Las Vegas, Nevada…
Oh my god! How much longer am I stuck here?
I’ve been working the photo booth at the Vegas Cat Expo for a least two hours and have just about had it.
After Summer called me to graciously apologize her hot little ass off for her rudeness at the Daytona car race, I’d agreed to go to lunch with her earlier today.
She’s still a bitch, but there’s always room in my heart for sexy bitches. Not to mention the lunch was at one of my favorite restaurants in Vegas that serves fresh oysters.
They fly them in daily, or so they claim. Since Vegas is in a fucking desert, they must.
At our lunch a couple of hours ago, while I gulped down juicy oyster after oyster, Summer had diplomatically reminded me of the sponsorship event today for Kitty Kat Kibble.
As if I could forget since she’d texted me at least a hundred times in the past two weeks about it.
Here I am, worrying about qualifying for the pole position at the race on Sunday and she’s concerned about what shirt I’m wearing.
The woman can’t see the big picture and it’s frustrating as hell.
She’d even shown me a new blue shirt they’d designed specifically for me to wear today.
“Well, it’s not completely idiotic-looking now that you’ve changed the color from pink to blue,” I’d said.
Honestly, I did appreciate the fact that she’d gone to all the trouble to change the color. Now if she’d only change the cat to a dog. Then we’d be square.
She’d given me a big smile in relief and thanked me profusely. For a moment there, I’d wondered if maybe this deal wouldn’t be so bad after all.
That was two long hours ago.
Now I’m stuck at a boring cat expo with hundreds if not thousands of cat ladies wandering around the huge lobby. Most are wearing cat earrings, cat socks and shirts with cats on the front.
I never realized cats were such a big deal.
Now I’m positioned in front of a pink backdrop like one of those photo op cardboard cut-outs you might see at theme parks. I’m basically chained here at our booth until told otherwise.
So far, I’ve taken at least fifty different photographs with chatty middle-aged moms and slightly batty old ladies covered in cat hair.
The first thing I’m going to do when I get back to my hotel room is go on social media and untag myself from the hundreds of photos I’m sure will be uploaded by them.
At first, the expo was entertaining.
Watching the owners walk around, toting kibble-filled baggies and cat-emblazoned fanny packs was kind of funny. Some women had even managed to bring the odd cat on a leash, which looked appropriately less-than-pleased at the prospect of being dragged around.
I feel their pain.
I’m nothing but another creature here on a leash too. Except my leash is made of dollar bills instead of fancy chains.
I hear a noise and crane my neck around our booth to see Steele driving down the middle of the expo in a Kitty Kat Kibble pink golf cart. Catching my eye, he gives me a big wave, smirking at my predicament.
I scowl at him.
How the hell did Steele get away with just having to drive a fucking golf cart around while I’m stuck here taking photos all day?
As two adult sisters with tightly permed curls walk up to me, I sigh. Steele isn’t the star driver who everyone wants a picture with. That’s how he got the cushy job.
“You’re that car driving guy, right? What’s your name again? John something or other?” the older of the two asks me as her sister aims her cellphone for a photo.
“It’s Johnny Jones,” I mutter out the side of my plastered-on smile.
They switch places and I smile again as the other sister turns her cellphone one way and then the other while trying to focus.
Good God Almighty.
Have these women never taken a photo with their cellphones before? I try not to show my frustration while my insides are about to snap.
For the next person in line, I find my smile coming naturally. A stunning blonde strolls up, eyeing me in a way that indicates she already knows who I am.
“How’s the other end of the expo?” I ask her as we prepare our picture-ready smiles.
My head tilts in the direction of the far-off table where there looks to be food and…wait a damn minute. Is that alcohol they’re pouring into the dainty pink paper cups?
“What kind of drinks are they serving?” I ask.
“Pink punch,” the lady says with a little giggle. “It’s delicious. Apparently, there’s vodka in it too!”
“Oh really? You don’t say.”
Music to my ears.
I throw my arm around her shoulders and tug her closer to me. I’ve been trying to keep the ladies here at arms length or further away if possible. For this one, I’ll make an exception.
“Let’s get another photo for you,” I say. “A good one this time.”
She snuggles into me and I feel her soft breasts against my ribs. Things are looking up already.
After her girlfriend takes at least ten different photos, the blonde gives me a flirty smile and starts to step away.
I gently grab her hand.
“Hang on, sweetie.”
“Yes?” she asks with an expectant look.
“Would you be able to do me a huge favor?” I ask, giving her my best charming smile. “If you could grab me a couple of those pink drinks, it would make my photo op stint here a whole lot more bearable.”
I give her a secretive wink and squeeze her hand.
As she eagerly nods and trots off, I heave a sigh of relief.
Glory Hallelujah! Help is on its way.
“You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” a soft voice calls out.
It’s Summer, strutting over in a tight dress that’s the same pink as my backdrop. Why she hadn’t worn that sexy dress on our little lunch date earlier is beyond me.
“I haven’t committed suicide yet,” I remark cheerfully as I position myself for the latest photo.
I’m squished between two old ladies who are older than my Great-Grandma Jones.
“Shush,” she scolds me quietly.
“Thank you, ladies,” I say politely to the little grannies before giving them both a big bear hug and sending them on their way.
Summer smiles at my kind gesture.
“I want to thank you for your patience with the crowd,” she says. “I know it must be exhausting having to stand here like this, but just a few more hours and it will all be over.”
“A few more what?” I choke out.
“Hours,” Summer says, pressing her pink lips together. “The Cat Expo runs from two to seven, like I told you at lunch.”
All the remaining energy crumples out of me and I deflate like a flat tire.
“That’s a long time,” I say. “I could run a race in five hours.”
“You’re almost half-way done,” she says. “Can I get you anything to eat or drink?”
“Nope, I’m good,” I say. “I sent someone to fetch me something. Here she is, in fact. The lady who saves the day.”
The hot blonde hands me two pink-filled paper cups.
“You’re a lifesaver, doll,” I tell her, my hand touching hers.
I take a long sip then step into the middle of a group of teeny-boppers and smile big for the camera.
Summer quickly steps over and takes the two cups out of my hands.
“I’ll take these,” she says. “We can’t have photos of you drinking with a group of teenagers.”
“Good point,” I say. “I don’t want to be a bad influence.”
I wiggle my eyebrows at the teenagers and they all laugh.
When they step away, I take the cups back from Summer.
She frowns at me and puts her hands on her hips.
“What, now you want one too?” I offer. “Here you can have this one. I can’t drink two at one time.”
“Couldn’t you save the drinking until after the expo is over?” she asks, clearly not pleased with me.
She crosses her arms causing her breasts to jiggle slightly.
Damn, would I like to get a closer look at those tits.
“How about we make a deal,” I say, holding out a cup to her. “You stay here and drink one of these with me, and I’ll stay here and get less drunk. It’s a win-win for both of us.”
Summer lets out a long sigh and rolls her eyes at me.
“I can’t do that. I’m in charge of this entire event. Otherwise I would be right here supervising you every minute. Since you obviously need close attention.”
“We could trade places,” I offer with a wink. “I’m good at managing things. You take over for me and I’ll manage the event. How hard could it be?”
It’s then that I notice the blonde is still lingering by my side, waiting expectantly for something. I’m not sure what.
“Hey thanks,” I tell her. “It would be cool if you could grab a couple more drinks. These cups are tiny. Grab one for yourself too while you’re at it. I could use the company.”
The girl saunters a few paces away before Summer chases her down.
“No need for any more drinks,” she tells her. “He’s fine. Thank you for helping him out.”
“I am not fine!” I mutter loudly, as another woman steps up and hooks her ice-cold arm in mine for yet another photo.
Summer whirls around to deliver me a scathing look, then stalks off.
Four or five drinks later, Steele zooms by again, waving gleefully from his golf cart. Now that the photo station is finally less busy, I’m able to step into the aisle and flag him down.
“What gives?” Steele asks, stopping the cart.
“You’re rescuing me,” I tell him, climbing into the seat next to him. “We’re leaving. Right now. Put the peddle to the meddle and get me the hell out of here.”
“I am?” he asks, surprised.
“You are. Now go before the angry cat lady comes back and discovers me missing.”
We’ve barely pulled away from the booth when Summer strides hurriedly right in front of us to block our escape route. Steele rams his foot on the brake just in time to keep from mowing her over.
The golf cart rolls to a halt, bumping gently into Summer’s shapely legs.
“Are you crazy?” I ask her. “He could’ve hit you.”
“I knew you’d stop in time, you are racecar drivers after all,” Summer says coolly, her hands on her hips. “What are you doing? It’s not seven yet.”
“Leaving,” I tell her. “I’ve been here three damn hours and I’m about ready to piss a hole in the cement. I need to make a pit stop at the little boy’s room.”
Steele’s the only one who laughs.
“If you want to take a short bathroom break, that is permitted,” she says, matter-of-factly. “After another hour and a half, you’ll be free to go.”
“After another hour and a half,” I echo hollowly, then gesture desperately back to the photo op spot. “C’mon! No one’s even coming by anymore. They’re all leaving. It’s almost over.”
Just to prove me wrong, a large group is gathering at the booth this very minute. Summer gives me a pointed look.
“Johnny,” she says in a low warning tone.
“Summer,” I reply in the same tone. I lean over to grab the wheel from Steele. “I’m really sorry for this. When a man’s got to go, he’s got to go.”
“Sorry for what?” she starts to say.
“Go!” I yell to Steele.
I narrowly miss hitting Summer as I wheel around her and we rush across the cement floor. Steele whoops with laughter as we navigate around unsuspecting slow-moving people, and even the odd snarling cat.
When we reach the other side of the huge, cavernous building, I throw a look over my shoulder.
Summer is speed-walking across the floor of the expo, her face a mask of utter rage. Probably because we both know she won’t get here in time to prevent our escape. Already our golf cart is a few feet away from the door, and freedom.
“Take over, buddy,” I order Steele, handing off the steering wheel.
Contorting my body so that Summer can see exactly what I’m doing, I rip off my Kitty Kat Kibble shirt, circle it around my head like a lasso and chuck it into the nearest trash can.
“Basket!” I yell.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I say to Steele. “She looks more than mad.”
He guns it through the doors, down the sidewalk through the throngs of cat ladies leaving the expo and into the parking lot.
We hop off the golf cart and run to our cars. Steele jumps in his and takes off. I unlock my car door and try to start the ignition.
Damn it!
The rental car is one of those new-fangled contraptions that uses a push button to start the engine instead of a key. I hit the button and nothing happens except a constant dinging noise. The check engine light comes on.
No fucking way!
Whatever happened to using regular old car keys?
I’m finally able to start the car. I throw my head back for a quick check as I reverse, then screech to a halt.
The evil boss lady is standing directly behind my car with her arms crossed.
How the hell did she get here so fast?
I think about backing up anyway and running over her. I try to roll down the window to yell at her. I can’t figure how to do that either.
Damn!
I hate rental cars. I climb out of the car and start walking down the street.
“Leaving so soon?” she asks.
She’s standing there in that fuck-me dress and a fuck-you triumphant smile. My cock twitches at the same time my fists ball in rage.
“You….” I sputter, finally settling on shaking my head furiously.
I can’t believe this.
“There’s always taxis, you know!” I say. “I’m not a prisoner. You can’t keep me here against my will.”
I turn around and stalk off down the street. I’m don’t even know where I’m going. Anywhere but here and away from her.
“Hey! Are you planning to walk down the street shirtless?” she calls out from behind me.
“Damn right I am!” I yell back over my shoulder. “I do it all the time. The fans love it. Why do you think I work out in the gym every damn day? Because I love to look at myself in the mirror?”
“Get back here, Johnny!” she yells. “We’re not finished.”
I don’t turn around or answer her. Instead, I just keep on walking, shirtless, down the streets of Vegas like it’s something I do all the time.
I’m fucking Johnny Jones.
Nobody tells me what to do.