KING: Las Vegas Bad Boys(92)

“McQueen, this is the world to me. It’s not a joke.”

“I get that,” I tell her. But I don’t really. Why the hell should we take life so fucking serious? There’s little point to any of it if we aren’t enjoying ourselves along the way. “Well, you ever have fun after you work out?” I ask her, giving her my classic McQueen smile.

She looks me up and down, not cracking. “I have all kinds of fun. In fact, I’m going out tonight.”

“Why wait until tonight? I’ll show you some moves in the ring, give you an idea of the fun we can have this afternoon.”

She gives me a tight smile. “I’ll pass.”

“Pass on McQueen?” I shake my head, hiding my disappointment with a joke. “No one passes on McQueen.”

“I don’t like it when guys talk in third person.”

I laugh. This girl doesn’t put up with any bullshit. Which might be a problem. I’m 88% bullshit. “That was a one-time thing.”

“Well, I also don’t date strippers. I know you work at Stripped.”

I’m not fazed. “Aww, so you know where I work?” I smile like a cocky fool, but I like that she knew something about me. I cross my arms over my chest and tease her. “Who said anything about a date? I just wanted to fuck.”

She doesn’t flinch.

“I’m not playing hard to get, McQueen. I’m just not into what you’re offering. It’s not my style.”

“What is your style then?”

She pauses. And in that pause I see the truth. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what she wants, what she needs. She doesn’t realize that what she needs is me to loosen her up.

Her eyes narrow in on me. “My style is catch wrestling.”

“What’s that?” I step toward her, tightening the space between our bodies. Her breath is heavy, and she may be talking about wrestling, but it’s clear this woman needs to get laid.

“My preference when it comes to MMA.”

“And what makes catch wrestling so special?” I ask.

She smiles for the first time all day, but she pulls it back right away and answers deadpan. “It’s a style of wrestling that uses a lot of submission holds.” She tosses her bright red hair over her shoulder and starts to walk away.

I stop her, grab her hand before she can leave. The moment our skin touches I feel my cock twitch, my body stiffen. This girl is fucking impossible to win over, but I know she has a hot streak ready to burn. Her innuendo tells me plenty. Tells me everything she doesn’t have the guts to say.

That she wants me bad.

“After this session with Kit, it’s you and me, JoJo. You can teach me a submission hold or two.”

I think she’s going to pull away ... or slap my fucking face. But she doesn’t. Instead, she bites her bottom lip, her ample chest heaving as she steadies her breath.

“I’ll be sweaty.”

“Good,” I tell her. And then I let go of her hand and let her walk away.





JoJo


For the rest of the workout, I’m a mess.

I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Over my head is the understatement of the century.

Submission hold? Where the hell did that come from?

I’m a twenty-three-year-old virgin who has no business doing anything with anyone from the gym.

Let alone the male stripper who works out here.

My brothers would literally kill McQueen if they knew his intentions with me.

And I don’t even want to know what my dad would do to me if he knew what I wanted.

Probably lock me in my bedroom and arrange to send me to a nunnery.

Which would actually be better than marrying Grotto.

“That’s great,” Kit hollers to us as we grapple on the padded floor. “Ease up, McQueen, loosen your hold. And Jo, push down. Yes, just like that.” He claps, letting us know we can release, then calls it a day.

“Tomorrow, JoJo—same time, same place,” Kit tells me. “You were off today. Come back tomorrow with your head on straight.”

“Okay, coach.” I take a deep breath, my legs shaky as I stand from the floor. Kit just put me through a workout that kicked my ass.

“Hey, kids,” Kit says to McQueen and me. “I’m going out to grab some food, and run home before I reopen the gym at five. You okay locking up after you clean up?”

“Of course,” I tell him.

This isn’t anything new. Kit trusts me explicitly, which makes me feel more than mildly bad about the fact that I’m keeping him and this gym a secret from my family. They have no clue how much his trust in me means. They have no clue about him at all.

If I get a bigger fight lined up I’m going to have to tell them what I’m up to. There are only so many ways I can lie about bruises on my body, cuts on my lip—only so many times I can exaggerate about why I’m so ridiculously tired after a week of working out under Kit’s regime.