JACK: Las Vegas Bad Boys(4)

A twinge of envy passes through my belly, knowing she’s headed backstage to her boyfriend. A boyfriend who probably bends her over backward to blow her mind.

Not that I’m thinking about sex with Jack ... I mean, not this minute.

Whew—is it just me, or is it hot in here?

Gah. Okay, of course I’m thinking about sleeping with Jack. I always am. His body is perfection: ripped, but not with meaty muscle like the boys I grew up with. Tattoos cover his arms—but, again, they’re soulful artwork. Quotes and thick black lines, hinting at a softer side to the man who always looks so secure, so damn in control.

His body is nothing like the inked-up flesh of the men back home. They all had full-color images covering their backs and chests, as if proving something with their tattoos. The bigger the better, maybe? I saw enough of them naked to know that wasn’t the case.

But, as confetti falls from the club’s ceiling, coating us all in tissue paper perfection, I’m brought back to the present. Can’t dwell in the past when the present is a dream. A fantasy. A life that really feels too good to be true, even if I don’t have a man like Jack by my side.

The strobe lights are cracking out, blinding us. We stand, laughing, dancing. Having the time of our lives.

McQueen hands me a flute of champagne, and I toast JoJo, who smiles widely, as brightly as the brand-spanking-new engagement ring on her finger. We stand on the couches in our tiny dresses as the night closes.

One of Jack’s greatest hits blares through the massive nightclub and I take a sip of the bubbly.

The song ends and the lights come on. It’s crazy late, the wee hours of the morning, but I don’t have to work tomorrow, so I don’t care. In Vegas two a.m. means the night is just ramping up, and I’m game for anything.

Emmy and Claire debate what we should do next, but I really have no agenda. I’m always the girl who goes with the flow.

We exit the club through a pair of private doors—exclusive access for Ace and his crew. I’m included in that. We stand in the back entrance to the club, a more private space to make a game plan. I slip off my four-inch Jimmy Choos, still amazed that they were on my feet tonight. I used to feel shabby when we went out, but Emmy and Claire have no qualms with sharing their closets with me.

Just as we decide to head to Hearts Royalle, the new club the guys own, Jack storms out of the back entrance.

His eyes are blazing, his head shaking. He’s pissed, and this usually calm and collected hottie is clearly trying to get the hell away from something.

Make that away from someone.

Ashley Fast is on his tail, screaming at him. “You can’t walk away from me, Jack. We’ve been building a life together.”

Jack turns on his heels, inches from Ashley’s face. “Whatever we’ve built, I’m tearing it down. We’re done.”

My eyebrows rise. Holy shit, this isn’t just one of their fights—goodness knows we’ve witnessed plenty. This is a break-up brawl. And this is the end of them.

I bite my lip, not even thinking about the fact that these two are through. All I can think about is the fact that seeing Jack all fired up gets my panties soaked.

I know I’ve been crushing hard, but now I’m just horny as hell.





Chapter Two





JACK


I’m on stage, fucking killing it.

Thousands of people jump up and down, hands raised. Strobe lights stream across the massive dance floor as the horny clubbers enjoy the Vegas nightlife, grinding against the person nearest them.

From my vantage point I see women and men, bodies entwined, shirts discarded, dresses lifted to waists. I don’t want to think about how many people are fucking on the dance floor, but I’m guessing it’s a hell of a lot.

Everyone here has memorized every beat I drop, nobody was phased at the two-hundred-dollar cover charge to come to my show. They’re hoping for a night that will exceed their wildest dreams.

People come to Vegas for the fantasy, and my sold-out shows offer exactly that. Women we’ve hired dance on columns, pasties and thongs barely covering them, because the truth is, everyone comes here hoping to see everything.

And not just the talent. As douchey as it sounds, they’re here to see me. Maybe if they’re lucky they might glimpse Ashley, along with some of my friends, other high-profile Vegas alum, in a roped-off VIP section. Maybe an A-List celebrity who’s staying at the Spades Royalle will be sitting at a table with Ace and the crew for the night.

My shows aren’t just about the music. Fuck, they’re hardly about the music. I’m selling an image—and, if you ask my agent, I’m selling it better than any other DJ on the planet.

It’s almost two a.m., time for me to end the night and get off the clock. But I know it’s important to nail this particular show.