JACK: Las Vegas Bad Boys Read Free Page A

raised in the air, snapping photos of me, of Ashley. She’s surrounded by a fucking entourage, and she loves it.
    Me? I hate that shit.
    “Go back out for another encore,” Ashley urges. “They loved you tonight. Do it, please? For me?”
    Her lips are bright, pink as cotton candy. Her blonde hair is fake as fuck, and she’s wearing such snug-fitting clothes that when I look at her all I see is a tight-ass. And not in a good way. She needs to stop being so fucking pent-up and intense.
    I shake my head. I already gave them two encores. I may be Jack Harris, but I’m not the fucking Beatles. Two is plenty.
    Besides, the moment I leave the stage, the fans aren’t on my mind. I’m starving. All I’ve had tonight is a few beers and some tequila shots while onstage. Looking around, I see so many half-dressed women … what I’d really like, besides a hamburger, is a fucking blowjob.
    But looking back at Ashley and her resting bitch face, I know the last thing I want is one from her.
    I’m beyond over this forced relationship.
    I’m ready to eat and unwind. This gig may be lucrative as hell, and a dream job for some people, but shit, it’s harder than it looks. And right about now, I’m wondering why I’m working so damn hard for something I hate so damn much.
    “Jack, that is so selfish,” Ashley says, scowling, her voice hitting a high-pitched whine. “They came here for you. They deserve your best. Think about them.”
    She needs to back the fuck off. I was just onstage for three hours, and don’t need her bullshit. Choosing to ignore her, I grin, not giving a shit if I piss her off right now.
    “Well, I’m thinking about a cheeseburger and fries.”
    She doesn’t return the smile. No surprise. She needs to take the stick out of her ass.
    Kirby cuts in, once he realizes I am not going back on stage no matter how much my girlfriend of a year bitches about it.
    “Jack, my man, Kendrick loved you. And he gave me some incredible news.” Kirby claps me on the back, beaming, and we walk together toward the dressing room so I can get my shit before heading out for the night
    Kirby is a man with nice suits and good intentions, but our relationship is strictly business. He lives in LA and shows up when he needs to. Like tonight.
    Once the three of us are in my private room, I toss my sweaty tee shirt aside and put on a new one. I grab my duffel bag and throw in my headphones, and then slide my wallet into the back pocket of my jeans.
    “Jack, don’t you want to hear the news?” Kirby asks.
    “Oh, yeah, right. Sorry. I’m focused on getting some motherfucking food,” I tell him, setting down my bag, trying to focus.
    “It’s so typical that you don’t even care,” Ashley says. “Kirby came all this way for you.”
    I raise an eyebrow. “You done?”
    She rolls her eyes, arms crossed, and we both turn to Kirby. Man, Ashley is seriously grating on my last fucking nerve.
    I’ve given her a year, a year of blowout fights as we’ve crisscrossed the globe on our own tours. She thought if we both took a break from tour dates, spent six months in Vegas, together, our problems would be solved. But it’s only been a month and I swear to God it’s worse than ever.
    Looking at her now, with her resting bitch face and agenda, I blow the air out of my cheeks, determined to focus on my agent.
    “Sorry, Kirbs, what did Kendrick say? Did he stay around?” I ask.
    “It’s big news; maybe we should go out and be with your crew for the big reveal,” Kirby suggests.
    “No, it’s cool. I don’t want to make a scene. Just tell me.”
    “Ohhh, we can do a champagne toast. I mean, the offer is good, right?” she asks Kirby, grabbing my arm in excitement. I swear, she sees the magazine spread before the moment has even happened. Her life is viewed through a fucking filter, and I don’t want to be in any of her shots.
    Which is problematic considering we’re together.
    “No champagne. And no paparazzi,” I add,