by Frankie Love
So I’ll stay out of the limelight for a while, focus on writing my memoir instead. I’m not saying it’s gonna be a best seller, but I do believe that telling the whole truth is worth a hell of a lot.
I owe it to everyone I hurt to explain why I did what I did.
And let them know why I’ll never do it again.
I learned my lesson.
I paid the price.
And I got damn lucky along the way.
Later when my parents arrive at Dusty’s, I ask them for forgiveness the same way I asked for Cal’s. They just stare at me, as if unable to believe I’m really here, alive. In front of them.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I know I fucked it all up.”
“I don’t know what we did to deserve a second chance,” Mom says. “I’m so glad you’re back from the dead.”
I shake my head. “Mom, no one deserves any of this. I’m still standing, but Cal’s parents aren’t.”
Mom pulls in her lips, glancing at my father who wraps his arm around his wife.
“You’re right, Sawyer,” my mom told me. “We’ve held on to so much shame for so long, and yes we called the press the night the Mallones died, but we never wanted to lose them. We were caught up in a life that prioritized the wrong things and missed everything that mattered because of it.”
My dad spoke up, “Maybe we don’t deserve this chance now, to become better versions of ourselves, but we have it. And we aren’t going to waste it. You are the only family we have. And you asked for our forgiveness, but we hope you’ll accept our apology.”
“Of course, I’ll accept your apology, but you’re wrong about something,” I tell them.
“What’s that?” Dad asks.
“I’m not your only family.”
Mom’s eyes narrow, “What do you mean? We don’t have any parents who are alive, we’re both only children…”
“No,” I say, holding Sadie closer. “Sadie’s my fiancée and she’s carrying your grandchild.”
Mom and Dad break out into tearful smiles, pulling us in for a hug.
This whole thing is like a fucking Hollywood reunion but I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s cheesy and sappy and more than I goddamn deserve.
I have it.
And I’m not letting go.
Maria and Dusty walk in from the kitchen carrying platters of food and introducing themselves to my parents. I sit down at the table with my family, Cal, and Jules joining us along with Jules’ dad.
We raise our glasses, and I offer a toast, tears in my eyes like the son of a bitch I am. “To Teddy,” I say, and the table repeats his name, all of us knowing Teddy lived a life of honor, one that ended a hell of a lot too soon.
I know I’ll never forget this moment. The moment when everyone I care about in the world came together, putting the past behind us, looking out to the future with nothing but the belief that good things can come in the smallest, least expected places.
Tragedy has found all of us, in one way or another, and yet we are finding ways to keep walking, trying our goddamned best to hold our heads up high.
We will keep fighting for what matters, honoring the ones who are no longer with us. Choosing to believe that this life is a precious gift, one worth fighting for.
I’m standing one floor above a Small Town Fuck Club, but I know there’s nothing small about my life. Hell, no. My world? It just keeps on expanding.
After the memoir I’ll try to write the next Great American Novel—no pressure—but the truth is, there’s no way in hell it could compare to the actual life I’m living.
My life is looking pretty damn spectacular from where I’m sitting, and I sure as hell couldn’t make this shit up.
ACE: Las Vegas Bad Boy Chapter 1
ACE
I don’t take women to bed.
I take them against the wall, hard and fast, and when I come I make sure they remember.
They always do.
I’m cocky as hell, but shit, I’ve got reason to be. I own Spades Royalle, the sexiest casino in Vegas. Fuck, the sexiest casino in the country.
And sure, I’m a player, but why wouldn’t I be? The highest rollers in the world come to play at my tables—it’s no surprise that the hottest ass comes to the same place.
Everyone wants a taste of the action my casino offers. A taste of what I offer.
The cocktail waitresses who work here, with their tits pushed high and asses hanging out, know why they were hired.
The dealers I cut paychecks to know I only want the fastest hands on my casino floor.
The dancers at my shows know I only want the hottest performers in the city.
The DJs at my nightclub, where table service starts at ten grand, know I only want the best beats, the most fuckable women dancing.
The Spades Royalle is my domain. I own this town, and this casino, and every freshly-shaven pussy that sets foot here knows it.
With my tumbler of whiskey in hand, I walk across the casino floor toward the elevator leading to a private suite I’ve reserved for tonight. It’s the perfect place for mixing business with pleasure. I avoid taking anyone to my penthouse on the top floor—this way I can keep all my transactions from getting personal.
I don’t do personal with any woman.
I’m my own man. I don’t need anyone up close and in my shit. I don’t want them to think they have any chance at long term.
I keep my bets safe.
And the safest bet I know is one night stands—make that one hour stands.
The only people I trust are my closest friends, McQueen, Jack, and Landon. My family? Not a chance. They’ve screwed me over more than once.
But who needs family when you have Vegas?
Downing my drink of choice, Johnny Walker Blue—neat—I look around for a cocktail waitress. I like playing this game, finding a piece of ass that looks nice and giving her a fifteen-minute break she wasn’t expecting.
They never turn me down.
A perfect brown-haired honey works the room, carrying a tray in one hand, setting down beers and cocktails in front of the men at the tables. They offer her chips as tips, but I have a different sort of tip in mind.
Her face is flushed, tendrils of hair falling in her face as she moves quickly, knowing money is up for grabs if she works the tables the right way.
I press my lips together, ready to sweep her from the floor, toward my suite, and push her round, perfect tits around my cock.
I know she’ll want it. It’s obvious she needs it. A scowl crosses her face as a blackjack player forgoes giving her a tip, and she rolls her eyes slightly as a guy offers her his phone number.
Watching her as she crosses the smoky floor, I know what she needs. It looks like she’s had a long night and she needs to release some of that pent-up hostility. I know there’s plenty of time to work her up and down before my monthly private poker game begins.
She walks toward the hall where I’m standing, an empty tray in her hand. Probably headed to the bar to fill her orders.
Oh, I’ll fill her orders all right.
EMMY
Fuck. My. Life.
I made one rule when I moved to Vegas two months ago—I would not screw bad boys. Or asshats. Or really anyone I met on the casino floor. And the thing is, I’ve made good on my promise.
However, I still have to deal with these guys. Here I am, another night serving drinks to men who assume I am ready and willing.
Really asshole? You think I want your phone number? You think I’m wearing this black pleather leotard—the one that is giving me a serious wedgie—or these fishnets and five-inch stilettos, for you?
You think I have my tits pushed higher than humanly possible because I want to screw you in a hotel that is actually not where I’m hanging out for fun? Because I’m here for one reason, and one reason only: it’s a fucking job.
And god, I need the money.
My sister Janie is still in the hospital, and the bills for her care are co
ming out the hoo-ha. Landing in Vegas to make sure she was okay was never my plan. I was supposed to start grad school this fall … but fall is in two weeks, and my ass is still here.
Northern Washington University has been my plan ever since I realized if I wanted to get a leg up in life, I needed to work my ass off and get there myself. Nobody is going to help me get ahead. My parents were MIA for most my childhood—you know, before they kicked the bucket.
So it’s always just been Janie and me … except not. Because she left town the moment she turned eighteen, and I’ve been waiting for her to return ever since.
A text here and there, an update on what city she’s in—that’s all she’s given me over the past four years.
That’s why I’m hanging on so tight. That’s why I’m here to help her when she wakes up from the coma. The fact that she had my number in her phone as her Emergency Contact means something, right?
I want a family. I want people in my corner. I’m just tired of barking up the wrong-ass tree.
My sister is my only chance at a family.
And hard as it is to swallow, it looks like grad school is going to have to wait. It’s going to take forever to get the money to pay for both Janie’s care and school.
Especially at the rate things are going tonight at the Spades. A guy at the blackjack table takes his gin and soda without giving me a tip—which, okay, I get it. These players owed me nothing.
But I am beyond ready to catch a break. The best thing about showing up to work today was when Claire, another waitress who’s been here a lot longer than me, offered me her waitressing spot at some private poker table tonight.
She has a date—and now I have an extra shift.
Win-win.
I mean, except I can’t even remember the last time I had a date. The last time I had anything for me. I’ve been in Vegas for two months for Janie, and I certainly haven’t gotten any action at the hospital.
And before then I was in school and working … always working.
I need a freaking day off … from everything.
I’m walking toward the kitchen to reload my empty tray one last time, before I switch gears for the poker event, when a man stops me.
More like, we stop one another.
Because damn. One look at him and I can’t take a step forward. He clichés the fuck out of me—he stops me in my tracks just as I’m a foot from passing him.
His eyes are a smoldering green, like an evergreen tree deep in the forests of my hometown. He leans against a wall, with an empty tumbler in hand, and he smiles a slow, self-assured smile.
A smile with a mouth that looks like sex, smells like sex, and I’m guessing could lick like sex.
What the hell, Emmy?
I am not having sex with guys I “meet” here. That is rule #1.
I need to get my mind out of the sex-gutter, whatever that is. I need to focus on this job. On making cash. On getting my sister’s bills paid and getting her back on her own two feet.
I need to keep. walking. forward.
But before I can take another step, he speaks. His voice is as lush as his eyes.
“You ready to take a break?” he asks, standing up straighter now.
I’m above-average height, about 5’9”, but with these damn heels, I’m tall.
He’s taller. He looks at me, pushing his dark hair from his eyes. The pinstripe suit he wears screams designer and I notice a gorgeous gold Rolex heavy on his wrist as he crosses his arms. But he isn’t all nice and neat. I see a tattoo inching up his neck, but I can’t tell what it is.
In a flash I can see he’s working hard to look the part of a high-roller. His eyes and voice tell me there’s more to him than all that high-end bullshit I don’t give a crap about.
“Do I know you?” I know my tone is harsh, but the day has been long. My feet hurt from these damn shoes. It doesn’t matter that he is sexy as hell.
And damn, he is sexy as hell. I mean, his shoulders are broad and there’s enough of a five o’clock shadow on his face that I could imagine nuzzling against it…nuzzling my thighs against it.
God! Why the fuck am I thinking about pressing my lady parts against this dude’s face? Get a grip, Emmy.
“We haven’t met, but I’m prepared to get very familiar with you.” He cocks both an eyebrow and his head toward the other end of the hall.
I don’t even know where that leads. Well, I know where he thinks it might lead.
“Uh, I don’t screw strangers. And certainly not while I’m on the clock. I don’t think the owner of this place would like his employees fucking casino junkies. Just saying.”
“I don’t think your boss would mind.” He smirks, ever so slightly, and I hate that. Hate when guys think they know better than I do. I know how much this job means—the fact that I landed a gig at the most exclusive casino in Vegas is no small thing.
I’m proud I got this job and I’m not going to lose it over some horny guy in a nice suit.
Not that I wouldn’t have liked to enjoy this guy in his nice suit. His biceps pull at his jacket seams and I want to rip it off him. See those chiseled muscles for myself. But not on the clock. Not like this.
“I gotta go,” I say. “I’m gonna be late for my next shift if I don’t leave now. Okay?”
“Hey, you take your work seriously, not going to fight you on that,” he says, raising his hands in defeat, a smile pressing across his face again, like he knows something I don’t. “But before you go, what’s your name?”
“Emmy,” I tell him. “Emmy Rose.”
I hustle away, tray in hand, and make it into the kitchen without falling over my own two feet. Because even though I just walked away from his offer, I don’t want to trip on my ass in front of him.
I hope he’ll remember my name and look me up later.
When I’m not at work.
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Also by Frankie Love
THE ENTIRE FRANKIE LOVE COLLECTION
A-List F*ck Club:
The Novel
From the HIS Collection:
HIS Everything
The Mountain Man’s Babies:
TIMBER
BUCKED
WILDER
HONORED
CHERISHED
The Modern-Mail Order Brides:
CLAIMED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN
ORDERED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN
WIFED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN
EXPLORED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN
An Arranged Marriage Romance:
COURTED BY THE MOUNTAIN PRINCE
CHARMED BY THE MOUNTAIN PRINCE
CROWNED BY THE MOUNTAIN PRINCE
Las Vegas Bad Boys:
ACE
KING
MCQUEEN
JACK
Los Angeles Bad Boys:
COLD HARD CASH
HOLLYWOOD HOLDEN
SAINT JUDE
THE COMPLETE COLLECTION
Stand-Alone Romance:
KINKY RESOLUTIONS
WILD AND TRUE
Stand-Alone Bad Boy:
BIG BAD WOLF
Stand-Alone Mountain Men:
MISTLETOE MOUNTAIN: A MOUNTAIN MAN’S CHRISTMAS
HEART OF GOLD: A MOUNTAIN MAN’S VALENTINE
HIS LUCKY CHARM: AN IRISH MOUNTAIN MAN
❤️❤️❤️
About the Author
Frankie Love writes sexy stories about bad boys and mountain men. As a thirty-something mom to six who is ridiculously in love with her own bearded hottie, she believes in love-at-first-sight and happily-ever-afters. She also believes in the power of a quickie.
Find Frankie here:
www.frankielove.net
[email protected]
with friends
