McQUEEN: Las Vegas Bad Boys

by Frankie Love

  “I do not want a double date with Tess.”

  “What’s wrong with Tess?” Jack asks, suddenly interested.

  “Nothing’s wrong with her. I’m just not interested.”

  “What, you have some girl already in mind for tonight?” Landon asks.

  “No, I already had someone this afternoon.”

  “Dude, you’re seriously out of control,” Jack says.

  I pull back. Are they seriously saying I get too much pussy? Because the last time I checked, the pussy I was getting was the fucking best.

  Better than that, even. JoJo is more than a piece of meat. That girl is fire. She is heat. She’s dangerous, and she doesn’t even know it.

  Good thing we said one and done.

  “Whatever, you guys enjoy your women, and I’ll enjoy mine.”

  “No, you should come out with us, though. You too, Jack.”

  I shrug. What else will I do at eight o’clock on my night off? I can go find some pussy after dinner.

  “Sure, I’m in,” I tell him.

  Jack says he’ll come, too.

  “So, what are you guys working on?” I ask, looking at the papers on the table.

  Ace scratches his jaw. “We’re just making sure we have the schedule all figured out for the first month of business. We open next Friday—that’s only ten days away, and the last thing we need is a cluster.”

  “I still think we should hire a general manager,” Landon says. He was originally going to be the GM here, but now he’s overseeing The King’s Diamond and doesn’t have time to do this full-time. Neither does Ace. So they’ve decided to split the job.

  “We have enough shift managers that I think it’ll be fine,” Ace says. “We can always reevaluate in a month. The last thing I want is to hire someone who thinks they understand our vision and then starts fucking things up.”

  I don’t say anything. Because these guys, while my best friends, see me as the male dancer I am. Not management material.

  And Jack isn’t an option, because he travels so much as a DJ.

  “You know—starting next month, my schedule changes,” Jack says, surprising us. “I could help more.”

  “Really?” Landon asks. “I swear you had a tour in Eastern Europe lined up.”

  “I did. But ... things shifted, schedule-wise. Ashley wants me in Vegas for the six months she’s here on contract.”

  “You cancelled your shows for Ashley?” I ask, fucking shocked. This woman has a grip on his balls like something else. “Am I the only one here who doesn’t have his nuts in a wad over a woman?”

  “Call it what you want, McQueen, but flying solo gets old,” Ace says. “Tonight, you’ll be looking for someone to take home. Meanwhile, I’ll be in bed with a woman who knows exactly what I want.”

  “Shit,” I say, cracking another grin. “I don’t even know who you jackasses are anymore. And while you sit here bullshitting over management, I’m gonna go check in with the real men who are here for rehearsals.”

  “Rehearsals,” Landon laughs. “Because that sounds manly.”

  I flip the guys off as I walk out of the back room, knowing they’re the ones missing out.

  If I were in relationships like them I wouldn’t have had an afternoon like I had with JoJo.

  JoJo

  I pull into my sister’s driveway, hoping like heck I don’t look like I’ve just had sex. I’ve seen my brothers exit their bedrooms with women enough times to know what the post-sex glow is. Heck, I’ve been around Lucy enough times after she’s hooked up to know there’s no denying what a woman who’s recently had an orgasm looks like: relaxed.

  My sister Mary, on the other hand, may be married but it’s obvious she’s not getting the kind of sex she probably craves. She has three kids under six, and never looks well-rested, let alone well-sexed.

  “Mary,” I call out, opening her front door without knocking. “It’s me.”

  “Jo?” she hollers from the kitchen. “Can you come here? Hurry. I just—dammit.” I hear something clatter to the floor and rush into the kitchen.

  She looks frazzled, but no more so than most days. And on the floor at her feet are a million gravy-filled clumps that used to be a chicken pot pie.

  “It’s all good,” I say, immediately springing into action. Grabbing a roll of paper towels, I start sopping up the steaming food. “Crap. Hot.”

  “Right? Why do you think I dropped the pan?” Mary throws me a raised eyebrow as she falls in a heap a few feet beyond the ruined meal. “Just put it on today’s tab,” she says. “I swear. I was late getting Hardy from kinder because I totally spaced on the half-day the school had today. Bailey threw a fit in Whole Foods, and Justice hasn’t had a proper nap all week. I swear that girl lives in a car seat.”

  “She’s not in one now.”

  We both cast a look over to Justice, who is chewing on a teething biscuit, brown gummy food covering her face, her belly, and the diaper she wears in lieu of clothing. She’s in a swing in perpetual motion. I’ve babysat enough to know that the moment it stops, her screaming begins.

  “Maybe it’s time you hired some help.” I manage to mop up the food and begin throwing the pie into the trash.

  “Connor won’t let me. I have a five-thousand-square-foot home, three cars in the garage, a diamond ring on my finger worth a small island—yet he says a woman should be able to manage her own home.”

  “Well, he grew up in different world. You have play dates to schedule, school uniforms to get to the dry cleaners, and mommy yoga to attend.”

  “Your sarcasm isn’t helping.” Mary lets out a defeated sigh, propping herself up on the bar stool at the granite island.

  I spray disinfectant on the floor and do a final clean. At least the dinner disaster is distracting her from noticing my non-virginal status.

  “I’m not being sarcastic,” I say, defending my stance. “Connor and his five brothers were delinquents and his mom barely wrangled those kids through the Boston Public School. It’s apples and oranges. Can you imagine Connor’s mother dealing with life here, in Vegas, married to man like Connor? He has a reputation, and so do you.”

  “Reputation or not, I’m over my head. Something’s gotta give. And this is the fourth night this week Connor has had a dinner meeting.” She walks to the freezer and pulls out a box of chicken nuggets and a bag of peas. “It’s times like this, when I’ve ruined dinner and I forgot to take a shower and I’m flying solo—again—that I wish Mom were still alive. She knew how to keep everything together. But me? I’m just one hot mess.”

  Hardy and Bailey come into the kitchen, screaming about a tablet not working. Bailey’s face is streaked with tears and Hardy has crossed arms, all huffy and annoyed.

  It takes one second to assess the situation and come to a decision.

  “Mary, sometimes all anyone can do is one day at a time. And you,” I say, pointing at her, “are off duty for tonight. Get some Chardonnay, run a bath, and turn off your phone. Got it?” Rooting through the fridge, I find a chilled bottle and hand it to her. “Look, it’s a screw top—easy access.”

  She doesn’t resist, doesn’t say if or but, doesn’t try to coax the kids to stop fighting. She just gives me a grateful look, grabs a wine glass, and leaves. She may be over her head, but she isn’t stupid.

  Fifteen minutes later, Hardy and Bailey are sitting at the table eating their microwaved dinner. I have Justice in my arms, offering her a bottle while simultaneously squirting ketchup on plastic plates.

  I may have a dad who’s arranging my marriage, but I also have a family I would do anything for.

  Later, when the kids are happily watching Phineas and Ferb, and Justice is dozing in her swing, I take a break from unloading the dishwasher and check my phone.

  Frick. Totally forgot about my plans with Lucy. She texted an hour ago.

  Lucy: Where are you lady? What are we doing tonight?

  I look at the clock. It’s only seven, and technically I could st
ill pull off a night out with her. But, looking around my sister’s house, I see another load of dishes, a pile of unfolded clothes, and a sticky floor. I know what I should do.

  I may hate the idea of marrying Grotto, but family is family. Not doing what my father has asked of me would excommunicate me from the family ... and my sister needs me. And I need her.

  She’s my family, and family is more important than going out with friends—and certainly more important than marrying the love of my life.

  Me: Sorry Lucy. I suck. But I’m on Auntie duty. Don’t hate me. Let’s do coffee this week. Xo

  I slide my phone off, and roll up my sleeves.

  Maybe when I’m done here I’ll treat myself to a quick late-hour workout. It will help me clear my head.

  God knows, today I need it. Grotto. McQueen. Mary. I need to get my priorities in check.

  The only thing I have that’s just mine is MMA fighting.

  I’ve given up the idea of marrying for love, and now I’ve also given up my virginity. But the one thing I want to keep, for as long as I can, is my MMA gloves.

  I won’t give those up without a fight.

  I just hope it doesn’t come to that.

  Chapter Six

  McQUEEN

  The dinner is boring as hell.

  I mean, Emmy is a doll, obviously. But Tess made it to dinner and she and Jack have been talking about his latest recordings throughout the appetizers and the first few bottles of wine.

  I’m ready for some fucking Budweiser.

  I may play a cool-ass game, but deep down my roots are pretty middle America. My dad has a mechanic shop and my mom bakes tater tot casserole and is a secretary at an Elementary school. You can’t get much more red, white, and blue than them.

  Right now, sitting in this five-star restaurant where the steak has been aged sixty days and the fucking French fries are doused in truffle oil, I miss my mom’s Sunday meatloaf, the sound of the game blaring on the front room TV.

  I haven’t been home for a while. I hate making excuses, but what I hate even more is explaining my life in ways they can understand. Of course, my parents don’t have a clue what I’m really up to, and neither does my brother, Mark. Like hell I’d tell them. I can’t even imagine what they’d say.

  Still, I feel a long way from home sometimes. Even if the people there never understood me.

  The truth is I hardly understand my goddamned self.

  I also don’t understand why JoJo has been on my mind all night long.

  “You okay, McQueen?” Emmy asks across the table. “Need some more wine to take the edge off?”

  “Naw,” I say, waving her off. “I don’t know what my deal is. Maybe I’m tired.”

  “Maybe you’re always so busy hustling for the ladies, you don’t know what it means to just relax with your friends,” Jack suggests.

  Turning the tables, I ask, “Where’s your lady tonight, Jack?”

  “She won’t be here for a week, shit. You know that; she’s taking your stage.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Tess says, animated. No surprise. Tess always wants to be in on the gossip. “How do you feel about that, McQueen? That stage has been yours for years.”

  “It’s cool.” I shrug. “The guys at The Cockpit are solid, and it’s honestly an easier gig than what I did at Stripped. There, I did an actual revue, like dance numbers. There’s a coach and everything, teaching us the choreography.”

  “And this new show?” she asks.

  I snort. “This new gig is just straight-up stripping. Different skill. We rehearse, but we come up with our own routine.”

  “And what’s the skill? Jack asks, laughing. “Make sure you get a nice wax?”

  His words piss me off, and I don’t know why. I’m usually pretty good about the shit I get over my profession. Still, it annoys me.

  “Right. Gotta get nice and clean for those women who you might have had a chance with until they saw me.”

  “Ha, nice one,” Ace says giving me a fist bump. Emmy pinches his arm as he does.

  “Honestly though, Tess,” I say. “I’m working out way more with this new job. Straight-up stripping is no joke. I can’t have movies like Magic Mike put me to fucking shame. I gotta put out.”

  “Seriously, bro, it’s our money on the line,” Ace says.

  I know he’s joking, but it’s still hard to swallow. I mean, there’s a fucking lot of pressure tied up in this. Ace, Jack, and Landon have all put cash into the club, and their payoff hinges on my ability to draw a crowd. I can’t fucking mess this up.

  The waitress finally brings out the main course and I eat as quickly as possible. I want to ditch this dinner party and go let off some steam.

  Steam I didn’t know I had. I’m all wrapped up in this conversation, the pressure and money and having the right fucking moves.

  And also, JoJo. I can’t get that woman out of my mind.

  Usually, it’s wham, bam, thank you ma’am ... but with her, all I want is seconds.

  I need to punch something and fucking get a grip.

  Pushing out from the table, I set my linen napkin on my cleaned plate. “I’m out.”

  “You sure? We’re gonna get drinks at the bar before we call it a night,” Emmy says.

  “Thanks, but I’m good. I’ll let you guys enjoy your little double date.” I smile, tousling Jack’s hair to annoy the shit out of him. “Don’t have too much fun without the life of the party.”

  Leaving the restaurant, I swing by In-N-Out for a shake, a few hamburgers, and a few orders of fries. I’m suddenly starving. Must have been that killer workout this afternoon. My legs are still aching from it.

  With the food in my Jeep, and nowhere to eat it, I decide to head over to Kit’s Gym. Maybe he’s sitting in his office and wants an excuse to B.S. at the end of the night. What are my other options?

  I don’t want to call Landon and go sit with him and Claire while they watch The Bachelor or some domestic shit.

  What the fuck happened to my friends? They got themselves wifed up and left me hanging. I need to get some new guys to go out with, or this town is gonna get old, real quick.

  The gym’s open, lights are on, so that’s a good sign, but the moment I step foot inside I hear Kit talking animatedly with someone. The words of the exchange become clear as I walk into the open gym.

  “I need a fight. Soon. I just feel like my time is running out.”

  I’d recognize JoJo’s sexy, raspy voice anywhere.

  “You got lots of time, girl. You’re twenty-three, in prime shape. We don’t need to rush this.”

  “Maybe you don’t, but I do. My family ... listen, it’s complicated.”

  “What are you saying?” Kit asks.

  Wanting them to know I’m here, I cough loudly.

  “Hey. Uh, anyone hungry?” I hold up my bag of food.

  Kit clenches his jaw, looks at the floor.

  “Maybe I’ll just go,” I say, taking a step back, not wanting to intrude on anything.

  “It’s fine. Stay,” JoJo says, looking up, meeting my eyes. “Kit, I’m not trying to be intense, I just wanted you to know where I’m coming from. Okay? This means everything to me.” She brushes away a tear and I’m reminded, again, of this girl’s layers. She’s a fucking onion at this point.

  “I’ll do whatever I can for you, Jo,” Kit tells her, pointing a fatherly finger at her. “You’re a keeper—you know that, right?”

  “Something like that.” She looks at the ground, but Kit doesn’t let her off the hook. He gives her a quick hug, smacking her back as he does.

  Pulling back, he tells her, “I’ll find something for you, Jo. Promise.” Looking over at me he adds, “I’m gonna pass on the grub. I’m beat. But feed this girl—she probably hasn’t eaten all day. Am I right?” he asks JoJo.

  She shakes her head, smirking. “Not true. I had leftover chicken nuggets for dinner. And cold peas.”

  “I got you covered.” I hand her the chocolate shake.


  She takes it from me, smiling as she does—and then smiling wider as Kit leaves, locking the door behind him.

  JoJo

  I’m inhaling this fast food—after the day I’ve had, screw the low-carb, high-protein diet I’ve put myself on. I’m not a crazy girl, obsessed with being skinny. The diet is my effort to be as lean as possible, to be ready for a fight.

  I hope Kit heard me. That he’ll find me one. Right know, I just need something of my own to hold on to.

  I swallow a bite of burger, and look up, realizing McQueen is grinning at me in that perfect way of his—the one where his straight, white teeth gleam, and his chin juts out ever so slightly. And the dimples. He has one in each cheek. It’s ridiculous.

  And hot as hell.

  Maybe he can be the something I can hold on to.

  Stop. It. Now.

  I can’t let myself go down that rabbit hole ... I’ll be more lost than Alice, and right now I need to stay grounded in reality. I can’t let myself fly away into a fantasy. Late night hook-ups do not fall in that category.

  “Earlier you told me you were going out tonight,” he says, dipping a fry in ketchup.

  We’re sprawled out on the floor of the gym. His back is against the wall, and I’m crossed-legged in front of him, the food between us. At this exact moment I’m grateful for a greasy barrier, because I have this desire to ask him to scoop me up in his solid arms and carry me away.

  “Earth to JoJo, you okay?”

  “Yeah, what did you ask?”

  “You said you were going out tonight?” His eyes squint, as if trying to get a read on me.

  I need him to stop being so damn handsome. I can’t concentrate.

  “Right. Well, I stopped by my sister’s house after leaving the gym, and she was having a hard time. I sent her to the bath with a bottle of wine, and I took care of the kids.” I shrug, knowing that when I left Mary’s the kids were all asleep, the laundry was done, and the kitchen gleamed.

  Connor still hadn’t come home, but I left feeling good about my decision.