Neon & Nets (Venom Next Gen #1)

Chapter Three

Grady

Getting some sleep helped me sort out my thoughts. As surreal as it was to run into Noah Abbott and have him greet me like a stranger, I’ve come around to it. After all, it would be way more uncomfortable if he’d put two and two together. Would he feel guilty if he realized who I am? Dismissive? Smug? It doesn’t matter, because he’s clueless. As long as I don’t make it weird, we’re good.

Besides, it’s not like he tried hurt me. I know it was an accident. I’m still mad about what that did for my career, but hockey is a sport. I’m not the first guy to get injured. And Larisse and I were already over by then, even if I didn’t know it yet.

In a way, it’s kind of liberating. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself. I’ve built up this whole rivalry in my head, and now I can let go of it for good.

Silver linings. I’m all about them. I’ve got great colleagues, great players, and a boss who’s guaranteed to keep things interesting. Today’s going to be a good day.

I get myself set up, then check my phone. I’ve still got a few more forms to sign, and Renee said she’d have them ready for me today. I should have time to handle that before my first time leading practice with the team. I check that I’ve got my stuff and step into the hall.

Only to come face to face with a fucking mermaid.

For a moment, I just stare, because… well, because there’s a mermaid in the hall. Was there something funky in that breakfast burrito I picked up on my way in?

But even when I blink a few times, she’s still there, hands braced against the wall, neon blue hair tumbling over her shoulders, breathing hard in a way that makes her impressive cleavage do mesmerizing things.

Then she turns her head, and I feel like someone smacked me in the gut with a lead pipe. She’s gorgeous. Her eyes sweep over me, and my bad knee trembles as all my blood rushes away from my already addled brain.

“Well?” she asks, as though we’re in the middle of a conversation and this is a natural segue. “Are you going to stare, or are you going to help me out of this thing?”

“Uh,” I say, because like I said, the red blood cells have left my brain in favor of southern climes. “Yes.”

The mermaid’s lips quirk to one side, revealing a dimple. “Which one? I hope it’s both, because you’ve got the staring part down pat.”

“Oh, yeah, I…” I hold up my hands. “What exactly am I helping you with?”

“The zipper.” She tilts her chin over her shoulder, which is bare except for a few layers of colorful shells and what appears to be a sheer shimmering top with scales airbrushed on. “It’s jammed.”

“Right.” As much as this feels like a fever dream, I’m coming to grips with the fact that this scenario, however bizarre, is very real. I shuffle around behind her and eye up the zipper in question. I reach out to touch it, then flinch away, rubbing my hands together to warm them up.

The mermaid sighs. “You better not be doing what I think you’re doing.”

“Which is?”

“ Rubbing .” I can hear the smirk in her voice.

My neck goes hot. “I’m warming up my hands. They’re cold.”

“So? I’m on a time schedule here. If you could hurry up, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’m just…” Buying time. Trying to wrap my head around this. Wondering, if this is what my job demands of me on day two, what in the hell day three is going to look like.

“You’re treating me like a princess,” the mermaid says. “Trust me, it’s not necessary.”

“You sure about that?” I glance up to her hair. “There’s a seashell tiara in your wig.”

“What makes you think it’s a wig?”

I reach out to touch the zipper. “I mean…”

The mermaid laughs. “Kidding. It’s a wig.”

The zipper doesn’t look like much, but it’s definitely stuck. I don’t want to risk damaging her tail, but I need to get the zipper free. I slide two fingers beneath the material to pull it away from her skin, so that I don’t catch it in the mechanism.

As soon as I touch her, the mermaid lets out a little hiss and arches her back. “Damn,” she says, “your hands were cold.” Goosebumps form on her skin, and I resist the seriously delusional urge to run my fingertips over the slight dip in her spine, to trace the smattering of freckles on her skin, to press my face against the back of her neck and just breathe in.

Because she smells fucking amazing.

“I think part of your wig got stuck in here,” I say. “Any chance you could take it off?”

“Sure.” She reaches up and pulls the blue updo free. Her hair is pinned up underneath, covered with a cap. Sure enough, a few blue hairs remain behind in the zipper of the tail.

Now that there’s not all that hair in the way, I can see better. In addition to the zipper itself, there are few other little clasps at the top, so cleverly sewn in that they’re almost invisible. I start disconnecting them, and when I do, the pressure on the zipper eases. One more tug, and it slides down to her mid-back.

She’s not wearing a bra. In fact, I’m not sure she’s wearing anything underneath at all. Am I going to get fired for undressing a mermaid in the hallway? The HR handbook did not cover this extremely specific scenario.

“I’ve got the little hook and eye things done,” I tell her. “Why has this thing not fallen off yet?”

The mermaid snorts. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Her tone is teasing, as if she wouldn’t mind that I liked it. Are we flirting? God, I hope so.

“I thought that was the point,” I say. “You’re the one who wanted me to undress you, remember?”

She chuckles again, and the sound goes straight to my groin. Who knew I had a thing for mermaids? “So, there are buckles on the sides.”

I look around until I find them. They’re not hard to spot, but… they’re close to her side-boob. As in, really close. As in, there’s no way for me to undo them without touching her very plump breasts. Surely I’m getting pranked right now. Is this some sort of Venom hazing ritual? At this point, anything seems possible.

“You’re doing that thing where you stare and say nothing again,” the mermaid observes.

“Right. It’s just…” It’s not that I don’t want to touch her breasts. The problem is how much I want to. Tail aside, this woman is exactly my type: attractive, confident, and offbeat.

She twists around to meet my eye. My brain, which has apparently come back online, unhelpfully provides me with a mental image of what it would be like to stand behind her, undressing her in a very different context. “You don’t strike me as a guy who doesn’t know his way around some side boob. Just unhook it. You’re fine. I promise I won’t sue.”

I nod. “ Fair. But surely your man wouldn’t be thrilled to have some stranger feeling you up…”

“My man?” The mermaid lifts a brow.

“Your merman,” I correct.

“Nice. I see what you did there.”

I reach out for the clasps in question. “And I see what you didn’t do.”

“What’s that?”

“Answer my question.” I am officially touching her lush side-boob. I am both terrified and hopeful about the apparent lack of garments beneath her top.

“Was there a question? I feel like it was more of a statement. And I don’t do fill in the blank.”

“Got it,” I say. The clasps are free. “Now the other side.”

I circle around. This time, when I start unbuckling, the whole costume comes free. It drops to the ground, revealing flesh-tone tape she’s used to keep her boobs in place and a pair of boyshorts that are perfectly fitted to her ass and thighs. Even though the get up is perfectly discreet, it’s somehow intensely erotic at the same time.

“Thank Christ, ” she groans, “I can breathe again.” With no sign of haste, she peels the rest of the costume away, then plunges her hand into the duffle bag at her feet. There’s a dress inside. I get one last look of her taped-down breasts and bare back before she’s covered in a loose sundress. She stuffs her mermaid costume into the duffle, although she opts to pull the wig and tiara back on rather than toss them in with everything else.

“Well,” I say, awkwardly fascinated and completely out of my depth, “I need to get going.” There won’t be time to sign the forms now. It’s almost time for morning skate.

“Going down?” she asks.

My eyes bulge.

“On the elevator,” she clarifies.

“All the way down,” I croak.

She laughs. “Street level for me.”

I trail after her to the elevator and tuck my hands into my pockets as I try to think of how to extend this bizarre and delightful encounter by event a few seconds. This… this is definitely going in the spank bank.

“Do you have a name?” I ask as we begin our descent. I have to know.

The now-transformed mermaid looks me up and down. “Sure do,” she says. The door chimes and slides open.

She’s halfway out the door when she pauses to fix me with a sensual smile. “Oh, and for the record? Mermen don’t exist.”

With that, she’s gone, and I’m left alone with no witnesses to whatever the fuck just happened.

Nobody pops out with a camera to tell me that I’ve been punk’d, or that I need to meet with the boss, or even explain the curveball that today threw at me. I’m left to conclude that this isn’t some elaborate prank, but one of those Vegas things that people talk about when they tell you to expect the unexpected. That whatever happens here stays here. Whoever that woman was, she’s messing with my head.

And my groin.

I have to see her again. She’s a mystery, and I have to know more. It feels like fate. I want to touch her for real. But only after she begs me to with that sassy mouth of hers.

The door opens at ice level, and I step out, just as a maintenance guy with a toolbox tries to step on.

“Sorry,” he says. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I nod, rubbing my jaw. “I just saw a mermaid. They do exist.”

The guy frowns up at me. “You okay, coach? You gotta stay hydrated if you’re not used to this heat. It’ll play tricks with your head.”

That woman was no mirage. I can still feel the warmth of her skin on my hands. When I look down at my shirt on my way to the ice, I smile.

Clinging to the material is a single bright-blue strand of mermaid hair.