Page 6 of Shaken and Stirred (Bottle Service Boys #1)

ALEX

After I downed my drink, I lifted the glass in the air with a whoop alongside the six frat bros.

I hated how Ryder would know my party-boy act was just that, an act.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t ruin my image with the others and thus, my tips.

At least they’d never know my shot glass held water.

Customers often requested—demanded—I have a drink alongside them.

Saying no didn’t always go over well, especially with these high-paying customers.

Parker knew it and allowed some drinking.

Top Shelf’s policy permitted one alcoholic beverage every two hours for employees, so his employees didn’t get sloppy and act like fools.

Sometimes, I’d partake, but even one shot was too much around Ryder.

I needed every ounce of sanity and reason when it came to that man.

He could charm the damn feathers off a goose.

I refused to give an inch where he was concerned.

“Damn, that is by far my favorite tequila,” the biggest guy said.

I’d recognized John Turko, known to fans as Turk, instantly.

We frequently had pro hockey players come into Top Shelf.

I’d been surprised by how many out-and-proud players existed and even more surprised by how many of their straight teammates accompanied them to a night out at a gay nightclub.

Most were fun guys who tipped well, so I always loved a VIP table full of hockey players.

“All right, gentlemen, here are your cocktails.” I distributed the bougie drinks around the table. Ryder accepted his last. I’d never know if he looked at me because I averted my eyes. No, not because I was a chicken but because I hated his smug ass, and he didn’t deserve my attention.

Why the hell was his shirt so tight? For fuck’s sake, I could see the outline of his damn nipples beneath the white material. And the outline of his firm pecs. Maybe even a hint of abs.

Showoff.

“Damn, this is good.” One of the guys, a dude even blonder than Ryder, sipped his drink.

“Right?” I grinned at him. “What else can I get you, gentlemen?”

“Another round of shots, my man,” Turk said. “We’re getting fucked up tonight.”

“Coming right up.” I turned my back on Ryder and got my ass out of there as quickly as possible. That would be the goal of the night—excellent service with as little face time as possible with Ryder.

Though we’d gone to the same college, we’d rarely crossed paths in social settings.

He was a frat boy, and I was an underprivileged introvert through and through—in school on scholarships and grants, needing to maintain high grades to keep them, and unwilling to rock the boat.

Needless to say, I’d rarely seen him drunk, but I’d heard rumors about the sexy party boy with more money than sense.

Everyone had wanted him, both male and female, but only one side got his attention, though he was rumored to give it out freely to those who did it for him.

I could only imagine his charisma skyrocketed when he drank.

A charming Ryder would only piss me off.

No one had ever gotten under my skin like this man, and I couldn’t risk my tip by running my mouth and telling him what an asshole I thought he was.

For the next hour and a half, I played my role of tip-seeking bottle service boy to perfection.

I flirted, I danced, I delivered round after round of high-end alcohol with the luxurious flourish Top Shelf was known for, and I did it while avoiding Ryder as much as humanly possible.

He and his buddies bounced between their table and the dance floor, going from sober to tipsy to drunk as our patrons tended to do.

My feet throbbed, my back ached, and my ears rang from hours of pulsing club beats—typical Saturday night.

Overstimulation and exhaustion came with the territory, though I think I tended to reach my limits quicker than the average twenty-three-year-old.

At least, I usually wanted to tap out long before my coworkers.

“Why do you get the table full of hotties?” Trevor pouted his glossy lips as he joined me in a five-minute water break in the staff room. “Do you see mine? It’s a bunch of old men who just came here to drool over barely legal boy toys.”

I raised an eyebrow as I lowered my icy water bottle from my lips. “I’m sorry… how many times have you told me you like older men? You should be like a pig in shit right now.”

“Excuse me.” Trevor gasped and pressed a hand to his bare chest. “The key word there is older, not old. Wrinkly balls are not it.”

“My mistake.” I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing at his horrified expression. “Well, you know what they say…”

His eyes lit up. “What? Tell me. I need to hear something inspiring right now. Give me your wisdom.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, my friend.”

Trevor’s jaw dropped, and a gasp flew from him. “Excuse me?” he asked, pressing a hand to his bare chest again. “You did not just say something so cruel to me, Alex Morgan.”

I hid my smirk behind the bottle of water. This moment of connection with my friend was just what I needed after the tension of waiting on a man I hated.

“I better get out and see to my table of hotties.”

“Bitch, I do not beg. Men beg me, understand?” He narrowed his black-rimmed eyes at me. If glares were lasers, I’d be dead on the floor.

“Love you, Trev,” I called as I hustled to the door.

“Sleep with one eye open tonight, Ally!”

Chuckling, I slipped from the staff room into the low-lit hallway.

Immediately, the music assaulted my brain.

All I had to do was survive a short time longer, and then I would head home for some peace unless my brother was awake.

In that case, I’d most likely be heading home to some drama.

And if my mom hadn’t fallen asleep, she’d probably need some help.

Was twenty-three too young to be burned out? Some days, I felt like an eighty-year-old in a young man’s body. Shaking my head, I started back toward the VIP lounge only to run smack into a hard, slightly damp body.

“Whoa, careful there.” On impulse, I reached out to steady the unstable man. Firm biceps met my hands, and a familiar laugh registered, causing me to glance at an even more familiar face.

Ryder. Fuck.

He hiccupped and swayed. “Whoops. FL, how’s it hanging, man?” He lifted his fist as though we were friends, and I’d give him a bump.

“Really?” That fucking nickname.

“Don’t leave me hanging, FL.” His eyes had the glossy sheen of someone who’d knocked back quite a few drinks, and his skin had the glossy sheen of someone who’d been dancing for as his ass off.

I pretended I didn’t notice the tiny green fleck in his left eye.

The one I’d struggled not to stare at the entire summer I suffered through being his lab partner.

Rolling my eyes, I tapped my fist against his only because he’d reached the point of wasted and probably wouldn’t remember the encounter in the morning. “You shouldn’t be back here. This is the staff area.”

He listed to the side, toppling into the wall. “I gotta take a leak. Got lost looking for the bathroom.”

Great. Now, he was my problem. “Yes. The neon sign that says restroom is tough to find.”

“Don’t be mean, FL.”

I grunted as my blood heated, and not because he smelled like the expensive cologne a saleswoman sprayed on me at the department store one time but because Ryder seemed to be the same ass he’d always been.

That fucking nickname.

He wore a goofy grin on his stupid, drunk face, completely oblivious to how ridiculous it was to call me a freeloader while at my place of employment.

“Oh, I love this song.” He began to sing along in a slurred, off-key rendition that would make anyone’s ears bleed.

Rude, oblivious, and drunk. Fantastic combination.

I huffed out my annoyance. “Come on, I’ll show you where the restroom is.”

“Thanks, FL.”

“Fuck it,” I muttered.

“You say sompin’?” He tried to step away from the wall, stumbled, and crashed into the opposite wall, where he stayed and laughed as though it was actually funny.

I watched him for a moment as my anger mounted. Who the hell did he think he was coming into my place of business, getting up in my face, and fucking insulting me? I’d taken so much shit from him over the years without a word to anyone. My tongue itched to unload all the hatred I’d stored up.

Maybe this was my chance. He was wasted and would probably miss by a mile if he tried to punch me.

“You know what? I did say something.” I folded my hands across my chest and stretched the inch or two I had on him.

“How fucking rude are you to be calling me freeloader when I’m here busting my ass, serving you and your drunk-ass friends for hours while you use Daddy’s money to fucking pay for it? ”

He blinked.

There went my tip. Way to go, Alex.

He stared at me wide-eyed for a moment as my stomach clenched, then he burst out laughing. “Oh my God, you’re so funny. Busting your ass. This job is awesome. You can drink, dance, and stare at hot men all night. I would love this job.”

“Sure, you would.” I turned him and nudged him down the hallway. “I bet you’ve never gotten your own glass of water, let alone served somebody else. You’d quit before you finished one shift.”

His face screwed up in drunken indignation. “Nuh-uh. I’d rock this shit. Easy as pie.”

Irritation simmered beneath the surface of my skin, bubbling at a low rate but dying to surge to a full boil.

Letting it out now would be a waste of my time and energy.

He was smashed and had the boozy confidence only someone who’d been pickling their organs could pull off.

Nonsense fell out of his mouth at this point.

Getting pissed would only waste what little energy I had left.

So instead of cussing him out, I shook my head and chuckled. “Say that to my face tomorrow.”

“You’ll see. I’m gonna come back t’morrow and apply for a job.”