McQUEEN: Las Vegas Bad Boys (9 page)

“But you told me you wanted a fight. I’ve been working on it all it week,” Kit says.

“Working on it isn’t the same as having it.”

“Be patient; come back and train. You can do this, JoJo,” Kits says, putting his hand on her shoulder, looking so earnest. “I believe in you. You’re gonna be great. The greatest.”

But she just shakes her head.

I shake mine too. “That’s JoJo, all right. But she’s not my girl. She’s got some serious family issues.”

Ace laughs. “Don’t we all? Shit. My family was fucking murdered, Emmy’s imploded. Claire’s ex-husband locked her in a fucking apartment; Landon seems normal, but shit, you know billionaires are more screwed up than they admit. Fuck, Emmy made me watch that
Fifty Shades
movie. Serious boundary issues with those rich fuckers. And then we’ve got you: a boy who can’t even tell his dad what he does for a living.”

“Damn.” I laugh. “Well, maybe Jack has a normal life?”

“Hardly. We just don’t know his baggage because all we ever hear about is his bitchy girlfriend.”

“So what are you saying, man—I shouldn’t let her family stop me from taking what I want?”

“That depends.” Ace shrugs. “I think the O’Malley’s are trouble. I told you as much the other night on the phone. But damn, McQueen, I’ve never seen you interested in a woman for more than a night. Maybe JoJo’s worth the hassle.”

I consider his words. “Maybe worth it? What would tip the scale?”

“Was she any good in bed?”

I grin. “You better be careful. Emmy won’t like to hear that you’re asking how well JoJo puts out.”

Ace starts cracking up. “Son, Emmy talks crasser than any guy I know. Why do you think she and I work so well together?”

“I have no fucking clue.” I run a hand over my jaw. “But, shit, you’re right. I’m gonna tell her to come to the show tomorrow night. She’ll see me on stage and remember our night together.” I clap my hand on his back, and then head for the hottest girl I’ve ever fucked.

“Good luck, asshole,” he hollers.

I flip him the bird and keep walking.

* * *

J
oJo is leaving the gym
, in street clothes, by the time I catch up to her.

“Hey,” I say, coming up alongside her. “I haven’t seen you around.”

“Yeah.” She stops, looks up at me. Those brown eyes meet mine and, fuck, I just want to look at them all day. I swear they hit me somewhere deep inside, and it freaks me out how badly I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her, remind her that I’m the man she needs. But she must be missing the signal, ’cause all she says is, “I’ve been busy.”

Not deterred, I say, “I was scared your dad locked you in a closet after you told him about our rendezvous. I’ve been expecting to see some mobster around every corner, ready to punch me.”

“Well, I didn’t end up saying anything to them. Other stuff went down that day, and it’s a good thing I didn’t. I haven’t gotten anymore creepy photos or stalker vibes since that night. Have you?”

“No.” I cross my arms, because I don’t trust myself not to reach out and grab her hands. “Weird though, right? To go to the trouble of freaking you out, only not to do anything more?”

“I know; it’s super weird. But I’m moving on.”

She kicks a pebble on the sidewalk, then looks at me playfully. In that cute
I have a story and I’m sorta embarrassed to tell it
way.

“What aren’t you saying?”

“Well, I don’t want you to be mad, but I told my friend Lucy about the photograph and she made me show her. I mean, you can’t see our body parts. Anyways, she wanted proof I slept with you.”

I grin, loving the fact that her mind is still on our night together. “And what did she say?”

“She said it was a good thing I had a stalker taking our picture because she would never have believed I actually slept with someone, let alone
the
McQueen.”

I shake my head, unable to figure this girl out. On one hand she seems so normal, joking with a friend about a hook-up, and then on the other hand she’s bound to her family—not even training with Kit, because they’ve convinced her she needs to be … what? Barefoot and pregnant?

“I heard you talking to Kit. You really done fighting?”

She frowns slightly and looks away. “He’s disappointed, but I can live with that. I can’t live with disappointing my family. And right now, they need my help.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

She bites her lip. “What did you have in mind?”

* * *

I
catch
her off guard by suggesting tacos at the truck around the corner. It’s one of my favorite spots in Vegas. Authentic tacos, a Mexican Coke, sitting on the sidewalk. Nothing beats it.

“I thought you were going to take me to your house again,” she says, taking a bite of her
carne asada
taco.

“Yeah, well there is more to me than just sex.”

“Really?” she asks, sounding surprised. “I didn’t realize that.”

I sigh. “Wow, JoJo. You don’t see me as anything but a piece of meat?”

“Relax,” she says, shoving me playfully with her elbow. “I’m giving you a hard time. I know Ryan McQueen is actually a deep, highly-evolved, complicated man.”

“Well, let’s not get nuts.” I take a swig of Coke before answering. “Evolved, sure, but complicated? Not really. I put it all out there, no hidden agenda or secret ambition.”

“So you just want to be a stripper for the rest of your life?”

“Ouch.”

“No,” she says, laughing and waving her hands in defense. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I actually think it’s pretty cool. Like, so many people are obsessed with ruling the world, controlling everything. Not satisfied with just being who they are. But you are. You found something you like and are good at. Not everyone can say that.”

“Personal experience?” I ask, appreciating the chance to talk with someone who doesn’t dismiss my career as a short-term job opportunity.

I love dancing—making people smile and laugh and get out of their heads for a few hours. I don’t want to be some asshole in a suit, running a company or dealing with bullshit employees.

I want to be a stripper, and I love that JoJo understands that.

“I guess.” She shrugs, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “I mean, fighting is awesome, and I’m good at it. But it’s not the end all, be all, for me.”

“What is then?”

“I went to college, got a degree in psychology. Which is about as bullshit as any degree is … but it’s not like I’m ever gonna go to grad school and be a psychologist.”

“Well, what do you want to be then? If not a psychologist, and not a fighter? What are your plans? I mean, you’re twenty-three. At some point do you want a job or something?”

“I can’t think long-term right now. You know how I said my family needs my help? Well, my sister kicked her husband out and is refusing to be a grownup. They have three kids, and I’ve been at her place every day this week helping—getting them fed, and to school, and basically everything. I don’t know when she’ll snap out of her funk, but until then I’m on Auntie duty.”

I take her hand, kiss the top of it. “You’re a good person, JoJo.”

“No, I’m just doing my part. Anyone in my shoes would do the same.”

“Don’t do that … sell yourself short.”

She sighs. “I know Kit doesn’t understand, but I’m only here right now because Lucy has the baby. I actually need to go pick her up soon.”

“Lucy’s your best friend?”

She nods.

“And the baby is your sister’s?”

“Yeah, Justice is seven months old.” JoJo smiles. “And she’s so cute, but damn, she has a temper like her mother.”

“Is your mom not around to help?” I ask her, knowing my own mom has been wanting grandkids ever since my brother and I moved out.

“My mom died five years ago,” JoJo tells me. “In my family, I was most like her. We were cut from the same cloth, you know? And without her, the whole family became less soft. Me included. I mean, I spent the last year at Kit’s gym. I’ve become harder than I want to be.”

“Awww, hard-ass JoJo is actually a softy.” I lean close to her and our foreheads touch.

“Shut up, Ryan.” Our eyes meet, though, and it’s like neither of us wants to pull away.

So we don’t.

I let my lips find hers, brushing against them softly, and she plants her mouth on mine. It’s a kiss filled with longing, and I know she and I are not over.

We’ve only just begun.

“Come to my show tomorrow,” I tell her, then I kiss her again.

“
T
his is amazing
,” Lucy says, standing in my sister’s walk-in closet.

The closet holds so many designer clothes it could be its own storefront. The only problem is, it’s a complete disaster zone. Sure, Mary has over a hundred pairs of stilettos, but they aren’t organized in any way. The clothes are in piles on the floor or falling off hangers.

In short: a total wreck.

“I swear I had a black maxi dress in here somewhere,” Mary says, rooting through a pile.

“You can’t wear a maxi dress to this club,” I say, eyebrows raised as I reposition Justice on my hip. “You need something sexier.”

“Connor would kill me if I wore something that flaunted anything.”

“Which is the exact reason why you should,” Lucy says, laughing. “You’re falling apart because you’ve been chilling in the Mom-zone too long. You need to remember how hot you are.”

“Let’s have this conversation when you’ve been married a decade, okay?” Mary rolls her eyes.

“Try this,” I say, holding up a green dress that has a high neckline, but a revealing slit on the side. “It will look great with your hair.”

Lucy agrees. “And can I borrow these?” she asks my sister, holding up red satin Jimmy Choos.

“Sure. I mean, you’re going to look like a movie star, but one of us ought to look drop-dead tonight.”

Lucy is five feet nine inches, a size four, with natural blonde hair to her waist and naturally big boobs. She’s basically Las Vegas on crack. She’s already in a teeny-tiny strapless black dress, and with those heels even I feel a little hot for her.

“Shut up, you’ll look great in the green dress. We just need to find Jo something to wear.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay here with the kids. We can cancel with your roommate.”

“No way,” Lucy says. “I got Trish to babysit. We are
all
going out. How often do we get VIP passes to a club on opening night?”

“Never.” I sigh, thumbing through a few more outfits.

“Nervous about seeing McQueen?” Lucy whispers, eyebrows wiggling seductively.

“Seeing who?” Mary asks, stepping into the dress.

“No one,” I tell her, shaking my head at Lucy. She’s such a freak sometimes. I told her my family is not to know about McQueen under any circumstances.

It’s all a cluster because Lucy still doesn’t know about the Grotto situation. Because how do I tell my best friend that in a few weeks I’m marrying a known criminal? It’s too much.

Of course when McQueen invited me to the club I told him yes, even though a resounding
no
would have been much more appropriate.

The truth is, I want to go. After our kiss yesterday afternoon, all I can think about is his mouth on mine … and how badly I want his mouth everywhere.

But I’m not stupid. I need to cover my bases and play it safe. If I show up with my sister, even if my family finds out, they won’t connect the night to me being out with my secret lover.

Not that McQueen is my lover … he just was once. Or twice. Okay, it was actually three times.

And I’d like him to be again.

Gah
. Okay. Focus on this moment.

“How about this one?” Lucy asks. It’s a white bodycon dress with a zipper down the front.

“Why do you even own that?” I ask my sister. The tags are still on it, and it’s the trashiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. But the skanky dress gives me an idea. A good one.

“I thought I’d spice things up with Connor.”

“And what happened?” I ask, holding the dress up to myself in the mirror. “You chicken out?”

“No.” Mary scowls at me. “Then he probably didn’t come home for three days, Josephine. God, what you think? That I want my marriage to fall apart? This is his mess as much as mine.”

“Okay,” I say, kissing Justice’s chubby cheeks to avoid my sister’s nasty gaze. You’d think with all the help from Lucy and me this week she be a little nicer, but I swear she is just one step away from a bitch slap 24/7.

“I’m gonna buy you a lap dance tonight, Mary,” Lucy says, laughing. “You need to chill out.”

“Seriously,” Mary agrees. “Maybe a hot male stripper in a VIP room is exactly what I need. I heard the headliner is a serious hunk.”

“Hunk? Mary, people don’t use that word,” I tell my sister, my whole heart fluttering. The concept dawns on me for the first time, what seeing McQueen on the stage means.

Everyone else will be seeing him up there, too.

Not wanting to dwell on that realization I take charge. “Let’s just get dressed and go. Trish will be here any sec, and this baby needs to get to bed. I’ll go get Bailey and Hardy on a movie, okay?”

As I go to the rec room to find my niece and nephew, I take deep breaths. Seeing the guy I’m falling for naked on stage is no big thing. I’m getting married next month, so this shouldn’t bother me at all.

But it does.

* * *

The club is full. Women from all over the country have arrived in sleek limos and chauffeured town cars, getting out of their rides and stepping onto the red carpet that’s rolled out for them.

The King’s Diamonds are available to rent if you want to wear carats on your finger or around your neck—anything to make the customer feel like a goddess.

And after they have a few drinks, flirt with a few bartenders, they can sway their hips on the dance floor as paid talent wrap them in their arms and make them feel like a million bucks.

Sure, they’re paying for the experience, but it’s safe, clean fun. The kind of fun that makes everybody happy.

After they get nice and hot from dancing, they can make their way into
The CockPit
, and prepare for their panties to get soaking wet.

Because the dancers are ready to bring it. At least I am.

It’s half an hour before I go on stage, and I’m pumped. Drinking a beer in my dressing room, I’m more than ready to perform.

And I hope like hell JoJo comes … in more ways than one.

“The club’s packed,” Landon says, leaning in the doorway of my dressing room. “The opening night could not be going better.”

“Claire here?” I ask, taking a swig from my bottle of beer.

“Yeah, she, Emmy, and Tess got here a little while ago. Though, honestly, it feels a little weird knowing they’re gonna be watching you strip to nothing.”

“Not nothing, but um, yeah I don’t really want to discuss g-strings with you, bro,” I say, laughing. I’ve been a performer for years, but I’ve never had my buddy’s wives watching.

“Anyways, we’ll catch up later. Ace, Jack, and I are gonna go to the bar when your show starts.”

“Oh, you don’t want to watch me get your ladies horny as hell?”

“Good luck with that,” Landon says, shaking his head, cracking up.

“Oh, I don’t need luck. The cash is gonna be raining down.”

He leaves, and I take a look in the mirror. My opening act ensemble is good to go. I decided to start with a fireman routine, because every woman likes to fantasize about a hefty-sized hose. I won’t disappoint.

* * *

T
he house is packed just
like Landon said, and when the music starts I lay it all out on that stage. The fireman’s jacket is on the ground; I’ve pulled down the suspenders. I’m left in a g-string, and have a woman on stage who’s here for her bachelorette party.

She’s getting such a nice view of my package, I can see the drool out the side of her mouth. Her poor husband-to-be can’t compete with this on her wedding night. I take her hand and press it against my covered cock. Her jaw drops, and I know she’d like nothing more than to drop to her knees.

She stuffs twenties where she can, and I turn, flexing my bare ass cheeks in her face. She smacks my butt playfully, and I grind against her.

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I see JoJo sitting at a table with two other women.

Her eyes are wide, and for a second a wave of dread washes over me. She might not like the fact the guy she wants is up here getting a thirty-five-year-old woman off the day before her wedding.

But before the dread can be replaced with something worse, a smile breaks across JoJo’s perfect face.

And I know she likes what she sees. I swear her smile makes my cock rock hard. Seeing her happy gives me the confidence boost I need to take this show to next level.

I turn back to the woman, straddling her as my rod stands at attention between us. Knowing I own this performance, and this night.

* * *

A
fter the show
I’m backstage, getting dressed. Wanting to get to JoJo.

There’s a knock on the door and I pull it open, seeing a stage manager I’ve only met a few times.

“Dave, right?” I ask.

“Yeah. Hey, there’s a request for you in VIP Room #2.”

“Oh, really? I thought only the second-tier performers were doing that tonight?”

“I guess this is a high-end client. Put down five K for the room.”

“Fuck, really?” I shrug, knowing it’s part of this new gig. And, really, if a woman wants a five-thousand-dollar lap dance, I can give it to her. I am in the business of making people happy. “Okay, give me a minute to change again.”

“Cool.”

Dave leaves and I put on a g-string over my work out pants. My favorite lap dances are when I do the whole boy-next-door thing, in sweats and a hoodie.

A few minutes later I knock on Room #2, hoping the next fifteen minutes—which is what the rental rate is in these rooms—goes quickly. I wanna get to JoJo, badly.

“Hello,” I say, rapping on the door again before pushing it open.

Inside, the lighting is dim, and the music has a low techno beat. Jack’s latest release.

It takes me a second for my eyes to adjust, but a woman is sitting in a chair, her back to me.

“You wanna play a game?” a raspy voice asks.

A smile spreads on my face. Fuck, she’s good. I shut the door, locking it, because I know she and I are gonna be needing more than fifteen minutes.

“What game did you have in mind?” I ask, not letting on that I know exactly who has rented this room.

“It’s a game I didn’t play fairly last time,” she says, standing up and facing me, her red hair falling across her shoulders, her firm body in a skintight dress. “Truth or dare. Remember?”

“Oh, I remember.” I can’t hide my grin, and I don’t want to. I step toward her, wanting to take her in my arms. It’s all I’ve wanted to do since I saw her in the audience. “You were supposed to give me a lap dance.”

“Well sit down, Ryan McQueen, and get what you’re owed.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I don’t know the last time I’ve had a lap dance,” I tell her. “Maybe when I turned eighteen?”

“Then you’re way overdue,” she tells me, pointing to the chair.

I sit, adjusting myself as I do. Fuck, just looking at her in that tiny dress with the zipper down the front makes my cock twitch, needing to get to what’s under the fabric.

“You liked the show?” I ask as she walks around me, taunting me with the sashay of her little ass.

“I loved it.”

Her sincerity hits me in the gut. She doesn’t judge me, or want to change me. She just wants to fuck me.