KING: Las Vegas Bad Boys(101)

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?