Bender (Vegas Venom Book 4)

I slept terribly last night. I don’t usually drink that much, but I was having so much fun with my friends and the Venom players that I let things get a little out of hand. Besides, with Marco sitting next to me, his elbow brushing mine, his breath whispering against my skin whenever he leaned in close to say something, his hand sometimes finding my knee, I couldn’t stop thinking about what we’ll do the next time we’re alone together. He smelled so damn good that I was tempted to lean over and take a deep whiff of his scent, a sort of frosty, pine-laden, masculine aroma. It went to my head even faster than the alcohol.

And when he smiled at me… gah!

Which is why I’m still horny and hungover when I drag myself into the salon at eleven a.m. for my meeting with Chandler, the stylist that Caesar’s Entertainment wants me to use while I’m in town working on their project.

He takes one look at me and gasps. “Oh my goodness.”

I wave to my face. I barely bothered putting makeup on before I headed out. What was the point? A makeup guru like Mare might have been able to disguise my state, but if I’d tried to cover the bags under my eyes, I would have only made things a caked-up mess. “I know.”

“You’re glowing!” Chandler holds his arms out toward me, the way I expect the ancient Romans would have done if a goddess strolled into their midst. I think of Marco’s effusive praise after the Venom merch reveal. What did he call me? Boticelli’s muse?

“I’m not sure about that.” I let him lead me over to my chair. “I’m feeling a bit peaky today, if I’m being honest.”

“Don’t say that. You’re stunning. Just look at those bright eyes and that brilliant smile.” Chandler swishes the salon cape around me, then spins my chair so that I face him. “What is it? A new skincare routine? A new foundation? No, don’t tell me… you’re seeing someone.”

I sink down in my chair. “Um.”

“I knew it!” Chandler flexes one arm in a gesture of victory. “I can always tell when someone’s in the throes of a new fling. Who’s the lucky guy… or girl? Screw all that gender specificity. Who’s the lucky person?”

I press my lips together. “Marco Rossi. You’ve probably heard of him.”

Chandler freezes. “The hockey player?”

I nod.

So far, everyone seems to think that Marco’s a catch, but Chandler wrinkles his nose. “Oh, no. Run, run, I say. Girl, you can do so much better.”

I blink a few times. “That’s not a nice thing to say about someone’s date. Their most excellent first date of all time, by the way.”

Chandler waves a dismissive hand. “It’s not about him. I have nothing against the guy per se, but you’re not thinking this through.”

My head is killing me, and his response isn’t helping. I can’t help but notice that I didn’t ask for this advice. Usually, Chandler and I get along just fine, but before I can work out how to tell him that I’m not interested in his opinion, he’s already forged ahead.

“You’re soaring to the top as the dream does, darling. Your star is rising, and a guy like Marco Rossi will only hold you back.” Chandler shakes his head and sighs. “You’re gorgeous, and him? Does he even have all his teeth? This should be Dating 101, doll. And his nose? Picture it broken at least three more times. Gawd, he’s probably one concussion away from a permanent traumatic brain injury. You wanna change his diapers in five more years? Yuck! I can just see you trucking down to Walmart three times a week for wet wipes.”

My mouth falls open, and it takes me a moment to formulate a response. “You do remember that my brother plays in the NHL, right?”

Chandler winces. “Sorry, I’m sure he’s different. Does he have all his teeth? Ever broken his nose?”

I roll my eyes. “No, but if he heard you talking like that, he’d break yours.”

Chandler’s shoulders droop. “Maybe I should just get to work, then.”

“You definitely should.” I grit my teeth as he spins me back toward the mirror and gets to work on my hair. Maybe I should request another stylist.

His comments set my teeth on edge, but he does get me thinking. Since I have knowledge of the NHL, I do understand the internal workings of the league and how hard it is to be a WAG. Whenever I’ve thought about Marco and me together, I haven’t pictured us sticking it out for the long haul. It’s not that I’m opposed to it, per se, but it feels far-fetched. We’re both young. I’m only in Vegas for the time being, and I don’t even know if Marco is a citizen. If he’s only here for his career, then presumably he’ll go home to Italy sooner or later. And with Silas as a brother, I know how hard it is for NHL players to keep it in their pants. Infidelity is a hard pass for me. Not that I judge any couple with an open marriage, sharing just goes against my Midwestern values.

Then again, when we spoke the other night, it didn’t sound like he had much waiting for him back in Italy. Would he want to stay?

Would I want him to stay?

It’s way too early to be asking these questions, but Chandler’s talk of the future and my impulse to leap to Marco’s defense leaves me feeling…

Something. I’m not sure what. Wistful, maybe? Like whatever we’re doing has an expiration date that isn’t printed on the packaging. I try to remind myself that this isn’t that serious anyway. Last night, Marco made it clear that he only wants to see me to take his mind off of his game, and he leapt at the opportunity to come over for a booty call. Technically, this is only our second date, which means that one hundred percent of our dates will have ended in sex. Surely that’s not a recipe for forever.

But why not enjoy it while it lasts? Marco’s handsome. He’s attentive. He’s thoughtful. He’s got a fucking phenomenal tongue. He’s clearly into me, and he didn’t push me into doing anything to him last time. He’s respectful. I feel safe with him.

So yeah, we’ll get down and dirty tonight, and the next time he wants to occupy his mind and those skillful hands with something other than hockey, we’ll hook up again.

But what about that text? The one where he wore his heart on his sleeve?

“I’m sorry, Mads.” Chandler’s voice shakes me out of my funk. “You’re so quiet and it’s killing me. I should have kept my mouth shut. You’re a sassy, independent woman who can make her own decisions. If you want to, you can slap me.”

“It is what it is,” I say. I’m not ready to admit that my train of thought has taken me on a deep dive of questioning the very nature of Marco and my expectations around what being with him means.

Chandler is just finishing up when Sienna strolls past. She stops when she sees me.

“Ooh, somebody’s mad,” she sing-songs. “Her forehead’s all crinkled up, and I think I see a new wrinkle around her left eye. Chandler, did you piss off my bestie?”

“I may have,” he says in a deeply aggrieved voice. “This is the quietest she’s ever been. I put my foot right in it, didn’t I?”

I force a smile. “I’ll have forgiven you by next time, I’m sure.”

Chandler offers me a wan smile as he removes my cape. “I hope so.”

Sienna waits for me to pay, hovering by my shoulder until I tuck my wallet away, then loops her arm through mine. “Wanna grab a coffee and catch up?”

“It’s been, like, ten hours since the last time I saw you. How much could you possibly have missed? Your brows look amazing, by the way.”

She arches one of her freshly-thinned eyebrows at me. “Giselle is the best at threading. And don’t try to change the subject. I saw you chit-chatting with loverboy last night, I vaguely remember a bunch of banter about cherry popping, and I demand details.”

“There’s nothing much to tell,” I insist, but Sienna is relentless. She won’t take no for an answer, and soon she’s steering me into a cafe. The smell of coffee tempts me to distraction, and before long we’re seated across from each other with lattes and pastries. The blueberry muffins were too perfect to resist.

“So.” Sienna slurps her drink meaningfully so that the creamy cap of her latte stretches and distorts, blurring the heart that the barista poured so carefully. “What’s the deal?”

“The deal is that Marco’s coming over tonight.” I break off a piece of muffin. “To… watch some Netflix.”

Sienna cocks her head. “You seem kind of conflicted about that.”

I swallow hard. “What makes you say that?”

She smirks and nods toward my fingers, indicating the mangled crumbs of my muffin, which I’ve absentmindedly crushed instead of eating.

“Okay, you got me.” I wipe the remnants off on my napkin. “I’m just telling myself to stay cool. I don’t want to get too attached.”

She tosses her blond curls over her shoulder. “Yeah, well, good luck with that. The guy’s lovestruck. And why wouldn’t he be? You’re the whole package.”

“You don’t even know him.” I take a bite of my muffin this time, in part because I’m afraid that all my mixed feelings will come tumbling out of my mouth in an unstoppable confession. Admitting them aloud would make them more real, somehow, and then we’d have to talk about it, which means that I’d have to really think about it, and… no thank you.

“I didn’t need to have a heart-to-heart with him. The way Marco looked at you last night? I dressed you in the most ridiculous outfit I could find, and he was still following you around like a man who couldn’t stop eye fucking you even if he tried. He’s got it bad, girl.”

“When you say it, you mean lust, right?” I need to hear her say it.

Instead, she presses her lips together. “As if. I know he’s the big bad hockey player, but the guy seems like he has major puppy dog energy. He was literally looking at you like…” Sienna takes a deep breath, laces her fingers under her chin, and then lets out a lingering sigh with her eyes fixed on my face. It’s cartoonish, like something out of an old Disney animation.

“No, he didn’t,” I retort. “He’s got the hots for me, that’s all. He’s a typical athlete. He wants my body but just until he gets tired of it.” I avert my gaze and stare out the window, where the autumn sunshine pours through the front window of the cafe. This time of year, Silas and Phoebe are getting out their winter gear. Back home.

Where I’ll end up after my contract with Caesar’s runs out and I leave Vegas behind for good, while Marco stays. And the last thing I want is to be regretting a breakup when that happens.

“I’m not saying that you have to fall for him, you know.” Sienna watches me carefully. “But I think you could wreck his heart without even trying. I’m just saying be careful. He seems like a really good guy.”

That gets a smile out of me. “Do you really think that I’m out here hoping to break some hearts?”

“No,” she says. “What I’m telling you is that if you treat this like some throwaway hookup, he’ll get hurt. And I think you really like him, too, even if you won’t admit it. You were so bummed when he didn’t text you back. If he was just some fuckboy, you wouldn’t have been upset not to hear from him right away. Just… keep that in mind, okay?” Sienna reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “Be honest about your expectations, that’s all I ask. And I’m not just worried about him. Even though you’re a smart, independent woman, I don’t want to see you shattered either.”

“What if I want too much?” I whisper.

I stare at my friend, holding back the romantic words that rattle behind the doors of my heart, threatening to break through.

Sienna pats my hand one more time before pulling away. “Something tells me that, in Marco’s opinion, there’s no such thing.”