Neon & Nets (Venom Next Gen #1)

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Knight

I’m going to kill Knova.

I was all set to show up to Sofia’s house in a limo, with a bouquet of flowers under one arm… until my sister informed me that she’d be bringing Sofia to the event. So much for trying to help me. She’s already sabotaged the first phase of my plan.

Uncle Marco and Aunt Madison seem surprised to see me at the venue without their daughter in tow. As usual, we’ll be spending the evening in the grand ballroom of the Mona Lisa, the strip hotel/resort owned by the Giovanetti family.

“Did Knova run off with your date?” Aunt Madison asks.

I shuffle my feet. “It isn’t a date.”

The two of them exchange a look. I know I’m on thin ice here, trying to balance family friendships with my romantic interest in my dad’s goddaughter… oof, there’s no way to make that sound better. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about when it comes to potential fallout, I don’t want to put my dad in a weird spot.

On the one hand, I want things to stay the way they’ve always been. But I also want more. I want—

Madison gasps and gives Uncle Marco’s arm a squeeze. “Look, sweetie!” she whispers, pointing at the door to the ballroom.

I turn to see what drew her attention. The first person I see is Knova in the same little black dress that she wears to all these events. I should head over and give her a piece of my mind. Except, if she’s here, that should mean that Sofia is, too.

Oh.

Oh.

I didn’t even recognize her. She’s walking a few paces behind Knova, clinging to a clutch, her eyes downcast. Her dress glimmers in the light of the chandeliers. Her makeup is totally different from her usual style, which relies pretty heavily on dark eyeliner that makes her eyes look huge. Tonight, she shimmers with some sort of gold powder dusted across her cheeks and shoulders that matches her brilliant dress. Almost everyone else is wearing black or shades of gray, and nobody else is dressed in gold. She moves through the crowd like a ray of sunshine piercing through the darkness.

“Wow,” I rasp as every muscle in my body tightens.

Then she turns to me, and I swear to God, the music changes to something soft and slow. The chatter of the other guests dies away. We’re the only two people in the room, and suddenly she’s smiling. For me. She walks toward me, with her dark hair spilling down her back, held back from her face by some complicated waterfall of waves. I know for a fact that Knova is responsible for that hairstyle since she spent a solid six weeks testing it out on Sofia during her senior year.

Sofia stops a few paces away from me and smiles up from beneath her lashes. “Hey, Knight.”

“You look so beautiful, principessa !” Uncle Marco nudges me. “Knight, what do you think?”

I can’t think. Because I think I’m going to pass out. Oh, right, breathing… breathing is important. I forgot how to do that when Sofia walked in looking like that. Like someone I want to get lost in.

“Amazing,” I squeak. Fuck, I sound like Mickey Mouse huffed helium. “You look great, Sofia. You’re so… shiny. ”

Sofia lets out a little huff and turns away from me. “Cool. I’ll, um. I’ll be in the powder room for a minute, okay?” With that, she turns and walks away. I don’t wrest my eyes away from her until she disappears.

I grimace and turn back to Marco and Madison. I can’t even form words; I just make a guttural sound, like I’m gargling water. Shit.

“It’s okay, bimbo .” Uncle Marco pats my arm. “I once called her mother round. Took me a long time to charm my way out of that one.”

That makes me snap my head up. “Round?”

Marco looks chagrined. “In my defense, it was meant to be a compliment.”

“English is his second language,” Aunt Madison reminds me.

I groan and press my hands to my face. “I just implied that she looked like a disco ball when she literally just took my breath away. Ugh, I have to fix this.” On second thought, these are probably not the people I should be complaining to. I excuse myself and follow Sofia in the general direction of the washrooms.

I don’t know if the powder room was an excuse to get away from me or if Knova waylaid her en route. All I can say for sure is that the two of them are standing near Viktor and Tristan in the general vicinity of the buffet.

“Hey.” I sidle up next to Sofia. Tristan raises his eyebrows, but I pretend I didn’t notice. I focus all my attention on Sofia in an effort to unfuck the up-fuckery I stumbled into at the sight of her. “You really do look amazing.”

“Yeah?” Her mouth tips up at one side. Okay, that’s a start.

“Seriously. You took my breath away. I bet every guy in the room is trying not to stare at you right now.”

The half-smile disappears. What did I do now? I look over Sofia’s head toward Knova, who is staring at me with abject pity.

“Yeah,” Knova says, “she looks stunning. Doesn’t she, Tristan?”

My teammate gulps and tugs on the collar of his shirt. “Uh-huh. Totally. Not that I’m looking or anything. Say, is anyone else hungry? I think I’m just gonna—” He starts to crab-walk away without bothering to finish the sentence.

“I want to dance,” Viktor announces. “Knova, want to come with me?”

“I’m here for the food and only the food,” she says. “If you want to dance, be my guest. Tristan and I will be at the buffet.” She steps right through the middle of our group and reaches for Tristan’s arm. His eyes bulge, and he looks over his shoulder while throwing up a defensive hand posture as she leads him away.

I briefly contemplate launching a rescue mission, but I’m pretty sure Tristan will be fine. Knova’s not actually mean to people unless she dislikes them. Or loves them, in my case. Either way, she’ll be civil to Tristan. I’m still trying to dig myself out of the hole I flung myself into when it comes to Sofia.

Viktor stalks off in search of another dance partner while I turn to Sofia. “How would you feel about dancing?”

“Oh, I’m more of a wallflower.” She reaches up to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. “A real Penelope Featherington type.”

“Old-school reference,” I say. “That’s vintage Netflix. But am I crazy, or does she end up turning a few heads during her season?”

“I suppose.” Sofia’s cheeks turn pink under that glittering golden dust. “Lord Debling. Unpopular opinion. She should have ended up with him. Sometimes, the man you want is not the one you need.”

I’m not sure what she’s getting at. Instead of asking, I hold out one hand to her. “I’ll lead. You won’t even have to think. What do you say?”

She slips her palm into mine at last and lets me lead her to the dance floor.

Most of the people here are my parents’ age, so the DJ is playing a bunch of selections from way before Sofia and I were born: Sarah Bareilles, Usher, Lady Gaga, all the oldies they used to listen to back in their day. I’m a little nervous about dancing to some upbeat throwback. I’d rather we dance to something slow. Something that would let me hold her so I could feel what it would be like to have her body pressed against mine.

Just as we reach the dance floor, I get my first lucky break of the night. “Collide” by Howie Day pipes through the speakers. Back when I was a kid, I thought this song was super cheesy, but I guess the classics have stuck around for a reason. As I pull Sofia into my arms, I take a deep breath for the first time all evening.

“So,” I murmur, spinning her in a slow circle, “any progress on the thesis?”

“A little.” She relaxes into my embrace. God, she’s so soft. So radiant. She smells like sunlight and vanilla. I want to breathe her in. I want to kiss every inch of her skin. I want to sink inside her. Then I want to make her stay.

“You never told me the plan.”

Sofia clears her throat. “For the moment, I’m calling the project Icky or Picky. That’s not the formal title, obviously. I want to examine the ick factor women talk about. Like, what’s the difference between being too picky and following your gut? Is an ick a red flag? A personal preference? Or just an excuse to write someone off without getting to know them?”

“I like it.” I have questions, namely, how she’s going to test this theory without going on a bunch of dates and getting to know the guys, as she puts it. The thought of another man putting even one finger on this woman makes me want to punch something. I decide not to voice all my worried follow-up questions. I’ve put my foot in my mouth enough for one night. Instead, I ask something I can remain neutral about. “How exactly do you define an ick?”

“I’m going to work on that tomorrow. Right now, I have an extensive list pulled from socials, but some of the items on it are… subjective, I guess? But maybe that’s a defining characteristic of an ick.”

“If you want help with your list, I’m free tomorrow afternoon after morning skate,” I offer. “You can bounce some ideas off of me.”

“Really?” Sofia rests her head on my shoulder. “That’s so sweet. Although I’m sure you have better things to do during your time off than talk about my homework.”

“I really don’t. I promise. Just tell me when you want to meet up.” I would do anything for you sounds too desperate, and twenty bucks says desperation is an ick.

Sofia melts into me during the rest of the song, and the next one, too. Holding Sofia like this, it’s like my world finally turned right side up. The way she fits against me, her head resting on my shoulder, it’s as if she’s already mine—like she’s always been meant to be here, in my arms. There’s something so natural, so perfect about it, that I almost forget to breathe. She feels like home, like every dream I’ve ever had but was too afraid to chase. And as we sway together, it hits me just how badly I want this—want her—more than anything I’ve ever wanted before.

Before I want it to, the music switches up, and she pulls away. The third song is way more upbeat, and people from our parents’ generation end up hopping around with their arms in the air. Sofia and I make our escape while we still can.

“Can I get you drink?” I ask.

“That would be great.” Sofia gives me another of her shy smiles. She bites her bottom lip, and, hoo boy, the shiver that runs through me is not something one feels for a non-date.

“Any preference?” I ask her.

She grins. “Surprise me.”

The ballroom’s wet bar boasts two bartenders and two ordering stations. Most people scan their watches at the stations, which offer reviews of their past orders and suggestions based on their ratings. Since I don’t have Sofia’s watch for reference, I consult one of the bartenders directly. She points me toward one of the Mona Lisa’s specials for the evening, and I order two. The drinks are beautiful, poured in layers that look like a sunset—a perfect complement to Sofia’s dress, if nothing else. I leave a hefty tip and circle back in search of my gilded goddess.

When I approach, a tall, gorgeous woman is standing next to Sofia. I don’t recognize her, but her posture is familiar. Like Sofia, she’s nervous and keeps fiddling with her necklace as she scans the room.

“Do you ever feel like you’re way out of your league?” the woman asks.

Sofia’s expression crumples. She darts away toward one of the ballroom doors that overlooks the fountains.

The stranger hunches her shoulders. When she sees me staring, she offers a wry smile. “I guess I said the wrong thing… is she a friend of yours? Should I go after her? ”

“I’ve got it. And don’t worry, I’ve been saying the wrong thing all night.” I do a quick scan of the room and spot Tristan standing alone against the wall. “See that guy over there? His name is Tristan, he’s Canadian, and I’m pretty sure he feels out of place, too.”

“Oh?” The stranger tilts her head and considers him. Her smile grows by the moment. “Thank you, I’ll say hi.”

I catch Tristan’s eye and tilt my head to the attractive woman headed his way, then spin toward the door in search of Sofia.

It’s a cool night. The transition from the crowded, noisy ballroom to the stillness of the balcony is shocking, like plunging into the pool after sweating for hours in the heat. There are a few other people out here scattered at random. Other wallflowers, as Sofia would say.

I don’t spot her right away, but a bit of snooping reveals an alcove around the corner just out of everyone’s line of sight. Sofia is huddled against the railing, staring off into the bright lights of the city below.

“Are you okay?” I ask, presenting her drink with a flourish.

Sofia takes the glass. “Just feeling out of place. As usual.”

“For the record, that lady wasn’t insulting you.” I set my drink on the ground for a moment while I shrug out of my jacket and drape it over her shoulders. “She was nervous. She really was trying to start a conversation with you.”

“Mm.” Sofia pulls my jacket tighter with one hand. “Thanks.”

“Look at me. Please.” The breath shudders past my suddenly dry lips.

Sofia makes a slow turn until she meets my eyes. The expression of defeat on her features kills me.

“How could you ever think you’re out of place?” I ask. “I’ve never been so proud to call someone my… my non-date. You ha ve no idea.”

Her lips part. We’re so close now. She looks up; I look down. I want to kiss her so badly that there’s a physical ache in my chest. My stomach folds in on itself as I catch a whiff of her sweet scent.

“Knight…” she murmurs. I want to hear her say my name again. I want to make her scream my name. I want to make her know who she belongs to, to bury my face between her thighs, to squeeze her luscious ass that I can’t stop obsessing over. I want to make her come on my tongue, my fingers, my cock. I want—

“Sofia.” My voice comes out low this time. Thank goodness it doesn’t crack again. “Do you ever think…?”

“Sofia?” Uncle Marco’s head appears around the corner of the alcove. “Everything okay? I saw you scurry away. Did that woman say something to you?”

I swear that Sofia was right next to me two seconds ago, but suddenly there’s a respectable, unsuspicious amount of space between us. “Yeah, Dad. I’m good.”

He clucks his tongue. “Really? Your face looks puffy. Is there something in your eye?”

I have to bend over to rescue my drink from her dad’s approach. Dammit, Marco, we were about to have a moment. I just know it.

I stand there, staring at the space where she was, my heart still pounding like I just took a crosscheck to the face. That spark between us—God, it felt real. But now she’s talking to her dad like nothing happened, like we weren’t about to cross a line we can’t uncross. I want to pull her back into that moment, feel her against me again, but it’s gone. The air between us cools, and I’m left wondering if I imagined the whole damn thing.

I rake a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the ache in my chest. Maybe Knova’s right. Maybe there is something there. I want there to be so bad it’s driving me crazy. But does Sofia? Or did I just make this bigger in my head, a fantasy I’ve been clinging to for years?

I shoot a look at Sofia, who’s now smiling at her dad like it’s all fine, like she didn’t just blow my mind in the space of one evening. And that’s the thing—I don’t know what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling. I only know I can’t keep pretending this thing between us doesn’t exist.