Glitz & Goals (Venom Next Gen #2)

Prologue

Prologue

Viktor

“Take a shot if you’ve ever licked astroturf to see what it tastes like,” Knova slurs. Every time she leans forward, her dress reveals an extra inch or so of cleavage, and the drunker I get, the harder it is to avert my eyes. That woman’s tits are sheer perfection. Natural with just the right amount of bounce. Not that I noticed the day I turned fourteen or anything.

Nope.

I never notice Knova Hale at all.

At least not anymore

She won’t let me.

Knight, her twin and my teammate, groans and covers his face with one hand. “That was one time!”

“Take a shot.”

“I was four!”

“Take. A. Shot.”

“Fucking fine. ” Knight slams back a shot of whiskey, which sets off a coughing fit.

Knight’s fiancée, Sofia, glances at me. Our eyes meet, and we both smirk. We’re not exactly friends, even though the four of us grew up together. It’s possible that I may have been a tiny bit of a dick to her when we were kids. Just a little. Not that I would ever admit it while sober.

There’s nothing funnier than watching the Hale twins get drunker than a couple of skunks, no matter how many times it happens.

Four of us sit around one of the tables in the Mona Lisa’s grand ballroom, celebrating the Vegas Venom’s new season. Our team’s kinda shit, but we’ve been getting better, especially since yours truly stepped into a leadership role and Grady Metcalfe became our coach. Usually, we try to behave at these events, since there are big supporters who love to rub elbows with the players. Also, our parents have the annoying habit of sticking around, especially my dad. It’s getting late, though, and the old folks have headed out. The party is officially underway, thanks to Dante’s open bar, and I, along with three of my best friends, are neck-deep in a drinking game.

At this point, though, my bloodstream is approximately fifty percent tequila, so who gives a shit. Either way, we’re all friends now. Look at us, having fun.

Look at Knova, being the sexiest fucking woman in the room, with her wavy black hair that dusts a waist I can span with my hands, her body sculpted by her years in the military flying medivac helicopters, her curves that won’t quit, and wearing that dress that makes her look like a sex goddess in the flesh.

Look at me, too much of a coward to tell her how badly I want her. How badly I’ve always wanted her.

By high school, I let up on Knova somewhat—I was more interested in girls who let me put my tongue in their mouth or my hand up their shirt, and it was crystal clear she was not ever going to be that girl—but I can’t say I ever missed an opportunity to torment her. Or to fantasize about what her mouth might feel like on my lips or my chest or certain other parts of my anatomy.

Ugh. On second thought, I need more tequila.

I reach for my glass, fully intending to slam it back and retrieve another from the bar, when Knight turns toward me. He’s three sheets to the wind, judging by the flush in his cheeks and the brightness of his eyes. Still holding his empty glass, he points at me. “Take a shot if you’ve ever ended up in the ER—”

There’s more to that sentence, but if he utters it aloud, I will be forced to kill him. It’s a matter of honor. I don’t make the rules. I cut him off by downing my shot and then pointing to the others. “That’s a shit prompt, Knight. Now you all have to take shots, too.”

Knight frowns into his empty glass. “Damn.”

“Not me. I’ve never been.” Sofia folds her hands primly on the table. She’d only had to take a couple of shots so far. Hell, she might even be sober enough to drive—not that she ever would , because she’s a goody-goody who plays it safe, hence the lack of blackmail material.

Knova refills her shot from the bottle she swiped from the bar, then gestures the bottle at her brother. He sets the shot glass on the table, and she refills his, too. They clink rims and toss both drinks back.

“Your turn,” Knova slurs. She leans toward me, her teeth bared in a wolf-like smile. She does this thing where she looks like a feral cat on the prowl—fucking predatory, and I love it. I wouldn’t mind being hunted by her. I imagine running through the woods with Knova on my heels, chasing her, being chased by her, what we’d do when we finally caught each other.

I’d devour her.

I’d let her devour me.

Okay, it’s official: I’m too drunk to be trusted to use my words around her. I have a bad feeling that I’m too far gone already.

I lick my lips. My eyes stray to Knova’s cleavage again. She’s not wearing a bra underneath that dress, and I’m pretty sure I can see the faint outline of one nipple peeking about the edge of the fabric. I want to lick it. Bite it. Sink my teeth into her.

I can’t tell her that. Can I?

Knova snaps her fingers and gestures to her face. “Eyes up here, pervert.”

“Uh. Right.” I cover my mouth with my fist to muffle my belch. “Take a drink if you’ve ever… if you’ve ever…”

“Shit, Viktor.” Knight cackles. “How drunk are you?”

“How drunk are you? ” I shoot back. Not my best retort, but I’m pretty sure that my friends are just as drunk as I am. Well, except Sofia. But she’s nice, so she won’t call me out on it.

Why did I pick on someone as nice as she is? Am I truly the asshole everyone thinks I am?

I can’t worry about that now, not when Knova’s staring into my eyes, her mouth twisted in a wicked grin.

“Take a shot if you’ve ever been too chickenshit to tell someone you loved them,” I blurt.

Knight groans. He and Sofia exchange a glance, and they both reach for their glasses. I’m only sort of paying attention to them. Instead, I’m looking at Knova, whose face falls. She reaches up for the silver chain that dips between her breasts. It’s not a fancy chain, either—it’s the pebbled kind you see on keychains. Her fingers brush the metal pendant tucked into the front of her dress. It’s a pair of dog tags. I know, because she wears them all the time.

I wonder about them all the time too.

But I don’t ask.

Mostly because I’m afraid I might not like the answer.

After a quiet moment, Knova’s eyes meet mine. She knocks back the shot.

“That’s another shitty prompt,” she says.

Sofia’s already refilling my glass from the communal body of whiskey. Dammit. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to mix liquors, but Knova’s right. I need to take a shot, too.

The whiskey burns on the way down, and—

* * *

“—going to take Knight home,” Sofia says.

“Aw, c’mon.” Knova pouts. She shakes the bottle of whiskey in the air between us. “There’s still whiskey left!”

“I think he’s had enough.” Sofia gestures to Knight, who’s lying with his head in his arms, draped across the table. He’s already snoring. “I’m not carrying him back to the condo.”

“Boo.” Knova gives her a thumbs-down. “Party pooper.” She swivels toward me. “You’ll stay though, right? It’s not even midnight.”

“I’ll stay,” I say. I’ll do anything for you.

“Good.” Knova reaches over to grab my arm. “That’s the only thing I don’t hate about you, Vik. I can always count on you for a party.”

If she’d only trust me with something else, something that mattered, she’d learn just how dependable I can be. I let her down one time, and that wasn’t my fault, although I can never tell her why—

* * *

—someone shoves a pen into my hand. “Sign here.”

“What?” I squint at the paper, then at the guy who spoke. He looks kind of familiar, but since my eyes aren’t interested in focusing, I can’t place him. I think he’s one of Dante’s guys, who works for the hotel.

Knova elbows me in the ribcage, hard enough that it startles a grunt out of me. “You know how Dante is with the NDA shit. How many papers have you signed for him?”

“Oh.” I look from the paper back to the guy, who’s still waiting. “Dante wants me to sign this?”

“That’s what he said, Mr. Hale.”

I wrinkle my nose. Is this some kind of joke? My last name is Abbott. Knova and Knight are Hales. I open my mouth to argue, but I’m too unfocused for this. If Dante wants me to sign another NDA, cool, I’m on board.

I don’t read it, because A) My vision is slightly blurry, and B) I never read the shit Dante asks me to sign. He’s always worried about people suing him, or making us sign some non-compete clause or other, and it’s always written in the least coherent legal jargon imaginable.

The vaguely familiar guy asks for our signatures a few more times. When we’re finished, he produces a bottle of champagne. “A drink for the happy couple!”

Knova laughs so hard that she has to grab my arm to keep herself upright. I have no idea what’s going on, but if Dante’s offering champagne, it’s not going to be some bottom-shelf crap, that’s for sure. I giggle along with Knova and accept the champagne flutes and—

* * *

“—dumbest publicity stunt ever ,” Knova says.

She’s holding my hands. Both of them. When did that happen? To my right, an Elvis impersonator croons and gyrates his hips. To my left are about a hundred cameras.

We’re in a chapel. I think. I think I’ve had this dream before, the one where I’m marrying Knova because she finally realized that I’m the perfect guy for her.

The Elvis, however, is new.

Get out of my fantasy, Fake King.

“Just say ‘I do,’” one of the people hanging around the camera says. Do I know him? Oh, yeah, it’s Pen Guy. The one who made us sign the NDAs.

Knova’s fingers tighten around mine. Her lip curls back. Shit, I’ve had this dream, too. The one where she realizes I’m not good enough for her, and leaves me at the altar.

“I’m doing this for Dante’s photo op,” she tells Pen Guy. “Because no way would I marry him in real life. No offense, Viktor, but I hate you.”

I scoff. “Yeah. Duh. Of course. No offense taken. I hate you more.” Damn, did I overdo it? I’m not thinking clearly. Also, I think I might be sick. Please don’t let me get sick on Knova at the altar in front of a thousand cameras and one fake rhinestone encrusted… Talk about nightmare material.

“Fine.” Knova sighs. “I do.”

“And do you—” Elvis begins, swiveling toward me.

“I do,” I say. I’m pretty sure there are a lot of other words, and the longer I stand here, the more my stomach revolts. My legs are wobbly. I need to sit down.

“G-g-groovy,” Elvis croons. “Thank you, thank you very much. You may kiss the bride.”

Knova gags. I think she’s joking, but it makes my stomach roil.

“I’d rather kiss a baboon’s ass,” she says.

“This was part of the deal,” says Pen Guy. “This is the money shot. You already signed the paperwork.”

Knova sighs. She purses her lips. After a moment, she shakes her head and leans forward. I hold my breath as her mouth approaches mine, and—

* * *

“—Mick,” Knova moans.

I lick Knova’s nipple as I thrust my hips higher, seeking the pressure of her body against my half-hard dick. I’m still wearing my boxers, which is a damn shame, but there’s no way I’m lifting her off my lap now so that I can take them off.

Knova’s naked, and she’s every bit as hot as I’ve imagined. Not that I’m surprised—I’ve seen her in bathing suits that don’t leave a lot to the imagination. Her body is firm and lean, more sinuous than any other woman I know. I can feel those muscles moving beneath her smooth, warm skin as she rubs against me. The only thing she’s still wearing are those dog tags. They brush against my chest when she moves, the metal warm from being tucked against her skin.

I want to rip them off her.

But I don’t.

“Huh?” I ask, releasing her nipple from between my lips. “What did you say?”

“That I haven’t been with another guy since Mick.” Her face is sweaty, her hair plastered to her forehead. “So don’t make this weird, okay? It’s one time. I’m just so… lonely. ” Her expression hardens. “Tell anyone I said that, and I will literally kill you.”

“Hey.” My hands skate up the curve of her back, tracing parts of her body that aren’t usually considered the sexy bits, and yet which I’ve always wanted to touch. Her shoulder blades. The back of her neck. The place where her jaw meets her throat just below her earlobe. “You can tell me things, you know. You can trust me.”

“Can’t,” Knova protests, even as she leans into my caress, closing her eyes like a cat who’s secretly desperate for affection. “Can’t trust you. I know that, but—”

She shifts her weight against me, and I buck against her, groaning as I come in my boxers like a fucking virgin. Dammit, no, I don’t want this to be over. I have fantasies about this all the time, but this dream is so vivid that it feels real.

Or… is it real? But if it is, how do we get here? I don’t remember anything since our drinking game at the party.

Knova’s brows pull together. “Did you just…?”

Before she can finish whatever she’s about to say, I flip her onto her back, splaying her on the enormous mattress on sheets so white and soft, they might as well be made of clouds. She laughs and squirms as I kiss my way down her torso to bury my face between her thighs.

I lick her clit and open her with my fingers, marveling at how wet she is, hoping I can get my dick up for round two.

But I have to say, licking Knova until she screams my name makes for a pretty good dream all on its own.