McQUEEN: Las Vegas Bad Boys

by Frankie Love

  “I can’t do all that, Kit,” she states, matter-of-fact.

  “What are you so nervous about?” I ask. The three of us are standing in the full gym. Guys are everywhere. I even see Ace and Landon working out in one corner. JoJo is the only girl ever working out here, and in this space, she’s never insecure. It’s strange to see her at a loss for words in her home away from home. “Is it the attention?”

  She snorts. “Uh, yeah. The attention, for one. For two ... Kit, I’m not doing this long term. This is kind of a one-off, not a career move.”

  Kit puts his hands on JoJo’s shoulders, reassuring her. “Honey,” he says, “you were born for this. Now what’s this talk about a one-off?”

  I shake my head, not wanting to be around for this. Fuck, JoJo seems like she’s making headway, with whatever she and I are, with her confidence, her drive. But then she’s cowering again. I know exactly why she doesn’t want press, why she doesn’t want a second fight: because she doesn’t want her family to get wind of any of this.

  Why the hell is she trying to hide who she really is from them? I can’t stand her or her excuses.

  “I’m headed out,” I say. “Let you talk, manager to fighter. This is really none of my business.”

  “You don’t have to leave,” JoJo calls to me.

  “I know, but I want to. If you need anything, give me a call. I don’t work until nine.”

  They return to their conversation, and I’m glad I’m getting a little space from it. I’m falling for this girl, but damn, she’s making it hard on me. It’s like we have a week of mind-altering sex, followed up once again by her being scared of her family knowing who she really is. I need my girl to grow up, to become a woman. Or this thing between us is never gonna work.

  JoJo

  I try to work things out with Kit, but we end up just arguing, which is not how we communicate. Feeling deflated and misunderstood, I walk away too.

  In the locker room, I shower, plait my wet hair into a braid, and slide my feet into flip-flops.

  Checking my phone, I see that it’s only three in the afternoon. Plenty of time to get Hardy from school, help with dinner, and then swing by McQueen’s place before he heads to work. I want things good between us.

  Waving goodbye to Kit through the glass door of his office, I see he is on the phone. I pray he isn’t too pissed off with my ultimatums. Or me. He winks back, letting me know he’s moved on and cooled off. Good.

  I get in my car and head to the Catholic school Mary sends Hardy to.

  Pulling into the parking lot, I jump out to go wait with the parents picking up their kids.

  “JoJo, is that you?” Claire asks, walking toward me.

  We’ve talked a few times at the school, and I know she married one of McQueen’s best friends, but I’ve never spent time with anyone McQueen is close to.

  He’s invited me out with his friends a few times, but I’ve always brushed him off. There’s no reason for me to tangle myself up any more than I already have. Having mind-blowing sex before I get married is one thing, bringing McQueen’s friends into it is something else. I don’t want that on my shoulders. I know I’m going to break Ryan McQueen’s heart soon enough; no use in hurting any more people along the way.

  “Hey, Claire, long time no see,” I tell her.

  She’s always been super-chill and gorgeous, and the ring on her finger is jaw-dropping. For a second, I wonder what my wedding ring will be like one day. Then I remember that Frank Grotto will be slipping one on my finger next week, and I momentarily wish I could throw up. Or run away. Or both.

  I see Hardy run out of the school along with his classmates, in their little khakis and polo shirts—and I grin, knowing there is nothing on earth that could pull me away from my nephew and nieces.

  His arms wrap around my waist. “Auntie Jo, I missed you,” he exclaims.

  I pat his head, grateful that I’m here, and meet Claire’s eyes.

  “You’re so good with him,” she tells me. “We really should get the kids together for a play date. I’ve talked about it with his mom, but never heard back.”

  “Yeah, I’ll mention it to my sister. She’s just been really busy at the moment.”

  Hardy spins to Claire and her daughter Sophia. “It’s cause my mommy and Daddy are getting forced.

  “Forced?” Sophia cocks her head to the side. “What’s that?”

  Hardy shrugs. “Don’t know, but Mommy says he’ll live somewhere else and I think Auntie JoJo should move in.”

  My eyebrows fly up to the sky. “Okay, cutie pie, I think that’s a wrap.”

  Sophia and Hardy aren’t fazed. They run to the playground, where most of the kindergarteners let off steam at the end of the day.

  “That’s rough,” Claire says, adjusting Sophia’s backpack in her arm.

  “I don’t know what will happen. A divorce is always so hard on kids, but life’s hard too, ya know?” I twist my lips, realizing how much Hardy is absorbing with his parent’s separation. Mary has continued to stomp her feet and say Connor can’t come home, but at some point she needs to be willing to hear him out, make some sort of amends. For the kids’ sake, at the very least.

  “It’s so complicated,” Claire says. “You know, I was married before, and I’m so glad that relationship is behind me. It opened up space for me to fall in love. To be happy.”

  “You look happy,” I tell her. Her platinum hair and bright red lips remind me of Gwen Stefani circa 1999. She’s effortlessly hot.

  “I am so freaking happy,” she says, laughing. “And, speaking of happiness, McQueen says you have the fight of your life coming up. He invited us all to come.”

  “He did?” I ask, surprised.

  “Do you mind?” she laughs. “That is so McQueen, to not mention it to you first. He doesn’t really know how to date.”

  “Oh, we’re not dating.”

  “You’re not?” She frowns. “I thought… well. Never mind.”

  “I mean, we’ve been hanging out, but it isn’t serious. Like, not at all.”

  “Oh.” Claire crosses her arms, as if she’s protecting something.

  “What aren’t you saying?” I ask. I have no interest in beating around the bush right now, not after the day I had. The fight with Kit. The fight with McQueen.

  “It’s just, McQueen really likes you. Like likes you, likes you. It’s not a fling for him, or just a random hook-up. This is more.”

  I shake my head, taken aback by her words. I’ve been so clear with Ryan about what I can offer him, what I’m willing to do with him—a no-strings attached few weeks is all I’ve put on the table. Even if what I want is everything. Even if what I want with him is something real, something with promises. Something with commitment. I can’t have that. I can’t have it both ways. And as I look at Hardy, running around the playground, I know I’m the one stable thing in my family’s life right now. I can’t give that up. I won’t.

  “I’m not in a place for it to be more. I’m just not.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “He should. I’ve been explicit.” I shrug, realizing that I don’t want to stand here talking with Claire anymore. I want to go to McQueen’s. I want to tell him the truth about my life, so he doesn’t wonder. So he doesn’t end up hating me. So he knows why I’ve chosen to walk away.

  “I think you need to explain it again.” Claire bites her lip. “Look, McQueen is one of the best guys I’ve ever known. He’d do anything for his friends. We’re his family. And I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

  Her words hit me in the gut, and not much floors me. But God. “I don’t want to him to get hurt either. I know how great he is.” I call for Hardy, wanting to get him home.

  “If you know how great he is, why don’t you want to be with him? Is it because he’s a stripper? Because I could see that. He doesn’t have a lot of traditional ambition.”

  I laugh. “God, no. I love what he does for a living. It’s freaking awesome to go t
o work and make people happy everyday. My reasons are complicated, but they have nothing to do with wishing McQueen were anything but what he is.”

  I see a smile cross Claire’s lips. “You’re a keeper, JoJo.”

  I walk away with Hardy’s hand in mine, holding onto Claire’s words. Wishing I could keep the thing I wanted. But knowing that instead I need to see McQueen, and explain why I have to let him go.

  Chapter Eighteen

  McQUEEN

  When the phone rings, her voice is muffled by the sobs.

  “What happened?”

  She doesn’t answer, just sobs harder.

  “JoJo, answer me.”

  “He sent a pair ....” Her breath is ragged through the phone. It’s as if I can feel her shaking even though she’s nowhere in sight. “Oh my God, Ryan, it’s so....”

  “What happened, baby? Just tell me. Are you safe?”

  “I’m safe. I just—” I hear her blow her nose. She takes a few deep breaths, then speaks again. “The stalker sent something to me in the mail. And thank God I was the one who was here to get it, because my brothers would have gone ballistic. It’s just so creepy.”

  “What was it?” I ask, pacing my living room.

  “A pair of my underwear.”

  “What the fuck?” I ask. “Jo, we’ve gotta call the cops. Now. This isn’t safe. You’re in danger.”

  “I know it’s freaky. But—”

  “No buts. When are you gonna stop saying but to the whole thing? This is serious.”

  “I know.”

  “Then let me help.”

  “No.”

  “Dammit, Josephine. You make it really fucking hard to fight for you, you know that? Really hard to protect you.”

  “I didn’t ask for your protection.” Her words are pointed and I don’t know if she means them to be sharp, but they fucking prick my skin. “I already have protection. It’s just that every time I leave my house, start hanging out where I shouldn’t be, I get the creepy stuff again. I should listen and take my dad’s warnings seriously.”

  “Fuck that. It’s bullshit. And you know it. I could protect you if you let me,” I tell her.

  “You couldn’t, though. You’re not from here, this city. There’s a lot of stuff my family is mixed up in, and it’s not just strip clubs and poker tables. It’s dangerous. There’s more at stake than my flipping panties. Letting you in to help me is only putting my family at risk. Putting you at risk.”

  “You’re not from this city either, JoJo. And sometimes it’s like you’re not from this century. Call the fucking cops. Stalkers aren’t something you can just deal with. It’s more dangerous than that.”

  “How would you know what can happen with stalkers? Did you have one?”

  I swallow, not wanting to go this deep with this girl who I want so badly, but who doesn’t seem to want me at all.

  “Say something,” she says, sniffling again. “Don’t push me out yet.”

  “You’ve been pushing me away since day one, girl.”

  “I wish I could explain.”

  “You can trust me,” I tell her.

  “I believe you. But trusting you isn’t what I’m scared of. I’m scared of breaking your heart.”

  I stop pacing; sit on the edge of my leather couch. My head is all messed up from this girl; I’m losing control of myself, because all I want is her. If telling her the things I keep buried means she’ll draw closer to me, so be it. I don’t want to lose her.

  “It’s been broken before.”

  “Who broke it?” she asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean?” she asks, her voice now quiet, as if understanding that something is being transmitted through the phone that isn’t words, but feelings.

  “When I was seven years old, my sister was kidnapped. She was four.”

  “Oh, Ryan,” she says softly into the phone.

  I wish I were with her right now. I’d let her wrap her arms around me, give me something to hold onto. I never tell anyone this story. Why would I? For most of my life Rachel’s been gone.

  “No one’s ever found her.”

  “Oh my God, that’s horrible.”

  “Yeah, it’s fucking twisted. Someone was watching her for a while before they took her. The police found clues about it in her room, in our neighborhood—but Rachel never said anything. Why would she? She was just a little girl. But JoJo, you’re not so little anymore.”

  My fingers push away the tears in the corners of my goddamned eyes.

  “I’m so sorry,” she tells me.

  “So you understand now? You’ll let me call the police?”

  She doesn’t answer, and I know without her saying it, she doesn’t want me to.

  Fuck this.

  “You know what, it’s almost eight. I should head to the club. I have to work, and clearly we want different things.”

  “That’s not it, Ryan.”

  “What is it then? Because I’m pouring my heart out here; I’m giving you all I got. And you’re giving me nothing in return.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. To do.”

  “Don’t be stupid, JoJo. I know you’re a fighter, but you aren’t invincible. If you don’t want my help, fine. But girl, it’s time you ask your father for it, before this mess can’t be cleaned up.”

  I told her why this stalker thing is messing so bad with my head. She didn’t want to hear it. She wants to pretend that she can deal with it all on her own. Fine.

  She can keep up this charade as long as she wants. She can hide the truth about her MMA fighting from her family, hide her stalker from her family. She wants to hide me from her family, Fine.

  But I’m done hiding. I don’t need to play those games.

  Tonight, I’m gonna bring it to the stage. I own this club, and JoJo isn’t the only woman around.

  When my final song of the night, “Timber,” comes on, I’m in my flannel shirt, blue jeans, and suspenders, carrying an ax over my shoulder. My face is fucking fierce tonight; I don’t feel like smiling seductively. Everything inside me courses with a rage I’m not used to. I’m used to showing my dimples and getting what I want.

  Right now, I’m not grinning. Right now, I’m fucking pissed at the guy sending JoJo her panties and a dick pic. Fucking photographing us when she’s riding me. It’s more than a prank, a funny joke. No one is laughing.

  On stage, I rip of my flannel shirt, and the women in the crowd go wild. I pull a woman onstage like I do every song. She’s in her mid-thirties, cute and smiling, but I’m not looking to make anyone laugh tonight. I want to make her wet. I want make her moan. I want her to remember how a man can make her feel.

  JoJo might not want me; fuck it. I’ll make this woman want me. She’s got long dark hair and wears a skimpy, too-tight dress—clearly she came out tonight trying hard to look hot, and fuck, it’s working. There are plenty of women who will spread their legs for me if I offer. JoJo’s sure as hell not the only one willing to suck my cock.

  The woman sits on a chair, hands on her lap, and I straddle her, grinding my cock against her belly. I’m hard, and she likes it. As I lean my face down to her breasts, teasingly, I hear a faint gasp escape her mouth. She runs her hands over my bare chest, and I raise my eyebrows, smirk at the crowd. I lean into the moment and rip off my pants.

  I’m left in a nice little G-string; my firm ass is bare, and my cock’s barely covered. I tease, letting this woman enjoy the view of my ass. She spanks it, causing the crowd to roar.

  I play along, and when the chorus of “Timber” repeats, I grab my ax and swing it in front of my cock, teasing the crowd.

  It’s a good number, and when I leave the stage, I feel more in control, more alive. Feel the rush of adrenaline I always get when I perform.

  Back in my room, I take my time changing into my street clothes. I don’t really know how I want the night to end. It used to be I’d always fuck whoever showed up, and then I’d go meet
the guys. But the guys are fucking married off and I don’t want just any girl.

  I answer the knock on the door; it’s the stage manager asking if I want any visitors. Apparently the black haired woman wants to know if I want company.

  Dismissing the idea, I sit down on the couch in my room.

  My head spins; my heart pounds. I don’t know what I want, but I know what I crave.

  Josephine. Still Josephine. The harder she pushes me away, the more I want her.

  Is it me just wanting what I can’t have? Or is this more?

  It’s not even a question. I know what this is.

  She wants her family more than me ... fine. I’ll give her what she wants. Back in the VIP room she said the only way she could have me is if I was willing to go all-in with her family. I told her no. But why? What else do I have? What else do I want?

  It’s just after eleven, but on a whim I text my brother, feeling really fucking far from home. Maybe I need to make peace with my own family before I join a new one.

  JoJo

  Connor and my dad are having a morning “meeting” in the kitchen. I hear them talking as I tread down the carpeted stairs. I want coffee. Scratch that, I need coffee. But I also want to hear what those two are discussing. Sitting on the stairwell, I try to hear, but their words are muffled.

  I tossed and turned all night.

  McQueen shared his heart, got vulnerable and transparent, and basically all the things any woman is ever begging a man to be.

  And that’s when I pushed him away the hardest, the deepest.

  I never had his heart, but now, more than ever, I know I don’t deserve what I never really had.

  Him.

  His little sister was kidnapped and I’m acting like this super-sized stalker ain’t no thing. It’s callous and it’s cruel, to act so flippant about my life.

  And sure, I know some people would say me getting in the ring, wanting to fight, is careless, too. But this is a whole other kind of stupid. This is me saying I don’t need anyone to help, when I so clearly do.