “Some of us are trying to watch the movie.”

On the screen, a guy is getting his insides sucked out by an alien with a straw for a tongue. “Yeah,” I whisper, “why would anyone want to miss this?”

Knight chuckles. He’s not scowling any more, but the easy, cozy vibes of a few minutes earlier are gone. I sit against the other arm of the sofa for the rest of the movie and leave as soon as the credits roll after a round of quick goodbyes.

I don’t need Knight to sign off on my research paper. It’s not like I’m his type. I know the kind of girls he goes for because I’ve seen the photos on his socials. We probably wouldn’t even be friends if it wasn’t for our parents.

With a heavy heart, I go back to the pool house and spend the rest of the night alternating between the profiles on the three dating apps I signed up for and my notes. If nothing else, I’m at least going to get a decent grade out of this.