McQUEEN: Las Vegas Bad Boys (4 page)

A
fter saying goodbye to JoJo
, I get in my Jeep and head to Hearts Royalle, the new club Ace, Landon, and Jack have built. It opens in a week, and they have me headlining the first show. You know—bring in the big talent and hope the ladies are soaking their panties in excitement before I even step on stage.

It’ll be sad to say goodbye to
Stripped
, since it’s been the hottest male dance ticket for the last two years–but times are changing and Ace, as the owner, knows that.

Ashley Fast, Jack’s on-again-off-again girlfriend, has signed a six-month contract at the Spades Royalle, which is a perfect segue for me to start this new show here.

The new place caters to women–and what do women want when they go out in Vegas? They want men, wanting them. They want men, dancing with them. They want men, stripping for them.

I’ve never had a problem giving women what they want.

I park outside the mammoth building, where crews have been working around the clock for a month straight, ever since we returned from Landon and Claire’s wedding in England.

The space is on point for sure. The three story building itself is bright white, with pale pink trim. Inside, pink and light-grey velvet covers the interior, chandeliers dripping with crystals hang from the ceiling, and there’s soft lighting that will flatter every woman as they walk across the pink-carpeted club.

Ace’s and Landon’s wives, Emmy and Claire, along with their best friend Tess, have weighed in about every design choice. They haven’t been wrong. Everything is a woman’s wet dream ... err, fantasy. When the club opens, scantily clad men will run the coat check, deliver drinks, and deal at the tables.

Gambling isn’t going to be the only option here. Most women will come for the talent behind the thick curtains in the two-story dance club, called
The Cockpit
, where I’ll be performing.

There’s plenty of other talent for hire in
The Cockpit
, and I’m betting most of the action will take place in private dances held in the many VIP rooms. Think about what men do at strip clubs, and reverse it.

Women, for the first time in Vegas history, will be able to get private lap dances. And while no one is promoting anything more ... what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

“The place is looking dope, boys,” I say, announcing myself as I enter the back room of the club, where the guys are looking over several documents.

“Hey, McQueen, what’s up, man?” Ace asks, looking up.

“Just came from the gym, thought I’d see what you fuckers were up to tonight.” I sit backwards in a chair at the table where Ace, Jack, and Landon sit. “Anything on tap?”

“Emmy was talking about going to dinner tonight,” Ace says. “Not sure where, though.”

“I’m out,” Landon says. “I’m taking Sophia to ballet. She has dance Monday and Wednesday nights.”

“What the fuck, dude?” I ask. “You’re already driving taxi? Aren’t there nannies for that shit?”

Landon looks at me like I’m talking crazy. “Why would I hire someone to take Sophia to a dance class?”

“I see your game, bro,” Jack laughs, shoving Landon. “Someone is guaranteed pussy if they do daddy-duty.”

“You two assholes have no clue how good I’ve got it. A woman I love, a little girl who has my whole heart–meanwhile, what have you got? Jack’s got a pop-star girlfriend who breaks up with him every other week, and McQueen doesn’t even have that.”

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.

* * *

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.”

“Right? Why do you think I dropped the pan?” Mary throws me a raised eyebrow as she falls in a heap a few feet beyond the ruined meal. “Just put it on today’s tab,” she says. “I swear. I was late getting Hardy from kinder because I totally spaced on the half-day the school had today. Bailey threw a fit in Whole Foods, and Justice hasn’t had a proper nap all week. I swear that girl lives in a car seat.”

“She’s not in one now.”

We both cast a look over to Justice, who is chewing on a teething biscuit, brown gummy food covering her face, her belly, and the diaper she wears in lieu of clothing. She’s in a swing in perpetual motion. I’ve babysat enough to know that the moment it stops, her screaming begins.

“Maybe it’s time you hired some help.” I manage to mop up the food and begin throwing the pie into the trash.

“Connor won’t let me. I have a five-thousand-square-foot home, three cars in the garage, a diamond ring on my finger worth a small island—yet he says a woman should be able to manage her own home.”

“Well, he grew up in different world. You have play dates to schedule, school uniforms to get to the dry cleaners, and mommy yoga to attend.”

“Your sarcasm isn’t helping.” Mary lets out a defeated sigh, propping herself up on the bar stool at the granite island.

I spray disinfectant on the floor and do a final clean. At least the dinner disaster is distracting her from noticing my non-virginal status.

“I’m not being sarcastic,” I say, defending my stance. “Connor and his five brothers were delinquents and his mom barely wrangled those kids through the Boston Public School. It’s apples and oranges. Can you imagine Connor’s mother dealing with life here, in Vegas, married to man like Connor? He has a reputation, and so do you.”

“Reputation or not, I’m over my head. Something’s gotta give. And this is the fourth night this week Connor has had a dinner meeting.” She walks to the freezer and pulls out a box of chicken nuggets and a bag of peas. “It’s times like this, when I’ve ruined dinner and I forgot to take a shower and I’m flying solo—again—that I wish Mom were still alive. She knew how to keep everything together. But me? I’m just one hot mess.”

Hardy and Bailey come into the kitchen, screaming about a tablet not working. Bailey’s face is streaked with tears and Hardy has crossed arms, all huffy and annoyed.

It takes one second to assess the situation and come to a decision.

“Mary, sometimes all anyone can do is one day at a time. And you,” I say, pointing at her, “are off duty for tonight. Get some Chardonnay, run a bath, and turn off your phone. Got it?” Rooting through the fridge, I find a chilled bottle and hand it to her. “Look, it’s a screw top—easy access.”

She doesn’t resist, doesn’t say
if
or
but
, doesn’t try to coax the kids to stop fighting. She just gives me a grateful look, grabs a wine glass, and leaves. She may be over her head, but she isn’t stupid.

Fifteen minutes later, Hardy and Bailey are sitting at the table eating their microwaved dinner. I have Justice in my arms, offering her a bottle while simultaneously squirting ketchup on plastic plates.

I may have a dad who’s arranging my marriage, but I also have a family I would do anything for.

* * *

L
ater
, when the kids are happily watching
Phineas and Ferb
, and Justice is dozing in her swing, I take a break from unloading the dishwasher and check my phone.

Frick. Totally forgot about my plans with Lucy. She texted an hour ago.

Lucy:
Where are you lady? What are we doing tonight?

I look at the clock. It’s only seven, and technically I could still pull off a night out with her. But, looking around my sister’s house, I see another load of dishes, a pile of unfolded clothes, and a sticky floor. I know what I should do.

I may hate the idea of marrying Grotto, but family is family. Not doing what my father has asked of me would excommunicate me from the family ... and my sister needs me. And I need her.

She’s my family, and family is more important than going out with friends—and certainly more important than marrying the love of my life.

Me:
Sorry Lucy. I suck. But I’m on Auntie duty. Don’t hate me. Let’s do coffee this week. Xo