Neon & Nets (Venom Next Gen #1)

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Sofia

The morning after the fundraiser, I sneak into the main house for breakfast. Dad is sitting at the table, scrolling through what looks like a gardening website.

“Looking for anything in particular?” I ask as I fire up the espresso machine. I have a coffee maker in the pool house, but my Italian blood craves the good stuff.

“I am on the hunt for the perfect tortoise accessories.” Dad shows me the screen. “I am going to set up a spot out at the back of the yard.” He scrolls back and forth between what, to my untrained eye, look like two identical clay pots. “Which do you like better, bimba ?”

“They’re both great,” I assure him. “But you know we don’t have a tortoise, right?”

“If you build it, they will come,” Dad assures me. “I saw it on the oldie movie channel one time.”

I’m not sure that tortoises work that way, but okay. I leave him to his Sunday dad hobbies and take my espresso back to the pool house. I’m super excited about my thesis now, and I’m looking forward to compiling what I’m calling “The Ick List.”

There are a lot of informal resources online, from one-off posts by women about things that skeeve them out to lists curated by influencers for the sake of entertainment.

I start by reviewing the existing lists and breaking the entries into three categories: small red flags, common picks, and ultra-specific picks. I’m still working on my list when Knight messages to tell me he’s on his way home from the arena and asks if I still want his help. I’m on a roll, and I need someone to bounce ideas around with, so I tell him to get his ass over to the pool house, stat. He arrives ten minutes later in sweats and a t-shirt. He has no right to make that outfit look as good as it does.

“What are we working with so far?” Knight settles down beside me. “Walk me through it.”

“So far, I’ve got three broad categories,” I explain. I draw one circle on my paper. “Things that fall into the red flags category are real problems. They might, for example, be indicators of abusive or controlling behavior, and anything that would put a woman at risk in some way.”

Knight nods as he skims my list. “Being jealous of other male friends, ghosting…”

I tap my pen on the paper for emphasis. “These are things that don’t feel great but haven’t crossed over into really bad behavior yet. I’m specifically focusing on small red flags for this project. You know, stuff that can be explained away.”

Knight wrinkles his nose. “I’m not sure about that. Ghosting can be really manipulative.”

“It can be… or maybe he had a family emergency, or his watch glitched out. And jealousy can be really harmful, or it can just mean that you like someone and want them to make more time for you.”

For some reason, Knight’s face turns pink.

“Depending on how someone expresses their jealousy, it can either be controlling, or it can spark a productive conversation.” I outline the circle again for good measure. “For the purposes of this project, I’m including small red flags. Things that might require conflict resolution in established relationships, but could kill a new relationship in the early phases. ”

“Got it.” Knight nods, although he still looks a bit shifty.

“On the other hand…” I draw another circle beside the first, with a bit of space between them. “Ultra-specific icks are things that only show up on one or two lists. I’m using this as a control group. For example, he drives a red Jeep.”

Knight laughs. “Is that actually an example?”

“No, but work with me here. Icks like this are outliers. We know the person’s being picky, because nobody else is talking about it. Maybe that person’s ex drove a red Jeep. Maybe it reminds them of a movie they saw once. Maybe they’re just looking for excuses to reject their potential match. The important thing is that we can qualitatively identify these traits as falling into the “picky” category.”

Knight scratches his cheek. “Okay, but what if you reject someone because he drives a red Jeep and he’s… I don’t know, rude to the server on your date?”

“That’s something to consider in the paper, certainly.” I scribble down a note for myself later. “But for now, I’m creating broad categories to help me define what constitutes an ick. All of which fall somewhere around here.” I scribble an amorphous blob between the two circles. “The question is, where? Are these three categories a Venn diagram, with icks falling in the point of overlap? Are they a distinct category of their own? Does that icky feeling count as a gut instinct, or is it a symptom of being too… prissy?” I pick the word Emily used for me the other day. “It’s also important to note that this paper will only consider female subjects. Men don’t get the ick like women do. While doing my research, I found out that mortuaries try to only hire women because men’s standards are so low, they’ll stoop to violating corpses.”

Knight’s tongue pokes between his teeth as he considers this, lost in thought. He makes a wordless sound of deep consideration. It’s really fucking cute. “How are you going to test all this?”

“What do you mean?”

“All of this sounds like academic research.” He waves a hand at my paper. “But if you’re just looking at lists on paper, it’ll stay abstract. How will you be able to measure whether someone with an ick or two is worth taking a chance on?” He lifts his gaze from the notes to my face. “Is this why you signed up for those dating apps?”

My mouth has gone very dry. “Sort of. See, I was gonna test my theory on some guinea pigs, but I… I backed out. If there was a way to investigate my hypothesis with their consent, that would be one thing, but I didn’t want to lead anyone on or hurt their feelings. I’m still using the app for research to look at people’s profiles, but if anyone messages me, I just decline and tell them I’m working on a paper. I even put that in my bio.” I roll my eyes. “Not that men on dating apps read the bio, but at least I’m absolved of any guilt.”

Knight laughs. He looks genuinely relieved by this information. I think back to how his face warmed when we talked about jealousy. Is he just relieved that I’ve decided to take a more ethical approach to this paper, or…? Is it possible…?

Did he really almost kiss me last night?

There’s no way. I’m only torturing myself. I need to get over this idea that I have a shot with Knight. I need to…

Oh, shit. I need to find a way to make Knight give me the ick. Because if he did, I wouldn’t want him anymore. But we could still be friends.

I snap my fingers. “I’ve got it! I can’t use strangers as test subjects, but I can use you. If you’re still willing to help me, that is. ”

“Always.” A crinkle forms between Knight’s brows. “What did you have in mind?”

“You’re going to do things on this list.” I point to my middle column. “The generic icks. Then I can see if the act itself is icky or if it’s the guy’s overall vibe.”

“How does that make sense?”

In terms of my thesis, I still need to work out the kinks. In terms of my personal quest to help me get over Knight, this is brilliant. I can psych myself out of my crush, and our friendship can go back to normal.

I’m a goddamn genius.

“Will you please just try it?” I clasp my hands under my chin. “For me?”

“Of course,” Knight says. “If it means that much to you. What kind of things are on the list?”

I look down at my paper. “Being late to things. Giving sweaty hugs… not stinky, BO is a huge universal turnoff, but moist hugs?” I shudder. “Definite ick. Let’s see, um. Oh, you know how sometimes you’ll see a couple on a date and the girl has put so much effort into her look, but the guy’s wearing old gym shorts and a crappy graphic t-shirt?”

“Ick,” Knight says with a grin.

“Bingo.” I review my notes. “When a guy runs to catch the bus. Or when—” My pen stops next to a line that reads, girly drinks . I’ve seen a few women complain about guys who order pumpkin spice lattes or colorful fruity cocktails, but I thought it was really sweet when Knight brought me that drink last night. And my Uncle Silas is obsessed with frou-frou coffees but he’s still attractive for an older man. Also, PSLs are amazing. When coffee shops brought those back as a blast from the past, consumers went feral and they stayed around again. Why should it bother me if a guy has functioning taste buds? I’d rather date a guy who knows what he likes than someone whose fragile masculinity could be challenged by the supposed “girliness” of a beverage.

Hm. I skip down a line. “When he does stupid pranks with his bros. Or brags about things he’s actually mediocre at. Oh, parkouring in public spaces! Total ickfest.”

Knight presses his hands together. “So, to review, you want me to climb on random stationary objects to see if it gives you the ick.”

“That’s a great start. Tell you what, I’ll send you the list, and you can surprise me at random. That way there’s a jump-scare element.”

“If that’s what you want, I’ll do it.” Knight fiddles with his watch. “Hey, have you eaten lunch yet?”

I check the time and am shocked to realize it’s early afternoon. I’m running on coffee and fumes at this point. “I didn’t even have breakfast yet, much less lunch.”

“Do you want to swing by The Puck Drop with me? I have to do an errand over in Serenity Shores at three o’clock. We can keep talking if you want to tag along. Lunch would be my treat.”

I took Emily to The Puck Drop less than two weeks ago, but I’m always down for one of Coop’s cannoli. I grab my things and stuff them in my daypack. “Hell, yes. I’m in.”

* * *

Serenity Shores is a beautiful mixed-use community. I really hope Emily does her paper on the social impact of communities like this one. Unlike my neighborhood, it’s way more community-focused, with a small movie theater, restaurants, two grocery stores, boutiques, walking trails, sidewalks, a fitness center, and even a pool complex .

“Isn’t it amazing?” Knight gushes. “I’m so excited to move in. Everything’s walkable, and there are bike paths all over the place. Plus, there are so many green spaces!”

“You’re moving here?” I ask, surprised.

“I hope so. I’m meeting with the realtor at three. I’m thinking of this as a starter condo… it’s not big, but at least I won’t be living with Knova anymore.” He chuckles. “Let’s just say we’re not seeing eye to eye on our circadian rhythms.”

But he won’t be living across the street from me. What will happen to our friendship when Knight flies the coop? When he can’t walk across the street to visit me, will he forget that I exist?

Or maybe he’ll meet a girl he likes while out biking these very trails, and they’ll move in together.

“Am I doing this right?” Knight asks.

I stop and turn back to see what he’s doing. There’s a stone wall around one of the green spaces, and I snort with laughter at the sight of him trying to scramble to the top. Progress is not going well.

“You look ridiculous,” I tell him.

“That’s got to be at least two icks,” Knight pants as he drops back to the sidewalk. Across the street, two women pushing strollers are giving him dirty looks. “Parkour and public humiliation. I’m off to a great start.”

“The effort is admirable.” The result, however, is not. I don’t like him any less than I did before. Maybe it’s because he’s being foolish at my request. His ridiculousness is cute.

Maybe Knight’s very existence cancels out any possible ick on my part. If so, I could be in trouble.

Knight stops abruptly. “We’re here,” he says. I was so focused on him that I didn’t even notice that we’d reached Coop’s place .

The best thing in Serenity Shores, other than the wide array of people and small businesses here, is The Puck Drop. Coop talked about opening a hockey-themed Italian restaurant for as long as I can remember, and now that he’s finally taken the leap, he’s crushing it. It’s the new hangout for the Venom. And wherever a group of professional athletes are, customers follow in droves. I always order the seasonal tasting menu, with an extra cannoli to go.

There’s comfort in the familiar. At least when Knight moves here, I’ll have an excuse to come visit The Puck Drop more. I’d rather have him close by, but cannolis as good as Coop’s are an acceptable consolation prize.

We settle into a corner booth, and before I know it, lunch is in front of us. Knight’s already tearing into his pasta, and I can’t help but smile as he tries—and fails—not to make a mess of the sauce. There’s something easy about being with him, something comforting. The conversation flows effortlessly, and for the first time in a while, I feel... light. Like maybe things aren’t so complicated after all.

We laugh between bites, and I catch myself watching him a little too long, noticing the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, how he’s always been this mix of cocky confidence and down-to-earth charm. I thought spending more time with him might dredge up old awkwardness or remind me why we’re just friends. But the more we’re together, the more I realize that’s not happening. Not even close.

Because the more time I spend with Knight, the more I like him. It’s unsettling, in the best and worst way. And as I take another bite of Coop’s cannoli, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s shifting between us. Slowly, quietly... but undeniably.

And he’s not even close to giving me the ick.