I’m not above that, not when it comes to a piece of ass like JoJo.

And the thing about JoJo—which is different than 99% of the women I’m ever around—is that she doesn’t seem to know how fucking hot she is. Her mind isn’t on the ripped guys walking around her; she’s totally focused on her training.

When we pause to get water, and Kit goes to make a call in his office, I notice the gym has cleared out. Kit closes for a few hours every afternoon.

I look at JoJo, who hasn’t once complained, hasn’t once fussed. Hasn’t once wavered. She’s a fucking machine.

“You ever have fun when you do this?” I ask, wondering if I can get her to break a smile.

“McQueen, this is the world to me. It’s not a joke.”

“I get that,” I tell her. But I don’t really. Why the hell should we take life so fucking serious? There’s little point to any of it if we aren’t enjoying ourselves along the way. “Well, you ever have fun after you work out?” I ask her, giving her my classic McQueen smile.

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.