Page 14 of Shaken and Stirred (Bottle Service Boys #1)

RYDER

Poor Alex. He’d need Botox before turning thirty if he didn’t learn to chill and stop furrowing his brow. Not that those little crinkles he got in his forehead weren’t adorable, they were, but most people tended to hate them on themselves, even if they found it appealing on someone else.

Trust me, my mother lived in a world of nips, tucks, and body alterations. Her yearly budget for plastic surgery, creams, and serums was higher than the GDP of most small countries. I knew more about crafting the perfect face than I ever wanted to.

Alex didn’t seem to be the Botox type. Maybe I’d gift him some for his birthday.

That’d earn me an epic glare, maybe even one of those half-growls he did when he reached his limit.

But then, if he did paralyze some of his facial muscles, I might not be able to tell when he was scowling at me, and wouldn’t that be a shame? The glower was epic.

Though wary, Trevor didn’t seem to hate me on sight like Alex did. Maybe he’d be willing to tell me Alex’s birthday. I probably knew it at some point, but it’d long slipped my memory.

The door to the staff room swung open, and Alex appeared.

He had a light layer of sweat across his bare chest, giving him an almost glittery sheen.

His face had a light pink flush to it from the hectic past two hours.

It was easy to forget the sub-zero temperature outside after a few hours in the club.

“Five-minute break is over. Get your ass back out here,” Alex barked.

“On my way, boss,” I said, snapping out a quick salute.

Jesus, five minutes had never flown so fast. All I’d managed to do was sit on a bench and suck down three sips of icy water.

They were refreshing, but not enough. No way in hell would I ever admit it, but these first one hundred and twenty minutes kicked my ass.

We’d been back and forth from the bar to our tables at least five dozen times.

Rich, drunk people were demanding as hell.

Who knew? Then there was the combo skill of balancing a tray of liquid, waving a lit sparkler, shaking my ass, and hyping a table of shit-faced men that I’d never thought I’d need to master.

We weren’t just alcohol servers—we were a sideshow, there to provide hours of entertainment while keeping the alcohol flowing.

And, shit, a magnum of alcohol was heavy as hell.

My feet ached, sweat ran down my ass crack, and no less than ten guys had tried to cop a feel.

A good few managed it too. On a night out where I was the one planning to drink and hook up, I had no problem with wandering hands and grinding dicks, but while I was trying to learn the ropes at my new job?

Those dudes were annoying as hell.

Alex handled it all like a pro. He smiled, flirted, and dodged grabby hands from horny men with ease. I’d seen him dodge limbs like he was a slalom skier, avoiding every octopus reaching for him. If only he liked me better, maybe he’d clue me in on his secrets.

In less than five minutes, the shock of watching Alex work his tables set in.

Who the hell was this man? Certainly not the prickly grouch I’d known for years.

It turned out when tips were involved, Alex could crank up the charm with the best of us.

He also worked hard as hell, hustling the entire shift.

What I still had to figure out was whether this pace was typical for Alex or if he was trying to run me into the ground.

“Here.” Alex tossed me a rag and handed me a spray bottle the second I stepped into the hallway. “We have exactly fifteen minutes to turn over the tables before the next reservation.” He practically yelled to be heard above the music.

It’s funny how I could love the loud pulsing beat on nights I partied, but tonight, I found it annoying to constantly shout and never get a break from the noise.

“Parker hates, and I mean hates , if incoming customers catch us during turnover. Everything needs to be clean as hell and restocked. If there’s so much as a ring of condensation on the table, he’ll chew your ass out, and no one wants that.”

“I’m pretty sure Trevor wants that.”

He snorted, and his lips quirked, but the almost smile disappeared before I could appreciate it.

“You go wipe down the tables, and I’ll grab the water.”

Back to the grind. We’d been so busy, and he’d had so much Top Shelf wisdom to impart that I’d barely had time to get under his skin like I wanted. Although my mere presence seemed to irk him, I preferred a more active approach to driving him crazy.

It’s time to up my game.

“Gosh, fifteen minutes to wipe down two whole tables? Do you think I can pull it off? Maybe you need to show me how to work this strange contraption,” I said, holding up the spray bottle as I stared at it in mock wonder.

“And do I have to wipe in a special Top Shelf way? Clockwise? In figure eights? Zig-zag across the table?”

He rolled those deep brown eyes of his and stormed away, scowling.

Each step made his ass cheeks bounce in the skintight shorts.

Damn, the man had an ass made for all the dirty things.

I wiggled my fingers against the impulse to squeeze and knead those round globes.

Not much beat the feel of a thick ass in my hands.

Alex’s tattoos had been a complete surprise.

He seemed too rigid for permanent ink, but the man had a few on his back, one on his right arm, and a quote of some sort on his ribs.

We’d been on the move too much all night for me to inspect any of them, but it was only our first night of many working together.

The only thing that surprised me tonight was how sexy I found Alex.

Granted, he’d never been unattractive, but shirtless and with those ass-hugging, cock-cupping shorts, he was smoking hot.

We were comparable in height, but that’s where our similarities ended.

Dark to my light in temperament and coloring, he also had me beat in muscular bulk in the most delicious way.

I couldn’t help but be drawn to the contrast. Everything about us differed, from our looks to our career paths to our families, not that I knew anything about his family beyond the fact that he hadn’t grown up with money.

Nor did it matter. This was a fun way to pass the time until I began graduate school.

It was just fascinating to note the differences and how my dick had suddenly taken an interest in working with Alex.

I wiped the last spritz of cleanser off the table as Alex strode over with a case of water on his shoulder. I’d done a damn good job if I did say so myself. Not a drop of liquid remained on the table. It was so clean I could see my damn face in the shine.

As Alex set the glass water bottles on the table, my attention snagged on the stretch of fabric over one plump ass cheek.

I nearly groaned.

“Get your eyes off my ass.”

Busted . I laughed out loud while shrugging. “You got a good ass, FL. What can I say?”

“Seriously?” He straightened and shoved two bottles of Perrier into my chest.

“Oh shit.” I bobbled them but managed to keep them from hitting the floor. Thank God. They were glass, and I didn’t feel like scooping wet shards off the club floor for the next hour.

“You’ve been chasing me around while I bust my ass for hours now, and you still wanna call me a freeloader?” Alex shook his head. “Just put those on the fucking table in the setup I showed you before. If you can manage to remember what I did.”

He turned toward one table and began displaying the bottles in the triangular shape he’d demonstrated at the start of the night while I stood there frowning.

The FL had slipped out. To be honest, I’d called him FL so many times in the past that I’d forgotten it stood for freeloader.

To me, it was just a stupid nickname, but I could see how he found it dickish.

On the flip side, it was just a stupid nickname.

The man needed to lighten the fuck up, which was exactly why I teased him in the first place.

That and because it was fun, although I wasn’t used to the tiny seed of guilt I now had embedded in my gut.

We set up the tables in silence. Well, silence between us.

There wasn’t any such thing as silence inside the club.

As I finished changing the incoming party’s name on the digital screen above the table—under Alex’s critical watch, of course—Luke walked over, escorting a group of eight guys dressed more for Burning Man than a night out at a luxury club in the dead of winter.

“Here we are, gentlemen.” Luke grinned as he gestured toward the table. “Alex and Ryder will be taking care of you tonight. Please don’t be shy about letting them know what you need, and I am always available up at the front as well.”

A tall, slim guy wearing a fishnet top and what appeared to be leather chaps covered in feathers eyed me up and down.

If I had to guess, I’d put him at around forty, with a dirty blond stubbled jaw and a mop of wild sandy hair almost brushing his shoulders.

His skin was deeply tanned as though he’d recently spent some time much farther south than Boston.

“Two bottle service boys, huh? How’d we get so lucky? ”

While handsome in a funky way, I couldn’t help but think I’d prefer him with darker hair. And maybe a few tattoos like—

Full stop.

Alex. I thought he’d look better if his body were more like Alex’s. What kind of mindfuck was that?

I ran a hand through my damp hair. That was unacceptable—time to get this train back on the tracks. I took the job to show Alex I could do what he did, only better, not to admire his body.

I gave Feathers my most innocent grin. “Well, not sure if you’ll think you’re lucky in a little while. Today’s my first day. Consider me your bottle service virgin,” I said with a wink.

Alex muttered something under his breath.

Grouch.