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.
Besides, a big-ticket fight would get publicity. And I don’t really want my name on a poster announcing my career choice before I tell them myself.
Although my logic is kinda messed up. Surely they’ll kill me once they find out, and maybe I ought to get killed in the ring first if I’m going down either way.
With Kit gone, I look over at McQueen, who’s taken off his sweaty tee-shirt and tossed it in the gym bag sitting on a bench. His back faces me; his broad shoulders are stretched, smooth, and tan. His large, well-defined muscles are evenly distributed on his frame and, with the waistband of his shorts slung low, my eyes linger on his ass.
I know I’m over my head ... but, just this once, I wonder if maybe that’s okay? I want to forget about the things my dad told me this morning.
The things that will literally ruin my life. No way in hell can I be a fighter if I’m Grotto’s wife. Probably if I’m anybody’s wife.
Right now, I just want to be JoJo. Because I might not be able to be her for that much longer.
And frick. Now I’m talking in third person.
Gah.
I never put myself in situations like this, where I can even consider giving in to what I want. My mind is focused on the gym and on playing my part in the family. Namely, smile and look pretty and do as I am told.
Any time a guy hits on me, I pretend I don’t hear them, brush them off without any attention. I know my family is complicated, which is why I’ve never dated anyone seriously. Never even told Lucy about all my connections. It would be messy.
The few times a guy has persisted, I played the part of a prude.
But I don’t want to be a prude right now.
Right now, I want McQueen.
“JoJo, you ready to show me that submission hold?” McQueen turns to face me, bringing me back to reality. Or maybe not reality. Maybe my absolute fantasy.
His baby blue eyes and short cropped blonde hair, his full lips and perfectly proportioned nose–everything about McQueen is perfection. A performance. Which I get, that’s his profession. But it’s like he’s almost too good. Like ... he knows exactly what he is doing.
Me? Not so much.
But I’ve held onto the V-card long enough, and I sure as hell don’t want to throw it away on Grotto.
Grotto could be out of prison in a month. Then what? I’ll lose my virginity anyway, by consummating a marriage on someone else’s terms.
Right now I have a chance.
I’m going to take it.
On my terms.
Chapter Three
McQUEEN
She looks at me, from head-to-toe, and for a second I think I’ve read her completely wrong, that all that sexual tension I fucking felt out there in the ring was really just her in beast-mode.
But then she meets my eyes.
Hers are filled with fucking desire.
I’m not waiting around for her to change her mind.
I walk over to her, and pull her into my arms. Her sweat is a fucking turn-on. She’s dirty and needs to be cleaned up, and I’ll fucking wash her nice and good.
I lift her by her little ass and her legs instinctively wrap around my waist.
“You’re so strong,” she says. Her eyes flicker as if she is caught off guard.
“You just saw me lifting for three fucking hours, JoJo. You know that lifting a hundred and twenty pounds is nothing. You’re light as a feather.”
“You also make a living carrying women around.”
“Have you seen my show?” I smirk, not able to read this girl at all. I carry her to the women’s locker room, kick the door shut and lock it.
“I went once.” When my eyes widen she clarifies. “My friend insisted. But I didn’t stay.”
“Why?” I set her down; the top of her head meets the center of my chest. I use a finger to lift her chin, so she can look me in the eye.
“It’s not my thing.”
“Strippers or men in general?”
“Strippers,” she says, shaking her head at me like I’m a dork.
“That’s where you’re wrong, JoJo. I’m a stripper, and you want me.” I hook my thumbs in the waistband of my shorts, lower them an inch. “Don’t you?”
She takes a sharp breath, and I see she’s practically drooling in anticipation of what lies beneath my shorts.
“Think you can handle a man like me?”
“I have no clue.” She gives a sharp laugh. I can’t read her, but I’m gonna try.
I pull her to me. My thick cock is growing hard, but I can’t handle her standing there one more second without pressing my lips against her mouth. I need to taste her, explore her. I need to fucking know her body.
So much of her body is solid and true, exhibiting her complete control over herself, but her lips sink into mine, like she’s desperate for them. She kisses me hungrily, as if she’s never kissed a man in her life.
And maybe she hasn’t. There are an awful lot of pussies out there in the world. Not many men like me—men who know how to a work a woman nice and good.