Page 4 of Shaken and Stirred (Bottle Service Boys #1)

RYDER

If I had to stand outside in the dead of winter one second longer, my dick and balls would ice over. I might never be able to fuck again. Was a little punctuality too damn much to ask? A man’s sexual future was at stake.

“Ryder, baby, it’s been too damn long!” A heavy hand slapped my back, and then I was turned into a rib-crushing embrace.

“Turk!” A grin spread across my face as I hugged my frat brother. After squeezing the life out of me, he let go, and we stepped apart. “Damn, you look like shit,” I said, frowning at him.

A lie—the guy was a damn tank on legs who’d been drafted into the NHL. He now played for Denver, but happened to be in Boston this weekend. He was hot as hell and knew it, so there was no point in me feeding his overly healthy ego.

Turk snorted. “Sorry, man, I’ve really let myself go.” He rubbed a hand over his bomber jacket where, no doubt, a set of stellar abs resided. The guy looked like he chewed tree bark and bathed with sandpaper. He was a tough motherfucker.

“Fuck you.” We laughed as I noticed a group of men striding our way. “Yo, Manny!” I charged at my friend, the first guy I’d roomed with at college before we became frat brothers and best friends. “Damn, it’s good to see your ugly face.” We met and grabbed each other in a tight hug.

“Could never be as ugly as you,” he said as he slapped my back.

God, I’d missed this city. These guys. What the fuck had I been thinking when I decided to go to grad school ten states away?

Oh, right—sun, surf, and hot dudes strolling shirtless on the beach.

Freedom from my father’s reach.

Too bad his arms were so long.

“Yo, Turk.” Manny hugged him next, then turned to the three men I didn’t recognize.

“Ryder, Turk, this is Jack, Spencer, and Clyde, three guys from my firm. Ryder and Turk were my frat brothers.” Manny had taken over his father’s booming investment firm after graduation. He was a nepo baby if there ever was one.

Not that I could talk.

I lifted a hand. “Pleasure.”

One of the guys, Spencer, couldn’t tear his eyes away from Turk. “You’re… holy shit, you’re…”

“John Turko,” he said with a smirk. “Nice to meet you.”

“Christ, Manny, you didn’t tell me you were friends with John Turko.”

“There’s a reason for that.” Manny smiled, looking way too pleased with himself. “Surprise.”

Spencer blinked. His mouth opened and closed a few times before any sound came out. “Man, your rookie season was out of this world. You… you’re incredible.”

“Okay, let’s get inside,” Manny said as he guided his friend toward the door. He’d been born and raised in Argentina and had never quite adjusted to the cold. “You start drooling out here, and it’ll freeze on your damn face.”

“Fuck,” Spencer whispered. “I’m making an ass of myself in front of John Turko.”

Turk laughed and then squeezed the poor guy’s shoulder. “Nah, you’re cool, man. Let’s get inside before my nips freeze off.”

They all filed through the entrance with Turk taking the rear. As he held the door, he turned back to look at me. “Coming?”

Warmth filled my veins despite the frigid temperatures.

Why had I left? This was home. Aside from the past year and a half, I’d lived my whole life in this city.

Returning made sense but leaving hadn’t.

A battle loomed in my future, or at least a bunch of heavy and uncomfortable conversations with my parents, but I belonged here.

It felt so good to be back on familiar ground.

“Not yet.” I winked at Turk. “But the night is young.”

He laughed and bounced on the balls of his feet, either excited or trying to warm up, while I kept him waiting outside. “Now you’re getting into the spirit of things. Come on, Ry, there’s alcohol to consume and hot men to fuck.”

As soon as I stepped inside, delicious warmth seeped through my peacoat into my bones. “Wow. This place is swanky,” I said as I tipped my head back to take in the entire lobby.

A glittering chandelier, dripping with long crystals, hung high above our heads, refracting light into tiny rainbows that danced on the marble floor.

Walls of deep emerald velvet framed the space, interrupted only by sleek gold accents and mirrors that made the room feel infinite.

A concierge station, manned by an attractive host in a designer suit, beckoned us.

Behind him, a black facade lit with a single neon sign announced the club’s name and tagline— Top Shelf: Where the Vibe is Premium .

“Right?” Manny grinned as his buddy, Jack, walked to the host.

The place was the perfect example of understated luxury—right up my alley.

“How have I never been here?”

“It’s newish,” Turk said. “Opened about two years ago.”

“Ah.” Right around the time I’d made the stellar decision to leave the state.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” The host stepped out from behind his station. He was on the shorter side, about five feet seven inches, and slim with a snazzy navy-blue suit. Diamonds lined the lapels, twinkling along with the chandelier’s shimmer. “Welcome to Top Shelf.”

“Hey, man,” Jack said. “We have a VIP reservation booked under the last name Hall.”

“Excellent. My name is Luke. I’ll be escorting you to your table, and Raphael here will check your coats.” He gestured toward a beefy bouncer with dark skin, dreadlocks, and a tailored suit that would probably split at the seams if he got into it with an unruly clubgoer.

We took a few minutes to hand over our coats to the man who looked as if he cracked walnuts in his palms.

“Thank you, Raph.” Luke smiled at the bouncer, whose arms were now laden with our coats. “Gentlemen, please follow me.”

Somehow, I ended up in the lead, directly behind Luke. The man had a nice ass and a pretty face, but he wasn’t exactly my type. I preferred a guy more my size or bigger. An equal partner who could match me in the bedroom. Not someone I had to worry about hurting if things turned rough.

Luke guided us to a roped-off walkway leading to the VIP section.

As we followed the path, moving bodies on my left caught my attention.

The dance floor beckoned like the beating heart of the club.

It sprawled beneath a sky-high ceiling, where laser lights cut through artificial smoke, creating an ever-shifting kaleidoscope of color.

The polished, obsidian-black flooring reflected the movements of a crowd of men that pulsed like a living organism.

Their bodies gleamed under the strobe lights, slick with sweat.

Expressions of bliss and lust shone from the faces of men grinding and touching each other to the beat of the music.

Most had discarded their shirts, leaving yards of smooth skin on display for eyes and hands to explore.

A state-of-the-art sound system sent basslines rippling through my chest—each beat perfectly calibrated to make it impossible not to move. Along the walls, floor-to-ceiling LED panels displayed surreal visuals—rippling water, blooming flowers, and shifting constellations—all timed to the music.

The bar, an architectural marvel, stretched along one side of the room.

Its counter was made of backlit onyx that seemed to glow from within, while liquor bottles were displayed on floating glass shelves that sparkled like jewels.

The bartenders were as much performers as servers, wearing only tailored leather aprons on their upper half as they mixed drinks with a theatrical flair, their movements precise and fluid.

My blood began to pump to the music’s beat. With each passing second, a missing piece of myself fell back into place. Fuck, I was young and goddamn loaded. Why was I making shit deeper than it had to be?

“Is this place incredible or what?” Manny yelled in my ear over the music.

My smile spread of its own free will. “Fuck yeah.”

“We’ll be going right over there.” Luck pointed ahead toward the VIP section, tucked away in an elevated corner.

It was a hidden sanctuary of exclusivity guarded by a velvet rope and an imposing security guard.

The space was designed to feel intimate despite its opulence.

Circular booths upholstered in dove-gray suede encircled private tables with flickering candlelight, the soft golden glow complementing the shimmering gold of the room’s walls.

Guests reclined against plush cushions while sipping champagne from fluted glasses or swirling aged whiskey in crystal tumblers.

A personal host hovered discreetly nearby, ready to fetch anything with a mere glance.

From this vantage point, VIP guests could survey the dance floor below, their elevated position a subtle reminder of their status in this glittering world of decadence.

Men on the dance floor noticed our group of six walking toward the VIP area. Eyes lit with interest, lips were licked, and hungry come-hither gazes were cast.

I loved this shit. What could I say? There wasn’t any point in denying I’d been born with a silver spoon in my mouth and a love of all things luxurious.

“Here we are, gentlemen. Your VIP liaison will be here momentarily. His name is Alex, and he’s ready and willing to cater to your every need.”

Turk whistled.

“Within reason,” Luke added with a wink.

Bullshit, within reason. I’d bet my trust fund our liaison would have no problem servicing us outside the bounds of reason for a hefty tip. This place probably saw more ass than a no-tell motel. It was nearly impossible not to be swept up in the seduction of the décor alone.

“If you desire a more private, more… intimate experience, Alex will be more than happy to pull the curtains for you,” he said, gesturing to a green velvet curtain draped from floor to ceiling.

Manny rubbed his hands together. “If only the thought of fucking one of you guys didn’t make my nuts shrivel.”

We all laughed. “I’m sure you’ll find someone who fits the bill tonight, Manny,” I said.

“True, I ain’t worried about it.” He waggled his eyebrows.