King:Las Vegas Bad Boys(45)

Pussy, on the other hand ... now, that's something I can get behind. Or under. Or on top of.

Some guys have one-night stands, but if I'm sleeping with only one woman at a time I'm doing something wrong.

The thing is, if a woman wants to be with me, she knows she won't be the  only one looking at my package. I make a living showing off my body.

Some people judge me because I'm a male stripper, but I don't give a fuck about those people.

Anyway, I only fuck the ones who like my work.

Which is a whole lot.





JoJo


I've been coming to this gym for a year. And, still, every time I pull  my Mercedes in the parking lot I take a deep breath and try to focus on  what is, not what isn't.

Those lines get blurred, but I need to focus. See things for what they are.

I'm here, at Kit's Gym. Not in my Dad's house. I'm here, training. Not  arguing with my father. I'm here, free of my family's watchful eyes for  the next few hours.

You'd think that at twenty-three I'd have spread my wings bit, found  some freedom ... but my life only seems to have become more restricting  with age. The family is always around; Dad's mansion is the  headquarters.

I'm grateful to be the boss's daughter in some ways. I've always had  everything I need. But all the money in the world doesn't change the  fact that I'm the youngest of five kids, and the word overprotective  doesn't begin to cover the way they treat me.

My sister Mary got off the hook, being the oldest girl ... or maybe  because she did exactly as she was told. Married a man who was in the  family business, right out of high school, and started having babies.

The conversation I had with Dad this morning rings through my head as I sit in my parked car.

"No," I told him. "I'm not ready to get married."

"JoJo, you've been out of college for a year. You're an asset that's  losing value the older you get," Dad repeated, for the fourth time. His  tone was rough, his face grim. I wondered if he was ever soft. I've  never seen that side of him.

I shook my head again. "I get it. You want me married and popping out  babies. But it's not like Peter, Paul, or John are married," I reminded  him. I knew that my tone was sneaking into snarky territory, and that I  needed to be careful.

"Your brothers help run the family, JoJo. And they're gone half the time  in Boston keeping everything in check," he said. "I rely on their help  to run this organization."

I hate this-being the youngest daughter of the boss of the Irish Mob. I  thought when he told me we were moving to Las Vegas five years ago it  might mean a fresh start. Little did I know the insider gambling circuit  here surpasses the one in Boston.

"You don't care about my happiness," I told him.

"I want you to settle down, like your mother would have wanted. For the sake of the family."

I was so over this guilt trip.

"I've gotta go," I told him, grabbing my purse from the table. "I hear you; I do. I just don't understand the urgency."

Dad wasn't having any of that. He slammed his fist on the counter. "The  urgency is clear. I say it's time for you to marry, so you will. And  I've found the man."

"Who?" I asked-shocked, but not surprised. Mary was married off when she  was eighteen. I've been biding my time and I knew that, eventually, if I  wanted to stay in the family, I'd be married too. "Is it someone I  know?"







"I'm not looking inside for you like I did Mary. We've been wanting to make inroads with the Italians for a long time."

"Who?" I asked again, my chest starting to burn. I felt scared. Out of control. Like a pawn in his game.

"Word is Frank Grotto's getting out of prison next month."

"No, that's not possible," I said, shaking my head. "He's in for life.  For that hit and run, for the drug ring. It was all over the news."

"Looks like his lawyers got him off; other members of the family are  taking the fall. Blood runs deep, Josephine. You need to remember that  now more than ever."

"Grotto is fifteen years older than me. It's not an option."

"We've wanted to make an alliance with his family for a long time. This is a done deal."

"Dad, he's a criminal," I whispered, the intensity of the conversation weighing heavy in the room.

"There are worse things."

Is that true? I don't know. I just know I needed to get the fuck out of my father's house.

I left knowing I don't have a choice. That my fate will be sealed the moment Grotto is a free man.

And now my car is parked at the place that actually feels like  home-feels safe. I check my face in the mirror. The slight bruise on my  jaw is practically gone. I used makeup to cover it at home; no one  noticed.

Funny how the one place I feel safe is also the place where I get my butt kicked on a daily basis.

My head throbs. I just want to pretend the conversation with my dad  never happened. I've been living in denial. Arranged marriages are so  dated, but not when your family is the mob.

I managed to convince everyone to let me go to college – although I had to  live at home-but grad school was a no-go. When I brought it up last  year, Dad said it was time I settled down like a good woman. It wasn't  that I cared about school; I just wanted to avoid the inevitable life  plan.

But my heart is just not in that plan. Until recently, I've never once been swept off my feet.

And then, when I least expected it, I fell in love.

But not with a man.

With a sport.

It's freaking impossible to follow in Mary's footsteps when what I really want is nothing Mary has.

What I really want is to go into the gym today, and kick some ass.

I get out of the car, grab my gym bag, and head inside.



The smell of sweat and men hits me, as it does everyday, when I walk in  for my three-hour session. The family thinks I'm at a gym working  out – you know, stair steppers and ellipticals, grabbing a smoothie and  taking a cardio class with twenty other women wanting to get  bikini-ready.

I don't own a bikini. I prefer shorts and tank tops, a pair of gloves. I  come to the gym to condition. To prepare. I come to the gym to fight.

But Dad doesn't need to know that. No one in the family does.

"Hey, JoJo," my coach, Kit, greets me as I pass his office, headed to  the locker room. "You ready, girl? Today's gonna be a beast."

It's Wednesday. Wednesdays are always my hardest, longest day. Kit  always lines me up a grappling partner mid-week, and I both love it and  hate it. Up until a month ago, I was just here helping as a personal  trainer and fighting in amateur bouts. But Kit thinks I can do  this-really do this. So I've stepped away from doing anything besides  training for my first professional fight.

I don't know if his belief in me is warranted ... but I'll take it.

And I figure that if he takes me seriously as a fighter, I can take myself seriously, too.

Which is why I consider myself distraction-free. I have only two priorities: my gym and my family. Anything else is in the way.

In the locker room I take off my white jeans and sandals, and change  into my workout gear. Before locking my stuff up, I check my phone and  see I have some texts.

My best friend from college, Lucy.

Lucy: Hey chica, I'm so bored. Let's do lunch. Pleaseeee.

Lucy: Don't ignore me. I know you're at the gym. I'll come there if you don't say yes.

Me: I've gotta work out till two.

My thumbs hover, knowing I'm a lame friend. Not wanting to be that person. I can make an effort.

Me: Maybe tonight?

Lucy: Will you go out, out? Like heels and a dress?

Me: How about Netflix?

Lucy: No. You are so boring. I mean a for real night out.

Lucy thinks I'm crazy. Thinks I am totally missing the opportunity to  enjoy my twenties, in Vegas. But the truth is, I haven't been out since a  few months ago, when she convinced me to go out with her and a group of  her work friends.

That night was a disaster. I thought I was brave enough, rebellious  enough, to go to an all-male strip show at the Spades Royalle ... but I  started blushing one routine in. I left to enjoy Lemon Drops in the bar  until my friends finished watching the men get down to their  tighty-whiteys or whatever it is they wear on stage.







Truth is, I've never seen a man naked and didn't particularly want my  first time to be at the show Stripped. Even if that hottie McQueen, who  works out here at Kit's Gym, danced in the show.

I swear, every time I walk into the gym I'm overwhelmed with half-naked  men around me. Ripped arms, chiseled abs. It's impossible not to feel at  least a little bit of longing when I show up here among all these  guys-guys who look at me with as much desire as I look at them.

But I always resist the temptation. It would be so easy to give into one  of my fantasies. Sex in the shower after getting all sweaty from a  workout. Sex in the boxing ring after a man has pinned me to the ground.  Hand wraps binding me up, tied to chair....

Whew. I'm getting all hot just thinking about it-which isn't new. I'm  the only person who's ever in the women's locker room, and I've  pleasured myself plenty of times in the shower stall, alone, after a  workout.

Endorphins are for real.

My phone buzzes. Oops. I was so caught up in my fantasies I forgot about  Lucy. And, momentarily, about the conversation with my dad. God, maybe I  need more distractions, because the idea of marrying a creeper like  Grotto makes me want to die. Being able to forget about it for a few  minutes was a gift.