Bender (Vegas Venom Book 4)

After I finally wake up due to sleeping in, I spend another half hour or so lying in bed and dreaming of Marco. Objectively speaking, he’s hot as hell with his silky black hair, hazel eyes, and sculpted body—not to mention what he’s packing down south—but after last night, I see him in a whole new light. And not just because he made me come twice. Over dinner, especially when we were talking about his childhood, I felt something for him. Not pity, but… protectiveness. Last night, I wished that I could protect him from all the things that have hurt him in the past.

Now I wish I could wipe the sadness out of his expression and replace it with joy.

Not that the back-to-back explosive orgasms part of the evening counted against him.

I finally drag myself out of bed in the hopes of planning a long stay in the shower when my phone buzzes with a series of texts. I snatch up my phone, hoping that it’s Marco reaching out, but I’m disappointed to see that he hasn’t sent me a single thing. This kind of sends me into a bit of a rumination spiral. But these messages are from Sienna, my fellow model and my best friend in Vegas.

Sienna: Mani-pedis at 1?

Sienna: You had a date last night. I require tea.

Sienna: ALL THE TEA.

Me: 1 is good. Tell me where. I’m prepared to both dish *and* spill.

She picks a spa not far from our apartment building, but I still go through my morning routine as quickly as possible. When I get there, I sit in the small reception area and start digging through those cheap plastic demo nails in search of the perfect gel polish. True to form, she’s a little late, but when she finally sweeps through the door at 1:20, she has an explanation at the ready.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” she exclaims. “The shoot ran long, but the pictures will be fantastic. I love working with a photographer who knows exactly what she’s doing, don’t you? I think I might invite her to our next girls’ night.”

“The more the merrier,” I agree. I check my phone’s lock screen before dropping it into my purse. Still no text from Marco. My heart shoots to my sandaled feet again.

Even though the man just had his head buried between my thighs, it doesn’t mean anything. Right?

An irritated Thai woman behind the counter waves to us. “Come with me,” she instructs and leads us back to our seats in the spa. One of the models I worked with in Chicago last spring was Chinese-American, and she told me that the best Asian restaurants are managed by middle-aged women who never smile and can cook most of the dishes with their eyes closed. So long as the same holds true for manicurists, we’re in good hands.

Two of the younger employees set us up with a foot soak. “Pick a color,” one of them instructs before they set the timer and leave us to get soft and pruney.

Sierra ignores the options and turns to me instead. “So, I hear someone had a date with a sexy Italian hockey player last night. The current fan favorite. The one all the puck bunnies are dying to have dick them down until they can’t walk a straight line.”

“Who did?” I bat my eyelashes at her, then pretend to look around the room. At her words, a bit of a tinge rifles through me. I’m not usually the jealous type, but I guess I didn’t know how desired Marco was by the floozy set. Not that I’m surprised. Now I’m spiraling over how many of them have had his tongue between their legs. “Anyone I’d know?

“Don’t hold out on me, girl!” Sienna taps my arm. “Tell me everything.”

I haven’t always had a lot of female friends in my life. In school, the ‘pretty’ girls didn’t want to hang out with me, while most of the girls who looked like me were constantly trying to diet and lose weight, and pestering me to do the same. The one thing they all had in common was a belief that I would never make it as a model unless I got skinny. When people aren’t even willing to entertain my dreams, they aren’t my people.

And no matter how much they wanted me to conform to the patriarchal ideal of beauty, I refused.

The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow doesn’t lie within the approval of the male gaze as far as I’m concerned.

Sienna’s much closer to what most people picture when they imagine a professional model: tall, narrow, bottle-blonde, and about sixty percent legs. When we first started working together, I was wary of her for that very reason, but she’s been nothing but nice and supportive toward me the whole time I’ve known her. We’re at the same point in our careers, and we’ve done a few projects together. She’s the nearest thing I’ve ever had to a bestie, and it makes me happy to have someone like that in my life.

If it’s tea she wants, then tea she shall have, and boy do I have a lot to spill.

“First we went to dinner. The food was amazing, by the way. It was one of those small plate tasting menus at Steakhouse in the Armónico. Chef Carter Caldwell has Michelin stars. I’ve never had wine pairings like that. And the whole time we were eating, he was savoring everything. I mean… almost moaning over how good the food was. He doesn’t take things for granted, you know? And he never picked up his phone once. He even called in advance to take care of the tab, so the server never even presented it. No awkward ‘who’s paying’ moment.”

“I’m hearing a lot about a date, but not about the guy,” Sienna observes. “What makes all the women flock to him like a bunch of horny hens?”

I fidget in my chair, wondering how much to tell her. If we’d just gone to the dungeon for a lark, I’d have already told her all the details, but I’m not sure how to talk about what happened there. I’m still trying to make sense of it. I don’t want to spill Marco’s personal details, either.

I can at least talk about my feelings, though. “He’s not what I thought he would be like. It’s like he’s a totally different person in private than in public.”

Sienna rolls her eyes. “Oh, God, I hate that.”

I wave a hand between us. “I don’t mean it in a bad way. I don’t think he’s doing it to be fake or shady—”

The manicurists return. “Did you pick a color?” one of them asks.

“Oh, jeez, we didn’t even look.” Sienna beams at her. “Too much girl talk.”

Most people soften up when they’re subjected to Sienna’s warm smile, but her nail technician seems unimpressed.

“Pick a color,” she says in an icy voice.

Sienna selects a burnt orange for her fingernails and a clear varnish for her toes, but I decide to mix and match, picking alternating shades of neon green in the form of abstract nail art.

“Venom’s colors,” Sienna observes. “Interesting. Very interesting. So you were saying that loverboy doesn’t seem disingenuous? How do you know he’s not just running game?”

I feel a little weird talking about my private life in front of two strangers, but the women doing our toenails are talking to each other in a language I don’t recognize, so I go with it.

“I don’t think he’s being fake. It’s more like… like there are layers to him.”

“Like an onion,” Sienna says.

I burst out laughing. “He’s not Shrek! I’m serious, Sienna. He was legit nervous when he picked me up. And from what he said, I think he might be looking for a serious relationship. Or at least something more long-term.”

“He should be nervous. You’re a catch.” Sienna studies my face. “So what’s the problem?”

“Problem?” I repeat.

“You look kind of… sad.”

“Oh.” I look down at my toes. One set of them already glitters with Venom’s colors. “I don’t know. I mean, I thought everything was good, but, um.” I puff out my cheeks and sigh. “We kinda did more than I had planned.”

“Ah.” Sienna nods. “Got it. So you slept with the guy and you don’t think you’ll ever hear from him again? You’re young, Mads. It’s okay if you want to kick up your heels a bit and have some fun. If he’s that kind of dickhead, chalk it up to a lesson learned and move on, grateful that you didn’t give him your heart.”

“We didn’t sleep together. We just… did stuff.” I fidget again. “And he hasn’t called. He hasn’t sent a text.”

My nail technician’s eyes widen. “When you do stuff with a man, he should call,” she tells me.

I grimace at the realization that she has been listening, but Sienna laughs. “Damn right he should! Stuff deserves contact.”

“Don’t reach out to him,” my nail tech advises. “He doesn’t deserve it.”

The woman helping Sienna nods, too. “Wait for him. Otherwise, no more stuff.”

“The council has spoken,” Sienna says, making a grand gesture with one hand. “Women are in agreement: if he doesn’t reach out first, kick him to the curb.”

“I’m probably worrying over nothing,” I admit. “It’s only been half a day. He’s got morning skate…”

“No excuses,” my tech says. “A text only takes a few seconds.”

I nod like a soldier accepting marching orders. “Got it.”

While the techs move onto our fingernails, I address Sienna again. “So, tell me about the shoot you were doing today.”

Sienna’s eyes light up, as they always do when we talk about work. “It’s for this new line of eco-friendly clothes. The company’s just getting off the ground, so I’m hoping I can be for them what you are for Coach B+…”

We talk about current and upcoming projects until our me time is complete, and I make sure to leave a generous tip. It’s not every day that your mani-pedi comes with non-judgmental, affirming advice.

Sienna’s on her way home, and I have a meeting with the Caesar’s team at three, so we part ways outside the spa.

“Remember,” Sienna says as she hugs me tight, “you deserve someone who treats you like a princess.”

I think of all the times that Marco called me principessa last night. I hope that I’m right, and that it’s just a matter of time before he touches base.

My phone chimes while I’m unlocking my car doors, and I scramble to extract it from my purse. Somehow I manage to dump half of the other contents out in the process, and I have to scrape my lip balms and change from the pavement before I finally open my lock screen.

The text is long enough that my phone only gives me a preview, so I climb into the driver’s seat before opening it.

Madison, last night was so wonderful. I am glad to share our tour of Italia together and speak with you like this. And afterward, to see you arrive twice, it was so beautiful. I am thinking about you all the time, cara mia, and I am already missing you, although it has not been long. I hope to be seeing you again so very soon. You make me feel unalone, even when you are there while I am here.

I press my hand to my mouth and close my eyes. The knot in my gut begins to unravel. Looks like I was getting worked up over nothing.

I smile to myself as I start composing my reply.