KING: Las Vegas Bad Boys(99)

I laugh. “Oh, what, now the guy with the most commitment wins? I swear to God, a few months ago it was the other way around.”

“Things change,” Ace says, shrugging. “But seriously, you should come out with Emmy and me tonight. Maybe Tess will come too.”

“I do not want a double date with Tess.”

“What’s wrong with Tess?” Jack asks, suddenly interested.

“Nothing’s wrong with her. I’m just not interested.”

“What, you have some girl already in mind for tonight?” Landon asks.

“No, I already had someone this afternoon.”

“Dude, you’re seriously out of control,” Jack says.

I pull back. Are they seriously saying I get too much pussy? Because the last time I checked, the pussy I was getting was the fucking best.

Better than that, even. JoJo is more than a piece of meat. That girl is fire. She is heat. She’s dangerous, and she doesn’t even know it.

Good thing we said one and done.

“Whatever, you guys enjoy your women, and I’ll enjoy mine.”

“No, you should come out with us, though. You too, Jack.”

I shrug. What else will I do at eight o’clock on my night off? I can go find some pussy after dinner.

“Sure, I’m in,” I tell him.

Jack says he’ll come, too.

“So, what are you guys working on?” I ask, looking at the papers on the table.

Ace scratches his jaw. “We’re just making sure we have the schedule all figured out for the first month of business. We open next Friday—that’s only ten days away, and the last thing we need is a cluster.”

“I still think we should hire a general manager,” Landon says. He was originally going to be the GM here, but now he’s overseeing The King’s Diamond and doesn’t have time to do this full-time. Neither does Ace. So they’ve decided to split the job.

“We have enough shift managers that I think it’ll be fine,” Ace says. “We can always reevaluate in a month. The last thing I want is to hire someone who thinks they understand our vision and then starts fucking things up.”

I don’t say anything. Because these guys, while my best friends, see me as the male dancer I am. Not management material.

And Jack isn’t an option, because he travels so much as a DJ.

“You know—starting next month, my schedule changes,” Jack says, surprising us. “I could help more.”

“Really?” Landon asks. “I swear you had a tour in Eastern Europe lined up.”

“I did. But ... things shifted, schedule-wise. Ashley wants me in Vegas for the six months she’s here on contract.”

“You cancelled your shows for Ashley?” I ask, fucking shocked. This woman has a grip on his balls like something else. “Am I the only one here who doesn’t have his nuts in a wad over a woman?”

“Call it what you want, McQueen, but flying solo gets old,” Ace says. “Tonight, you’ll be looking for someone to take home. Meanwhile, I’ll be in bed with a woman who knows exactly what I want.”

“Shit,” I say, cracking another grin. “I don’t even know who you jackasses are anymore. And while you sit here bullshitting over management, I’m gonna go check in with the real men who are here for rehearsals.”

“Rehearsals,” Landon laughs. “Because that sounds manly.”

I flip the guys off as I walk out of the back room, knowing they’re the ones missing out.

If I were in relationships like them I wouldn’t have had an afternoon like I had with JoJo.





JoJo


I pull into my sister’s driveway, hoping like heck I don’t look like I’ve just had sex. I’ve seen my brothers exit their bedrooms with women enough times to know what the post-sex glow is. Heck, I’ve been around Lucy enough times after she’s hooked up to know there’s no denying what a woman who’s recently had an orgasm looks like: relaxed.

My sister Mary, on the other hand, may be married but it’s obvious she’s not getting the kind of sex she probably craves. She has three kids under six, and never looks well-rested, let alone well-sexed.

“Mary,” I call out, opening her front door without knocking. “It’s me.”

“Jo?” she hollers from the kitchen. “Can you come here? Hurry. I just—dammit.” I hear something clatter to the floor and rush into the kitchen.

She looks frazzled, but no more so than most days. And on the floor at her feet are a million gravy-filled clumps that used to be a chicken pot pie.

“It’s all good,” I say, immediately springing into action. Grabbing a roll of paper towels, I start sopping up the steaming food. “Crap. Hot.”