Page 23 of Shaken and Stirred (Bottle Service Boys #1)

Speaking of escape, as soon as the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, I shot out and strode across the lobby toward the exit with the gait of a man on a mission.

No one stopped me, though a few called out greetings, which happened whenever I came around.

Nearly all of the thousand-plus employees knew me by face and name, even if I’d never laid eyes on them.

The second I left the revolving door and stepped into the cold, crisp downtown air, an enormous weight lifted off my shoulders. Despite what I’d thought, someone must have clocked me leaving because my father’s valet service had my car idling at the curb.

“Thank you,” I said as I accepted the keys from a trim older man in a CallCore security uniform who held my car door for me.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Calloway. Will you be back later today?”

“No, I’m done here for the day.”

“Very good, sir. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Thank you… Karl,” I responded, reading his nametag.

My Range Rover was toasty warm inside, thanks to heated seats and blasting vents. I adjusted everything to my liking, then pulled out into traffic, heading to the one place that would give me clarity.

Ten minutes later, I parked in the sparse lot at True Colors of Boston, a community center for LGBTQ+ kids and children of LGBTQ+ parents.

Unbeknownst to my family and friends, beyond Vera, I’d volunteered here for the past five summers and on school vacations.

The YRA had after-school and weekend programs for kids who needed a safe place to land.

We provided tutoring services, counseling, mentorship, free meals, and a mountain of activities for the kids to engage in.

Volunteering with their tutoring program was what sparked my interest in becoming a teacher.

Today was the first day I’d stopped by since I’d returned home.

The familiar sound of basketballs dribbling greeted me as I walked into the nondescript building. Ahead of me, the front desk, unmanned as usual, made me smile. How many times had I filled in, answering those phones and checking the kids in and out?

Hundreds.

To my left, a horde of teenagers ran around the gym, hurtling basketballs and trash talking while laughing. On my right, classrooms filled with students completing their homework, making up the quieter side of the building.

“Ryder Calloway?” An incredulous voice had me glancing down the hallway to the left of the desk.

“Is that you… Oh my God, it is you! Ryder!” Another, then another, followed her screech, and before I knew it, the pounding of excited feet grew thunderous.

Teens came out of the woodwork, throwing themselves at me from all angles.

Micky reached me first—a tenth grader whose parents dumped him on his ass when he came out to them.

He was a fantastic track star, leading his high school to glory, but all his family could see was who he was attracted to.

His gangly arms wrapped around my midsection and squeezed the life out of me.

“Mick, my man. Halle, hey! Jordan, what’s up, bro?” I greeted everyone I recognized and nodded or smiled at the new faces hovering on the periphery.

“What is going on out here? Oh, Ryder! Hello.” Carmen, the director and most compassionate woman I’d ever met, emerged from her office. “What a fabulous surprise.”

“Hope it’s okay that I’m here without being on the schedule.”

She waved away my concern. “Of course it is. You are always welcome here.”

“Why aren’t you at school? You flunk out or something?” Devon, a little shit seventh grader, asked. He had a mouth full of braces and looked like he didn’t own a hairbrush. Not much had changed since I’d last been there six months ago.

“No, Dev, I did not flunk out. But thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m switching back to school here in Boston. I’ll be able to volunteer here a few times a week again.”

The kids cheered as though I’d told them they won the lottery.

Why hadn’t I come back earlier? This was where I felt the happiest, useful, and appreciated.

I bet Alex would like it here. A few of the kids reminded me of him or the version of him from high school—smart kid with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove. He’d grown into the driven man I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about, even during board meetings or here at the center.

“All right,” I said, shaking off thoughts of the sexy man who hated my guts. “Whose ass am I kicking on the court today?”

Cheers went up as the kids tugged me toward the basketball court. I hadn’t thought to bring a change of clothes, so it looked like I’d be sweating through my Armani suit and playing basketball in dress shoes.

Six hours later, when the kids finally allowed me to leave, I was exhausted, happy, and running late for my shift at Top Shelf.

My phone chimed as I jogged from the center out to my Range Rover.

If I hadn’t been thinking about how fast I’d have to drive to avoid an ass-chewing by Parker, I’d have thought twice about checking my messages.

Instead, I swiped the screen, and my stomach dropped.

Where are you?

Why didn’t you go to the lab?

How could you be so irresponsible?

This ends now. I want your ass in my office at 8 tomorrow.

ANSWER ME NOW.