Bender (Vegas Venom Book 4)

At morning skate the day after our date, I struggle to keep my head in the game. I am going through all the right motions, but my game is not as good as it was back home. Or rather, my game is the same, but I am skating with better players these days, and it shows. The Vegas Venom are Stanley Cup Champions and they have won their conference the past five years in a row. The competition has more fierceness to it.

But I cannot stop thinking about Madison.

How she smells.

How her silky skin feels underneath the weight of my hand.

How my dick thickens whenever I see her.

How hard she shatters when she reaches her peak.

I remember what it was like, back when I was a teenager and I discovered exactly how good touching myself could make me feel. It was all I could think about.

This is different, but the same. Touching Madison makes me feel good, but that is nothing compared to the champagne-bubble happiness that I got from hearing the sweet sounds she made when she came, feeling the aftershocks shudder through her, or the taste of her sweet cream on my tongue.

With Coach Brenig’s final whistle, I breathe a sigh of relief. Despite working harder than I ever have in my life, I cannot seem to match my partner, Oliver, in speed. My sluggishness throws off our timing. But now, I can be done for today.

“Hey, Marco!” Anders swings by on our way to the locker room. “Are you coming to lunch with us?”

“Of course! Where are we going?” It is not as if I have a choice, since I rode with Cash this morning, but I like having friends. At first, I did not think that my teammates liked me, but things have changed. Anders was angry when Dante hired me, and now he is manning my wings with Madison. I think we are real friends now. I know that he only groused before because I was Italian, but he realizes that Dante does what he wants and with that man, it is best not to argue.

These fierce, talented men are maybe the first true friends that I have had in all my life.

“Luigi’s,” Anders tells me.

I groan, which makes Latham laugh. Even Cash grins. Luigi’s Italian Pizzeria is the torment of my existence. I hate that place.

But my friends love it, and I love my friends, so in the end, we go.

* * *

“I don’t get what your problem is,” Latham says as he digs into a slice of Luigi’s and moans his pleasure.

“This is my problem.” I point accusingly at the pie. “Pizza, for first of things, should not come on a buffet. And this, what is this? Stuffed crust? With what is it stuffed?”

“It’s cheese, doofus,” Cash says through a mouthful of lies.

“This is not cheese!” I pull apart a segment of crust and watch as the abomination that Luigi dares to call mozzarella seeps out. “What is this? Is it plastic? Is it wax? Is there milk in here at all?”

Noah shakes his head. “Lower your voice. We like this place. We don’t want to get eighty-sixed.”

“It is deception.” I glare up at the giant neon sign that shows a happy Italian chef peddling his wares and shake my finger at him. “I am under you, Luigi.”

Anders picks up a slice of taco pizza. Tacos. On pizza. This Luigi character is a villain of the highest order. I bet he does not even speak Italian. He is fake Italian who got his name from a book, I just know it. “You never cease to amaze me.”

Cash points to my definitely-not-cheese-stuffed-crust. “Stuff your face.”

“You eat,” I retort. “I have bigger fish to flambé.”

Latham grunts. “I think you mean—”

Cash holds up one hand to stop him. “Let it go.”

“Speaking of, uh…” Anders pauses with his pizza-taco nightmare halfway to his mouth. “Fish? I guess? Screw the segue. Marco, how did your big date go?”

“Ah.” I rub my hands together as the memories assault me. Sweet this time unlike the non-cheese my friends force me to consume. “I am having a question for this, si. I want to send my principessa a text. Tell her how much I enjoyed our avventura.”

“Your what now?” Noah asks.

Cash shakes his head. “He means Madison.”

“Oh, right.” Noah turns to me. “You send your princess nothing. You already seem desperate around her. It’s not a good look.”

Anders nods. “Remember when you were new to the States and you got confused by all the locker room talk about Noah giving Molly ‘lessons’? And then you thought it would be a grand idea to finish on a woman’s face just because Molly said that was something she wanted to try? Listen to us this time. A masculine man doesn’t pander to a woman, no matter how much he likes her.”

“I have learned my lesson about consent. And communication in the camera.” I twist my lips into a pout. “Not even one text?”

“I agree with Noah,” Latham says.

“You are a man eating himself a pizza with pineapples on it!” I scoff. “What do you know?”

“I know you’ll look whipped if you text too soon.” Latham takes a defiant bite of his Hawaiian pizza. “Trust me on this. Before Scarlett, I was the king of hook ups. Keeping a roster of women was my superpower.”

That stops me short. “What is whipped? Like cream?”

“No, like…” Latham looks around to make sure that nobody’s listening in on us and lowers his voice to a whisper. “Pussy-whipped,” he whispers.

“Ooooh.” I press my hands together in front of me. “Si. I understand this.” Madison certainly liked watching the whipping last night. I wonder if she would like more of that: a little bit of pain with her pleasure. If that is what she wants, I can learn. For her.

Anders seems to think that whipping is bad, too. “Give it a day or so. Then send something. You’re reveling in the high of a great first date. Then set a second date in like… a week. Don’t get crazy with it. These independent career women don’t like a stalker. I know it defies logic, but it’s a total turn-off for them.”

A burst of worry expands my stomach. “But what if she forgets about me? Or thinks that I am forgetting about her? I just want to tell her I am thinking of her. For later.”

Latham shakes his head. “No way. Too much, too soon. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“There are many bridges in Venice,” I point out. “What if I read you what I am writing?”

“Oh, my God.” Noah covers his face with both hands. “Tell me that you don’t have a draft saved in your notes or something.”

Cash takes a long slurp of Sprite that somehow manages to be condescending. “He sure does.”

Latham and Anders groan.

“Let me read, you tell me what you think.” I pull out my phone and open my notes. “Okay, these are the words of my heart. Madison, last night was so wonderful. I am glad to share our tour of Italia together—because the dinner,” I explain while raising my eyebrows, then return to my note. “… and speak with you like this. And afterward… because the bee-dee-emess club,” I add to the guys.

“The what?” Anders demands.

Cash shakes his head. “Lord have mercy.”

Noah is frozen with the greasy point of a pizza slice drooping in front of his open mouth. “Did he just say what I think he said?”

“Does he mean a BDSM club?” Latham’s eye twitches even as his mouth twists into something I’ve never seen before. My heart starts to squeeze right along with his lips.

Cash leans over to clasp one hand on Latham’s shoulder, squeezing tight. “Don’t. Fucking. Ask.”

Latham finally finds his voice along with his thumbs that stab in my direction. “I’ll fucking ask all day long, you bonehead! He took Silas McKay’s sister to a BDSM club! He broke bro code on the first date!”

Noah’s chin hits his chest. “We’re gonna need a new D-man.”

“Is nobody’s business.” I sniff at them. These men do not know real pizza when they see it. How would they know what a woman like Madison wants? “Forget I am asking.”

“Look.” Anders pushes his nearly-empty plate away, looking a little green around the edges. “It’s up to you, man. Live your best life. But I can’t recommend it.”

I sit there in silence while my friends eat an upsetting amount of terrible pizza as if doing so will numb their annoyance with me. I cannot bring myself to take another bite, though. For one thing, the pizza is very bad. For another, I do not want to mess things up with Madison. She is so lovely, so wonderful, and she makes me feel…

It is not often that I do not know the word for something in Italian. I am used to fumbling my way through English, but my Italian rarely fails me. For a frantic moment, I wonder if I am losing my Italian, too, until it occurs to me that I have never felt this before. I do not know what to call it because I know not what it is.

Madison makes me feel less lonely.

She makes me feel like the future would not be so bleak as long as she was in it.

My friends keep jostling each other and being rowdy until we pay and go our separate ways. Anders shoots me a worried look before Cash and I peel away to his car, but he does not say anything before we leave together.

I buckle in and stare out at the city. Madison is not here for long. She is only here for work, and when she goes, who knows when I will see her again? I will be left with the pre-Madison, more-lonely feeling, maybe forever. If I wait a few days like my friends said, will not I just be wasting time that is already precious?

Dragging a heavy inhale into my lungs, I tap my clavicle as the feeling rolls toward me, fearful of how it might break me if I let it. I do not want Madison to go.

“You like her a lot, don’t you?”

I jump at the sound of Cash’s voice. We work together, and we live together, but out of all the guys in our little group, Cash is the one who is furthest from being what a person might describe as friendly. He puts up with me, but he scares me a little bit. He is so quiet, and he does not express how he truly feels. Someone told me that the quiet ones are the ones you have to worry about. I worry about Cash Denaro.

“Si,” I answer. “More than any woman. She is my principessa.” The words come fast and clipped as if I am ashamed of them. But I am not. Not even close.

Cash takes one hand off the wheel and motions for me to say more, although his eyes never leave the road. Everyone on the team complains about the traffic in Las Vegas. That is how I know they have never driven in Italy.

“I like her so, so much,” I admit. “She is funny. She listens to me. She does not get annoyed by me. She tries to understand my wrong words. When she looks at me, my heart does a thumpa thumpa in my chest.” I pat the heel of my hand against my pec for emphasis. “So hard, like it is bursting. And then, in my pants—”

Cash’s hand whips out and slaps over my mouth. “No more details.”

“Sorry,” I mumble against his palm. “You did the asking.”

Cash rubs his hand on the thigh of his sweatpants and sighs. “Send the text.”

I pass a hard swallow down my throat. “But everyone has said non. That she will not like it.”

“She likes you. She’s a woman. You probably took her someplace not first date appropriate, although that’s still a bit unclear.” Cash snorts. “Send the text.”

Cash might be the least open with me, but I also trust him more than the others. He thinks before he talks. Besides, he is like me. Lonely. The rest of our friends are happily married, but Cash and I are a bit lost. I do not know if Cash chose this for himself or if, like me, that is just how it is for him.

It does not matter. He has given me permission to do something I already wanted, and I know he would not tell me something just to make me happy. Cash is the kind of man who calls bread as bread and wine as wine.

I open my phone, edit my note one last time, and copy it into a text to Madison.

As I imagine her reaction, my chest aches so hard it almost steals my breath.