Neon & Nets (Venom Next Gen #1)

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Sofia

I’m sitting alone at the poolside when my watch alerts me to an incoming call. I hate phone calls, especially video calls. I’m always so self-conscious about what angle to film from since the new tech renders my chins in 3D.

I consider declining, but when I see Knight’s name on the screen, I can’t help myself. When I answer, I make sure to hold my arm up high, so that he’s not staring up my nose while I speak. “Hey, Knight, what’s up?”

“I was wondering if you’re free on Saturday night. The Venom’s sponsoring a fundraiser, and we’re allowed to bring a guest. Do you want to come with me? I mean, it’s not like I have a date to bring with me since I haven’t been home all that long.”

Ouch. Brutal, but fair. We’re both actively not dating, after all. I swallow my grimace and keep my smile as cheerful as I can manage. “Sure. Sounds fun.”

“I’ll forward the invite with details. I can pick you up ahead of time, if you want? And you can tell me all about your new plan for your thesis.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I may have, uh, been kind of weird about it the other day? Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him. I can’t stay mad at Knight. There’s something strangely intimate about holding a little hologram of his face in my palm, which is not something I’ve ever felt about this tech before. “We can talk about it in person, but we’re good. See you on Saturday for our non-date.”

“Looking forward to it.” Knight grins. He ends the call a moment later, and I’m left staring at my empty hand, still trying to hold onto something that wasn’t mine in the first place.

What does it say about me that I’d rather go on a non-date with Knight than a real date with any of the guys I’ve met online? Of course, it has the advantage of safety. Knight is safe. He’s not going to judge me based on a first impression, he’s not going to bully or fat shame me, and I don’t have to run an unofficial social media background check on him. As my childhood friend, he’s a known quantity.

That’s all.

I settle back in my chair and try to recapture my previous sense of peace, only for the back door to open and Mom to come out. She’s wearing a sheer wrap over her bathing suit and a pair of chunky sunglasses on top of her head. The woman is still drop-dead gorgeous because she’s literally lit from within. Why can't I muster her level of confidence, even in private?

Then I notice the tray she’s holding, and I stifle a groan. She’s brought drinks and a snack along with her, a sure sign that this is a serious talk. Mom’s a big believer in what my brother Enzo calls “Mary Poppins Conversations.” A spoonful of sugar helps the awkwardness go down.

“Hey, baby.” Mom sets the tray on the table beside me, then drags another chair closer so that we’re side by side in the shade, separated only by her bribe of lemonade and almond cookies. “I know I’ve been gone a lot lately, but I wanted to catch up with you.”

I reach for a glass of lemonade. This pretty much serves as confirmation that I’m willing to engage with her, however reluctantly. “I’m great. Really. I’m working really hard to finish my degree. I’m going to use a recent talk with Dad to inspire my thesis. ”

Mom takes the other glass. “Oh, no. What’s that mean?”

“Dad thinks I don’t date because I’m too picky. And apparently, this is his business and affects him because of his overwhelming desire for grandchildren.” I take a sip of what I thought was lemonade, only to discover that it’s actually limoncello. Toni and Coop make it from scratch, and it’s seriously addictive. Bonus points to Mom for breaking out the good stuff.

Mom nods thoughtfully and swirls her drink. “You need to date around to figure out what you like and don’t like. No matter what your father says, trying new things and taking your time is okay. You don’t want to end up in a sexless marriage where you’re more roommates than anything else.” Her little shiver tells me she considers that the worst fate. Mom is sex positive, and I don’t have the heart to tell her that when it comes to anything sexual, I could take it or leave it. Not that I’m out there hooking up all the time, but the few experiences I’ve had have been lackluster at best. Nothing like the fireworks she describes with Dad.

I wish I could believe her—that dating around would somehow help me figure things out, like everyone else seems to. But the truth is, something feels off with me. Like I’m missing some crucial piece of the puzzle that everyone else figured out a long time ago. I mean, I’ve tried, but every time it feels like I’m forcing myself into some mold that doesn’t quite fit. And then there’s my body, the one that I can’t diet into submission no matter how dedicated I am. This presents a constant reminder that I’m not like the other girls, the ones who seem to command attention effortlessly. No matter what I do, no matter how many pep talks I give myself, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong with me—like I’m broken in a way that I can’t fix.

I sink lower in my chair. “I told you. It’s not that big of a deal.” Also, who the fuck says I’m ready to think about marriage? I’m not even finished with school. My annoyance flares, but I keep it locked down tight in my chest. I know Mom’s looking out for me, but would it kill my parents to ask me what I want, rather than constantly bombarding me with their hopes for my future?

“Is it possible you think this because you haven’t been with the right person who has… fulfilled your needs?” Mom wiggles her eyebrows. “All too often, women blame themselves for the inadequacies of men.”

Kill me now . I take a giant gulp of limoncello. “I don’t think that’s it.” We don’t need to talk about the fact that sex has never been all it’s hyped up to be, in my experience. The closest I’ve ever gotten to a sexually fulfilling relationship is the one I have with my sparkly purple vibrator. Maybe I should dress it up in a little tux and carry it around with me. Anytime someone gives me unsolicited relationship advice, I can tell them that Dick is fulfilling all my personal needs.

Not that I would ever do that—I’m not as brazen as Knova, although I’m sure she’d think that was funny as hell. Still, the thought brings a smile to my face.

When I was a kid, Mom convinced me she could read my mind. I’m happy to report that she can’t, as evidenced by the fact that she only nods at my response. “Just keep an open mind. Get out there, even if it’s just for fun. You won’t be young forever, you know? I don’t want my only daughter to look back at this time in her life with any regrets.”

Yes, Mom, that’s how time works. I help myself to a cookie and tell my inner snarky teenager to get her shit together. I’m not mad at Mom. I’m not mad at anyone, really. I just feel like I’m standing on the edge of something, and people keep trying to push me forward, no matter how many times I tell them I’m not ready to jump.

I decide to offer her an olive branch. “If that’s what you want, you should be thrilled to hear that I’ll be accompanying Knight to some charity event on Saturday.”

“You are?” Mom perks up. “The fundraiser for Helping Hands & Hearts?”

“That’s the one. Are you going to be there, too?” I should have anticipated this.

“We are.” Mom is practically giddy with excitement. “Want to get ready together?”

“I’m okay. It’s not a big deal. Knight and I are just friends.”

“What makes you think that?”

“He told me.”

“We’ll see,” Mom says, as if she knows something I don’t.

I manage to turn the conversation to her recent work trips, which is a huge relief. Her enthusiasm for her mentorships is infectious. I’m genuinely happy to know her life is everything she hoped it would be.

Mom’s always been such a role model for happiness, like she found the secret sauce to life and somehow made it look effortless. And with Dad—well, their connection is undeniable. It’s hard to believe there’s something missing when I see the way they are together. Maybe I just haven’t found my thing yet. But I see the way my dad looks at my mom like she hung the moon. I have to believe that whatever’s missing for me, it’s out there, waiting. I just need to figure out how to get to it.

* * *

On Saturday, I awoke to a string of missed calls from Knova. She hadn’t left a drop message, just a series of vague texts, all saying something along the lines of Call me, it’s urgent .

I text her back while I’m brushing my teeth to ask, Where’s the fire ?

Another call comes in about two seconds later. Video, again. Ugh, why won’t she take the hint and stick to text? I’ve got a mouthful of toothpaste suds.

“Hrr-oww?” I ask, holding up one hand for the call while still furiously scrubbing with the other. Dental hygiene is no joke. I’m not going to slack on that front just because Knova needs… something that nobody else can help her with, evidently. If it was a real emergency, she’d have called someone else.

“Sofia, we have an emergency.” Knova pivots her palm around so that Vivian appears in the holofeed. “Viv’s freaking out. The model for her desert shoot just bailed, and she needs a replacement stat.”

“Dev-ert foot?” I spit into the sink and try again. “Desert shoot? What are you talking about?”

Viv wrings her hands in obvious distress. She’s not usually one for dramatics, or at least not this type of dramatics. “Um, so I’ve been working on these Cirque du Soleil costumes? And we were supposed to do the photoshoot today, but the model had a family emergency, and the photographer’s already paid, and the helicopter company has a cancellation fee, and the model’s got your body type, and Knova said you’d be a good fit and—”

“What?” Viv’s panic is making me panic, but probably not for the same reasons. “You want me to model?” I look down at my faded sleep shirt and cozy pajama bottoms, then back up at my reflection. My hair is a mess. I have toothpaste at the corner of my mouth. There are still wrinkles on the side of my face from where my pillowcase got rumpled and left a pattern on my cheek. Unlike my stunning mother, I’m not exactly model material .

“Come on,” Knova wheedles. “Your mom’s a professional model.”

“So call her! She loves you, Vivian. I’m sure she would jump at the chance to help you out.”

“Really?” Knova pouts and bats her eyelashes. “You’d leave your friend in distress, even though she’s the costume designer and thinks you’d do an amazing job?”

You don’t want me , I think, but I can’t say that. She’ll just come back at me with a pep talk about how bodies are beautiful at any size, and I’m hotter than I think I am, and all the things that I’ve heard a million times. Those things apply to other people, but I’m not sure they apply to me.

Because the fact of the matter is, for every person who tells me to love myself, there are a dozen strangers happy to comment on all the ways my body doesn’t meet their standards.

At least I have another excuse. “Sorry, Knova, but I can’t. I’m already committed to the charity event tonight with your brother.”

Judging by her smile, I have not won this round. “We’ll have you back in plenty of time. I promise. Viv can even bring you a dress and shoes for later.”

“Yes!” Viv cries. “It’s the least I can do!”

“But I don’t do helicopters…”

“You do today,” Knova says. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

The call goes dead.

I sigh because I should know there’s no winning an argument with Knova when she puts her mind to something. At least I have time to shower before I’m swept off into the desert.

Knova, predictably, arrives early. She’s already in the living room when I stop by the main house to tell my parents about the change of plans. She’s sitting on the couch in the front room, chatting with Dad about his latest interest, tortoises. Or rather, Dad is talking while Knova nods and smiles. He’s determined to lure a tortoise into our yard by “creating the ultimate tortoise habitat.” This is just one in a long string of short-lived hobbies that Dad has dabbled in as retirement approaches.

“...hardscaping is best for them and better for the environment,” Dad insists.

“Don’t say that where my father can hear you,” Knova teases. “Dad will be dead and buried before he gives up on his lawn.”

“Maybe he will change his mind when he sees my new tortoise friend,” Dad muses. For the record, there is no tortoise, except in his wildest fantasies. Still, he’s holding out hope.

“Sorry to jet, Uncle Marco, but we’ve got a flight to catch.” Knova waves me toward the door. “Ready, Sofia?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I mumble.

“Have fun, ragazze ! See you tonight!” Dad waves us off without asking any more questions, much to my immense relief.

* * *

Vivian may have been freaking out on our phone call, but in person, she’s a stone-cold professional. Within minutes of our helicopter landing, she has me out of my sundress and wriggling into the first costume.

I’d assumed that the costumes would be mostly spandex, tights, and bustiers, but apparently, my idea of Cirque du Soleil is out of touch. While the costume shows off more skin than I’d like, it’s also… weird. I think I’m supposed to be some sort of spotted lizard. But, like, a sexy spotted lizard? Most of the material mirrors the bronze and gold tones of the desert, with bright pops of blue and green in strategic places to make those parts of the body stand out .

“This is wild,” I tell Viv as she applies my makeup. “I kind of love it.”

“I’m really pleased with how they turned out.” Viv steps back to admire her handiwork. When she’s satisfied, she waves the photographer over, and we get to work.

Once again, the photoshoot upends my expectations. Instead of standing with my ass and tits stuck out like a lingerie model, the photographer coaxes me into a series of bizarre poses.

“Be the lizard,” she insists. “Embody the lizard. Make love to the rock.”

I don’t know what she thinks that’s supposed to look like, but I try to relax and let myself have fun with the whole experience.

There are two more costumes in the lineup, one covered in black and orange splotches that remind me of a Gila monster, and one that reminds me of a flowering cactus. It’s hard to take myself too seriously when I’m crouched in the sand, my arms held up like a saguaro. People will laugh when they see the photos, but they won’t be laughing at me so much as the surrealism of the shot.

Except that when the photographer shows me the photos, I don’t laugh. Even though I know the final images will be larger and more detailed, I’m a little bit in love with them.

“Are you sure that’s me?” I ask. The shots in profile are mesmerizing, but my favorite is one where I, dressed as a spotted lizard, am smiling right into the camera. It feels like the woman in the photograph is sharing a joke with me, except she is me. Did I really look that knowing and self-assured? How can that be?

“You’re gorgeous,” Knova says. “Mesmerizing, really. I can’t believe you don’t see that.”

I step back behind the folding screen where I’ve been doing my costume changes. “That’s easy for you to say. You’ve been featured in magazines and on television.”

My friend’s nose twitches. “What does that have to do with anything? We all have.”

“Not me. I’ve heard my parents turning offers down.”

“Why?”

A bitter laugh rips out of me before I can swallow it. “Why do you think? Look at me.”

There’s a long silence from the other side of the screen before Vivian says, “It’s not that. Ask your mom. It has to be something else.”

The lump in my throat threatens to choke me. This is from the woman who was the Vegas Venom’s poster child for princess-esque cuteness back when they won their last Stanley Cup. Noah sat her inside it, tiara and all. They even made a meme out of Vivian Abbott. “It’s fine, you know. I blossomed a little when I was older. It doesn’t change anything.”

Neither of them has a reply to that. I tell myself that they’re not sure how to respond, even though my inner self-hater insists that they’re silent because they know I’m right.

Growing up, I’ve always been the girl who took up a little more space, the one boys whispered about in gym class or ignored at school dances. They made me feel like I was something to be ashamed of, like my body was a burden they had to tolerate. That my mere presence was offensive. It cut deep, left scars I’m still trying to heal. But I’m not that girl anymore, at least not entirely. I’ve learned to love the way I move through the world, the way my curves tell a story of resilience and strength. Yeah, it still stings when I think about the past, when I get triggered as we all do even when we’ve been working hard on our healing, but I refuse to let cruelty define me. I’m more than their insults, more than the way they tried to make me feel small. I’m here, and I’m enough—just as I am .

I’m almost out of the costume when Vivian says, “Speaking of change, I whipped up a little something for tonight. Try it on.” Her hand pops up over the top of the folding screen, bearing a bag.

Whipped up a little something, my ass. I gasp when I pull out the dress. She did not make this in the last half hour. It’s a babydoll cut with a high-low skirt made from some sort of shimmery golden material. The fitted bodice will support my… vast tracts of land, while the ruffled skirt will leave a little to the imagination while still showing off my calves, which I consider one of my best body parts. To really showcase them, Viv’s included a pair of strappy gold sandals that come up almost to my knee.

It’s a beautiful outfit, and most importantly, I know I’m going to feel amazing once I have it on. This dress wasn’t designed for a thin body and then scaled up, like most clothes. This dressed was designed to make a body like mine look like a fucking Greek goddess.

“Vivian,” I whimper. “This is amazing.”

“Put it on!” Knova calls. “I want to see it. Also, I’m going to need to get back there while she does your ‘fundraiser glam’. I need to get changed, too.”

“She’s going to the event tonight,” Viv adds. “With Viktor.” She gags a few times. “Don’t let my brother anywhere near your nipples.”

“As if,” Knova grumbles. “I’m going for the food. The company is just something I have to endure.”

Vivian continues to taunt her while I zip myself into the dress. I don’t have a mirror, but I feel unstoppable, which is what really matters.

I can’t wait for Knight to see me in this dress.

Even if tonight’s not a real date.