Bender (Vegas Venom Book 4)

“We need another round,” Latham tells our server.

The guy, who is clearly a fan, shoots Latham two finger guns before hurrying off to retrieve our celebratory drinks.

“Another win, another step forward in the pursuit of Lord Stanley.” Anders thumps his palms on the table. “We freakin’ crushed it out there. I had a need… a need for speed. No wonder I get called a wheeler. I got mad wheels, baby.”

Noah rolls his eyes until they almost disappear into his skull. “Enough with the ‘baby.’ You’re amongst dudes, Mr. Mad Wheels.”

I am feeling crushed, but not for the same reasons as the rest of them. Yes, we won the game, but I played poorly. Again. Two years, and I am still making rookie mistakes that other players could avoid with ease. During practice skates, it is simple, but during the actual games, I tend to make tactical errors due to the extreme speed involved in the NHL style of play. I do things in the Italian way, but we are not playing in Italy. If I keep playing this badly, I will be called to Dante’s office for real one of these days, and that will be the end of my American dream.

“Come on, Marco, stop overthinking it.” Noah clasps my shoulder and squeezes. “We won. We’re good. You’ll learn from your mistakes and play better in the next game. Besides, we’ve always got your back.”

“If that is true, then by now I should have no mistakes at all,” I gripe. “If it is more like this, then soon I am going home. I lose salary. I lose endorsements. I lose friends.”

Latham misunderstands my worries. “Come on, Marco, stay here for another couple rounds. You’re part of the team. Remember when Anders was moping around about Stella and started playing like shit?”

Anders narrows his eyes and points a warning finger at our friend. “Watch it.”

“Or when Noah got turned inside-out over his spat with Molly? Remember when he almost broke up with her, because he’s an idiot?”

Noah rolls his eyes. “Remember that time Latham got a concussion and started a bitter rivalry with his future wife?” With an expectant look, he holds his pointer finger up in the air and then curls it.

“You said it.” Cash smirks and hooks a thumb at Latham. “Dick didn’t work.”

“Because I was concussed, jackass. All I’m saying is, we’ve all had bad games, and we’ve all made mistakes.” Latham smacks my other arm as the server returns with our drinks. “But we pick up each other’s slack, ‘cuz we’re a team. One for all and all for one. That’s how we roll.”

I stare down at my refill of coffee stout. “What about Cash? When is he making mistakes?”

Cash slaps one hand to his chest, right over his heart. “I’m fucking perfect.”

Anders tips his head to the side. “Only because you’re the oldest forward in the NHL. You’ve had far more decades than us to hone your skills.”

As Cash mumbles a reply, the server sets a round of shots on the table along with our beers. “Can I get you guys anything else for the mo—” He stops dead and stares at the front door with his mouth open.

Latham is taking a sip of some pale, tasteless-looking beer, but he chokes when he sees the women who have just stepped through the door. “Marco,” he splutters, “is that your princess?”

I follow his gaze, and then it is my turn to stare open-mouthed at the quartet of women who are stumbling into the bar. There is a small, magical dinosaur, a pastel goth ballerina, someone with no eye for patterns, and her.

I have always thought that Madison would be beautiful in anything she wears, but now I know for sure because she can even look lovely inside a moth-eaten bear.

Cash’s eyes are about to pop out of his skull. “What the hell?”

Noah shakes his head. “What is she wearing?”

“They must be doing the Goodwill challenge,” our server pipes up with a little wave toward them and a chuckle. “We get that in here from time to time.”

“What is Goodwill, and why is it called good?” I ask. “This is… bad.”

Anders snickers. “I think she’s testing you. Making sure you don’t fail. Women rarely give second chances.”

“Testing for what?” Latham waves one hand in front of my eyes. “Blindness?”

“I can see all too well,” I assure them.

Cash nods as he blinks rapidly. “Me too, unfortunately.”

“Never minding.” I get to my feet. “She is still beautiful for me, and I am not afraid of being seen with her like this. She is not so bad as my game tonight, and that is on television in front of millions.”

Judging by the way my friends look at one another, my game was indeed very bad. But I will worry about that later. For now, my principessa awaits my approval. I straighten my shirt and set out for the bar, where the quartet of beautiful women in hideous clothes wait to give their orders.

As I approach, the dinosaur stands on her toes to whisper something to Madison. They both turn to face me, giggling madly as they do so, and the other two join in. I am not sure what is so funny about me when they are the ones who are dressed so.

“Buonasera, bellisi… principessa.” I slide up to the bar next to her and smile. “It is so nice to see you again.”

Her cheeks turn pink as she shifts to face me. “Hello, Marco. Fancy meeting you here.”

The dinosaur giggles, but I am too busy realizing what Madison has on—and does not have on—beneath the fur coat. Her little shorts and her shiny top reveal so much skin that I can hardly stand it. I want to touch her. To caress her. To hear her scream my name as she did that night when her pleasure peaked. I want to take her outside into some dark corner. I want to make her come all over again.

I want her taste and smell to linger until I can barely stand to be away from her another second.

It is a good thing she is wearing that old rug over top, because otherwise, she would be irresistible. And I would be wrecked.

“Yes,” I murmur in a daze, “fancy. Very fancy. You and your fancy dinosaur are making us all look so bad.”

Madison uses one hand to shade her eyes. She seems more embarrassed by this than by what we did the other night, and suddenly I want her like that again, her thighs spread for me, her eyes fluttering closed, gasping as she rolls her fica against my mouth, using me. A woman who knows what she wants is formidable indeed.

And a woman who takes what she wants? This is, as my friends would say, sexy as hell.

Madison snorts and waves a hand to her group of friends. “You’re calling us fancy?”

“I am not so fancy at all. And you.” I lean closer and lower my voice. “You are a hand full. Two hands full. I wish I could take you in my mouth and—”

Madison raises a finger to my lips. “Aaand we’re still in public. What if you tell me later?”

I am not sure if her friends could overhear us, but they are still laughing, and I do not care. I would gladly make an immense fool of myself for her. I am more worried about what she thinks. “Later when? Later tonight? Later tomorrow? When can I see you again? I am missing you so much, and tonight…” I rub my temple. “Tonight, I have not been so good. I would like to be alone with you. It would make things better, I think.”

Madison’s eyes sparkle. “I was going for vague generality here, but if you need something more concrete… are you up for some Netflix and chill?”

I am familiar with Netflix, and I know how seriously Americans take their television shows. When I watched ahead on the Great British Bakeoff the year that an Italian won—bravo, Giuseppe!—Cash threatened to break both of my thumbs for spoiling the season finale. I wonder what sort of shows Madison likes. It would be wonderful to sit next to her, all alone in some dark room, snuggling close to one another. That is just the thing I need after a day like this one.

“I have never done this before,” I admit. “Usually when I am watching Netflix, I am chilling alone.”

The corners of Madison’s mouth twitch. “Okay… Then I look forward to popping that cherry.”

“What does this mean?” I ask. “Pop the cherry?”

She nods to our table. “Ask your boys.”

“Ah.” I turn back to my friends. “Alright. I will ask. You and your dinosaur and your elf and your evil fairy must join us, si? We are partaking in a victory celebration.”

She leans over to kiss my cheek. “I’ll talk to them while we get our drinks.”

I nod and retreat to the table, where my friends are awaiting my return. They do not even try to hide the fact that they have been watching us talk.

I rest my hand on Cash’s shoulder. “Amico mio, I have a question.”

“No can do,” he says at once.

“This is not that sort of question. What does pop the cherry mean?”

Cash groans and raises his hands. “Not my circus.”

“What does the circus have to do with cherries?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.

Noah sighs. “Why are you asking about cherries?”

“Because my principessa says that she is wanting to pop mine,” I explain.

Cash actually puts his forehead down on the table. “Not my monkeys.”

Latham hides his eyes, but Anders raises his glass of beer in a toast. “I had no idea you were into that. Well, I’m happy for you. My advice, go slow the first time and use the smallest size. When is this going down?”

“I will find out right now.” I turn back to Madison and her friends, who are already headed our way. Use the smallest size? What does this mean? American slang is so confusing, because most of the time the meaning of the words has nothing to do with what a person is actually saying, and even when they try to explain their meaning, it often gets more confusing.

“Well, hello there.” Madison’s Christmas elf friend eyes Latham up and down.

Latham automatically holds up a hand so that she can see his wedding ring. “Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not a puck bunny anyway.” The tall blonde woman slides into the seat next to him. “But if I ogle Madison’s boy toy, I’ll be in violation of girl code, and I gotta ogle someone.”

The woman dressed as an evil fairy leans toward Anders and stage-whispers, “We’ve had a few too many Kum Agains.”

Anders grins. “Come again?”

“It’s a drink,” the dinosaur explains.

The fairy nods again. “And it’s twice as good as Sex on the Beach!” She cackles before holding out a hand to Anders. “I’m Lara.”

The pattern-challenged elf introduces herself as Sienna, while the dinosaur is named Mare. While the three of them talk about Sex on the Beach and Red-Headed Sluts—two things I know nothing of—I lean in closer to Madison.

“So, principessa, when will you pop my cherry?” I whisper.

“Um.” Madison gives me a funny look, but when she smiles, she is not laughing at me. I like that about her, how she is able to find things funny without making me feel bad about them. It is different with the team. We roughhouse. We tease. Madison, I think, is always laughing with me. “Are you free tomorrow night?”

I nod. “Si. Si, I will be free for you at any time.” I swivel toward Cash. “Tomorrow, my cherry is being popped with Netflix. I will tell you all about it afterward.”

Cash gags. “Tell me never.”

“Do not be like this.” I nudge him. “You are the one who is making this possible. You are the one who is telling me to text her. Because of you, my cherry is being prepared for a voluminous treat.”

“Not my circus.” Cash’s eye twitches as he repeats himself. “Not. My. Monkeys.”

I have not forgotten my bad performance on the ice, but it matters very much less. Tonight, cara mia is here with my best friends, and tomorrow, it will be just the two of us alone when I can cherish her as she deserves. For her, I will do better. I will try harder.

Life is perhaps better now than it has ever been.