Bender (Vegas Venom Book 4)

The first of our three fan-selected dates takes place the day after my next home game. When I tell Madison what the fans have picked for us, she lets out a dreamy sigh.

“That’s so wholesome!”

I study her. Every time I think my English is getting better, someone will utter another word that makes no sense at all. Julie also said this word to me. “How can something be both whole and some? Are those not being opposite?”

“It means that something is pure and sweet. Innocent. Kind of like, um, whole-hearted?” Madison frowns at the ceiling of her apartment. “You know what, I’m not actually sure where it came from. There’s a lot of stuff that people just say without thinking about how it might sound to someone who doesn’t know the language.” She redirects her frown toward me. “That must have been really confusing when you first got here.”

“It is still confusing, sometimes,” I admit. “But I am getting better. At the what you say, reading between the lines?”

On my way to the arena after leaving Madison’s apartment, I consider this. She is right about this particular date being sweet, at least. The third most popular location for a date was the Vegas M&M store. Later after morning skate, Julie tries to explain to me why the third most popular date is the first one we should go on. I nod along, but I think it is just another one of those weird American things that I do not understand. It is Latham who finally explains it in a way that makes sense.

“Look, dude, let’s say you have three really good moves in bed,” he begins.

I huff in indignation. “I have many good moves! With many parts of my body! Madison says that there is a thing that I am doing with my tongue that—”

Latham holds up a hand and shakes his head. “Um… stop right there. Let’s say you’ve got your three best moves. Do you blow your best move right out of the gate by doing it first? Hell, no. Then it’s all downhill from there. But if she knows she’s getting your third best first, then the anticipation builds, you know what I’m saying? Things just keep getting better.”

“Oooh.” I bob my head in excitement. “I am seeing. So the M&Ms are the foreplay.”

“Sure, now you’re getting it.” Latham throws one arm over my shoulders and pats my back. “Although maybe don’t take that too literally. It’s a family-friendly establishment.”

* * *

American chocolate is not my favorite, since it is mostly milk and sugar just pretending, but I would be excited to do anything with Madison, even eat not-so-good chocolate. I pick her up at her place again, and we park in a reserved spot in the deck near Dante’s hotel. Since we are technically working right now, Julie has arranged for us to have the spot.

Madison looks around when we get out of the car. “Are we expecting someone to, like, come take pictures of us or something? I know you’re well known around here, but not like paparazzi chasing you down famous. Right?”

“Non, non.” I shake my head. “All of the photos will be taken by us. The fans like this, she says. They are believing it is more authentic. If we are going to dinner afterward, we take more photos. But nothing that is crude or, ah, unwholesome.”

“Yeah, I figured we’d keep it PG.” Madison links her arm through mine, and the two of us stroll through the Las Vegas sunshine toward the M&M store. This time of year, it is not too hot. I have never felt luckier in my life, not even after I got the call from Dante to come to America.

All I know of M&Ms are little colorful pellets sold in bags in gas stations and grocery stores. Sometimes they have fillings inside. The bags are small. Even a big display takes up no more than a shelf. And then there is the conspiracy theory on the television. Does babbo Natale exist? Does they exist? Regardless, how big can a store for M&Ms be?

The answer is very, very big.

The first floor is not even candy. It is mostly just clothes with the faces of candy. Confusion washes over me. When all I want is to impress my bellissima, it seems like the forces of American folklore are against me.

“I do not understand why Americans want their food to be people,” I say as I examine a yellow shirt with a smiling face.

Madison chokes and splutters. “I’m sorry?”

“Where I am growing up, people will name a cow they have for milking or a chicken for egging. It is strange to name even an animal you will eat. But in America, even when food was never alive, you are giving it faces. Identities.” I peer at her. “Are Americans okay?”

Madison picks up a mug shaped like the face of a red, chocolate boy. “Collectively? Probably not. But it’s just marketing, you know? I guess faces make people happy.”

“Because giving your food faces makes you want to eat it more.” I raise my eyebrows. “I hear you, but I am not understanding.”

Madison puts the mug back. “If you’re confused by this, never go to Japan. Everything has a mascot. Come on, let’s go to the next floor.”

There is even more shopping on the second floor, but Madison leads me toward the back, and I gasp.

“Why are there so many colors?” I ask. My eyes nearly pop out of my head as they sweep over the rainbow of tiny sweets. “Are they all of different flavors? Surely not.”

“Some of them are, but mostly they’re just different colors. But there’s something even better upstairs.” Madison shepherds me up the next escalator, then drags me over to a kiosk in the middle of the room. “Now you can design your own! We could put our names. Or, oooh look, we could add our faces! Let’s do that!”

We play around with the settings until Madison takes a picture she’s happy with. She takes a few photos of the process. “Won’t this be cute? We’ll have our pictures on one side, and an M on the other. Get it? M for Madison and M for Marco?”

“M&M,” I repeat. “Aha! I see! I am not even thinking of this. But I like it very much.”

“You dork,” Madison says fondly and kisses my cheek for good measure, so I know that even if she is making fun, she is laughing with me. “I’m going to get mine in light purple. What about you?”

“Mine will be green,” I say, thinking of the Venom team colors.

“Ooh.” Madison wiggles her eyebrows. “You know what they say about the green M&Ms.”

I pause for a beat because I do not know. But I do know that they exist for they are right in front of my eyes. “That they are… green?”

Her laugh echoes across the room. “They’re supposed to be an aphrodisiac, actually.”

I kiss her cheek. “Around you, I don’t need M&Ms of any color. You are the aphrodisiac, principessa.”

Madison shivers and presses against me for a kiss. She pulls away too soon, but like Latham said, this is a public place, so maybe that is for the best. “I love it when you say that. I love all your little Italian pet names for me. I bet all the ladies do. Ooh, can we add a pearl one with these cute little hearts? They’ll all be so perfect together.”

“We can get anything to make you happy,” I say, but I do not like how her comment makes me feel. This idea that I have so many women, or that I am using a trick to make Madison like me, leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Does she really think that I call every woman I meet the same nicknames? Does she think that I have been bringing one principessa after another to my bed since I came to America? I blame the what do they call it here? Yeah, the blogs. They talk all the things about me, but they do not really say anything. And their assumptions are rarely the truth.

She is right. Our M&Ms look good together. I buy each of us a bag of them—even if I do not eat them, I can share them with the team just to rub my happiness in their faces. After the Netflix and chill incident, they need to eat their words. And forcing Latham and Anders to consume candy with my head on it does not hurt my feelings. I think that is how it works. We look around the rest of the store, but not for long. Madison keeps watching me out of the corner of her eye.

“Is everything okay?” she asks as we ride the escalators back down to the ground floor. “Your brow is furrowed.”

“Si,” I say, but I am not feeling it. “I have a thought to tell you, but I am not yet sure how to say it. Can I show you a place nearby?”

“Of course.” She takes my arm again. It is my turn to lead, so I grab us a taxi and ask him to drive us to the Venetian, where the gondolas offer rides to tourists. Once we arrive, I pay him and we make our way to the attraction where I purchase tickets.

“Oh, this is fun.” Madison beams at me. “It’s the closest we’re going to get to Italy in this city, anyway.”

I nod as I hand her down into the boat, then join her. I tuck our M&Ms under my seat, where they will not melt in the sun. “It is very turistico, but so is Venice anyway. Most people do not live there. It is sinking. Very sad, that so much history and beauty are going beneath the water. But still, it is very beautiful. Would you like to go to Italia someday? With me?”

“Oh.” Madison’s eyes sparkle. “Yeah, that would be… yeah. I mean, if it ever comes down to that. I’d love it. I’ve never been to Europe.”

As I look out at the little lagoon, I wonder why she is hedging again, putting up walls of fiction between us. It is almost as if she has dismissed the possibility of a future with me before that path unfolds. An ache appears behind my collarbone. I do not like her doing this. “Did you know that I was singing here, to Noah and Molly when they decided to marry? I was—” I mime using the pole to steer the gondola around because I cannot think of the English word just now. “And I am singing to them in Italian.”

Madison’s eyes open wider than ever. “You sing? Will you sing for me sometime?”

“Later, si.” I shift on the bench and turn to face her, taking both of her hands in mine. It is a little uncomfortable that the gondolier can hear us, but only because I do not know how Madison will respond to what I have to say. “Can I tell you something serious?”

Madison bites her lip and nods. She looks suddenly nervous, and I wonder if she is afraid of what I am about to say.

Still, I need her to know how I feel, and if she does not like it, better that I know now.

“You think wrong of me,” I tell her. “You think I have all these women. I do not. I never did.”

One of Madison’s eyebrows arches like the Bridge of Sighs. “Never? You seem to forget that I have a brother in the NHL. I know what happens. I know how easy it is to hook up with random chicks.”

My heart drops to my shoes, panic filling the void. How to make her understand? “Only for fun. Never for real. I have done, ah, the special hug with other people.”

Madison chokes.

I hurry on. “But I am not calling them principessa, or bellissima, or cara mia. I am not making love before. It is different.” My words stick in my brain. This would be so much easier in Italian, when I could just say what I am thinking, instead of translating the words into other words and trying to avoid any double meanings. With my heart on the line, it is much harder than usual. The feelings are so big already, and I do not want to get this wrong. Which of course, means that I do.

“You move my heart,” I tell her, picking up her hand that is entwined with mine and placing it over my pulse. “You move my soul.”

Madison’s palm is damp, but she will not look at me. Her eyebrows are pinched together as if she is upset. “I don’t need you to say stuff like that. I know how it is. My brother’s just like you, remember? I know how Silas was before Phoebe. Please don’t say things that you don’t mean, Marco. I can tolerate a lot, but not you lying to me.”

“But I am not Silas,” I tell her. “I am not Latham, or Anders, or Noah, or even Cash. I like you. Only you. I am not telling you this because I want you to think this is true. I am telling you because it is important to me that you understand what is inside my heart.”

A slow, sweet, wholesome smile spreads across her face. “I like you, too. A lot actually.”

The gondola rides are not very long, and as we slide under the copy of the Rialto, I know that we do not have long. I pull her close beside me, so that her head rests on my shoulder, and sing her the first song that comes to mind whenever I think of her: “O sole mio.”

She closes her eyes, and her smile is as bright as the sun itself. I wish that moment would last forever. I wish that night would never come.