But I haven’t said a word about Grotto to Mary.
“Marriage?” Mary looks up. “What are you talking about?”
“Josephine and Frank Grotto are getting married,” Paul says, taking another sip of his oak-aged amber.
“Seriously?” She looks over at me, as if seeing me for the first time all day. “I thought he was in prison?”
“He’s getting out in a few weeks.” Peter shrugs.
“Wait, I thought it was a month away?” I ask, patting Justice more fervently as I get more agitated. The moment they bring him up I remember how real all this is.
And how unreal my time with McQueen was.
But, my God, how real he felt, pressed against me.
“Oh, the wedding’s happening. His family is in agreement; it’s a done deal,” Dad says, then he points to Mary. “And you need to work this out with Connor.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “No, Dad, I can’t. I wish Mom were alive; she’d understand. The men of this family think they can order us around, and I’m done. Done being told what to do. Let me think for myself.”
Just then the front door slams shut, and Connor strides into the kitchen, clearly hearing the last words his wife said.
“Mary, outside. Now,” he hollers, pointing out the back door. I see my sister’s finger’s grip tightly on the bottle of whiskey and I know this is going to get worse before it gets better.
She chucks the bottle at him, and I instinctively pull Justice’s head to my chest. Mary misses her husband’s face, but the bottle smashes against the wall then falls, shattering across the tiled floor.
I meet my father’s eyes. And though we may disagree on many levels, we both know the kids need to be out of the fray—something Mary seems to have lost hold of.
“I’m taking Mary’s car,” I tell him, as the yelling match gets worse. “I’ll get the kids after school, and keep Justice until then, okay?” I kiss him on the cheek, reminded for the hundredth time that my own selfish dreams of fighting might just need to be in my past. Because clearly my family is falling apart. The last thing I need to do is add fuel to this fire.
McQUEEN
I never heard from JoJo after she left my place five days ago. Should I care? Hell no.
I want a woman who can play fair and fight nice. What she did was act like an entitled brat, who threw a fit and drove away like a child.
No fucking thanks.
But damn if I haven’t been thinking of her nonstop. Of course I want to know what the hell happened with her family. Did they lock her in her bedroom? Chain her up in the basement?
I asked Kit, but he’s more than pissed off at her. Guess she hasn’t shown her face in the gym all week.
But we know she’s not in a dungeon; she’s both called him and answered his calls. Kit tells me she claims to be done with fighting, for good. Which is fucking nuts. I’ve been in the ring with that girl and what she has is pure grit, unharnessed talent. That girl was made to wear gloves, yet apparently she’s thrown them aside but won’t tell Kit why.
I have a few fucking guesses.
The silver lining is that no more stalker-sized problems have been reported. Still, I’d like to see her face to be sure she’s okay.
Fuck—the truth is, I’d like to see more than her face. I’d like to see every piece of her creamy skin, but I know that’s not gonna happen any time soon. Besides, my big debut is tomorrow. Hearts Royalle opens and I’ll be on the main stage at The Cockpit, ready to show my moves.
I’ve been at Kit’s gym 24/7 making sure every muscle is toned, every pec is flexed. I gotta give the ladies the show they’re getting dressed up for.
“Hey, asshole,” Ace says, calling me back to reality.
I’ve been punching this bag for thirty minute, and I got in a zone.
“You cool, man?” he asks, tossing me a bottle of water.
“I’m good. Just getting ready for tomorrow.”
“It’s gonna be hot. Emmy is all ready to show off the club. What she, Tess, and Claire have done to the place looks off the hook.” Ace wipes his brow with a towel, then slaps me with it, pointing behind me. “That your girl O’Malley?”
I spin around faster than I’d like to admit, and see JoJo talking animatedly with Kit. Shit’s going down. I can hear the exchange and it doesn’t sound good.
“I can’t do this anymore,” JoJo says. “I told you, family comes first.”
“But you told me you wanted a fight. I’ve been working on it all it week,” Kit says.
“Working on it isn’t the same as having it.”
“Be patient; come back and train. You can do this, JoJo,” Kits says, putting his hand on her shoulder, looking so earnest. “I believe in you. You’re gonna be great. The greatest.”
But she just shakes her head.
I shake mine too. “That’s JoJo, all right. But she’s not my girl. She’s got some serious family issues.”
Ace laughs. “Don’t we all? Shit. My family was fucking murdered, Emmy’s imploded. Claire’s ex-husband locked her in a fucking apartment; Landon seems normal, but shit, you know billionaires are more screwed up than they admit. Fuck, Emmy made me watch that Fifty Shades movie. Serious boundary issues with those rich fuckers. And then we’ve got you: a boy who can’t even tell his dad what he does for a living.”
“Damn.” I laugh. “Well, maybe Jack has a normal life?”
“Hardly. We just don’t know his baggage because all we ever hear about is his bitchy girlfriend.”
“So what are you saying, man—I shouldn’t let her family stop me from taking what I want?”
“That depends.” Ace shrugs. “I think the O’Malley’s are trouble. I told you as much the other night on the phone. But damn, McQueen, I’ve never seen you interested in a woman for more than a night. Maybe JoJo’s worth the hassle.”
I consider his words. “Maybe worth it? What would tip the scale?”
“Was she any good in bed?”
I grin. “You better be careful. Emmy won’t like to hear that you’re asking how well JoJo puts out.”
Ace starts cracking up. “Son, Emmy talks crasser than any guy I know. Why do you think she and I work so well together?”
“I have no fucking clue.” I run a hand over my jaw. “But, shit, you’re right. I’m gonna tell her to come to the show tomorrow night. She’ll see me on stage and remember our night together.” I clap my hand on his back, and then head for the hottest girl I’ve ever fucked.
“Good luck, asshole,” he hollers.
I flip him the bird and keep walking.
JoJo is leaving the gym, in street clothes, by the time I catch up to her.
“Hey,” I say, coming up alongside her. “I haven’t seen you around.”
“Yeah.” She stops, looks up at me. Those brown eyes meet mine and, fuck, I just want to look at them all day. I swear they hit me somewhere deep inside, and it freaks me out how badly I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her, remind her that I’m the man she needs. But she must be missing the signal, ’cause all she says is, “I’ve been busy.”
Not deterred, I say, “I was scared your dad locked you in a closet after you told him about our rendezvous. I’ve been expecting to see some mobster around every corner, ready to punch me.”
“Well, I didn’t end up saying anything to them. Other stuff went down that day, and it’s a good thing I didn’t. I haven’t gotten anymore creepy photos or stalker vibes since that night. Have you?”
“No.” I cross my arms, because I don’t trust myself not to reach out and grab her hands. “Weird though, right? To go to the trouble of freaking you out, only not to do anything more?”
“I know; it’s super weird. But I’m moving on.”
She kicks a pebble on the sidewalk, then looks at me playfully. In that cute I have a story and I’m sorta embarrassed to tell it way.
“What aren’t you saying?”
“Well, I don’t want you to be mad, but I told my friend Lucy about the photograph and she made me show her. I mean, you can’t see our body parts. Anyways, she wanted proof I slept with you.”
I grin, loving the fact that her mind is still on our night together. “And what did she say?”
“She said it was a good thing I had a stalker taking our picture because she would never have believed I actually slept with someone, let alone the McQueen.”
I shake my head, unable to figure this girl out. On one hand she seems so normal, joking with a friend about a hook-up, and then on the other hand she’s bound to her family—not even training with Kit, because they’ve convinced her she needs to be … what? Barefoot and pregnant?
“I heard you talking to Kit. You really done fighting?”
She frowns slightly and looks away. “He’s disappointed, but I can live with that. I can’t live with disappointing my family. And right now, they need my help.”
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
She bites her lip. “What did you have in mind?”
I catch her off guard by suggesting tacos at the truck around the corner. It’s one of my favorite spots in Vegas. Authentic tacos, a Mexican Coke, sitting on the sidewalk. Nothing beats it.