“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.
“Well, this night keeps getting better and better.” Feathers scanned me up and down with a hungry look while the rest of his group filed into the seats around the table. I couldn’t help but play along, knowing how much it would irritate Alex, so I winked.
“What can we get you started with? To drink,” Alex said in a clipped tone when Feathers opened his mouth to no doubt say he wanted my ass served on a gold platter.
Feathers lost all his flirtatious flair when he turned his gaze on Alex, whose jaw looked ready to crack. Interesting.
If I preened a little, who could blame me? Who wouldn’t want to be objectified by a sexy older man?
Feathers threaded his arm through the man’s next to him, who was dressed in the more typical club attire of dark denim and a skintight silver tank top. “We’re celebrating tonight, so let’s start with some Dom. A lot of Dom. And I’d like it deliveredby you.” He turned his attention back to me. “Can I lick it off you?”
Silver shirt squeezed Feather’s hip. “You want to celebrate our engagement by licking champagne off the bottle service boy?” He had a slight French accent, and the way he said it— bottle service boy—as though I was only one rung above a cockroach on the ladder of life twisted something in my stomach. I almost frowned but winked again instead.
