But money was money, and I could bank more working four nights a week here than a full-time job elsewhere. And make no mistake, for me, this was all about the money. As much as I could rack up in as little time as possible, this job allowed me to balance classes, studying, and covering the bills.
Mostly.
“Thanks, Luke. Find me if anything changes.” Occasionally, a last-minute reservation would fill the empty slot, or a walk-in would be willing to drop big bucks for some privacy in the VIP section.
He nodded and waved without tearing his gaze from the computer.
Though it was only nine thirty, the dance floor was filling fast. Most guys still wore their shirts, but that would change in the next hour or so. We maxed out capacity every Saturday night. Hell, the doors were open Wednesday through Saturday nights, and we hit max capacity often. Wednesday tended tobe the slowest, but it was never empty. Thursday was a go-go night with some of the staff, Trevor included, dancing on raised platforms. Friday always had a theme, and Saturday was Golden Night. We slathered ourselves in glitter until we looked like walking disco balls. Customers got a free shot if they wore gold. VIPs, the section where I worked, received a complimentary golden bottle of Dom Pérignon.
Of course, free was a bit of a misnomer. A table in the VIP section cost two grand for a two-hour reservation, and that bumped to twenty-eight hundred on Saturdays. Each table could accommodate up to eight people. The reservation came with snacks, bottled water, and me. The friendly neighborhood grad student who’d deliver the ridiculously priced alcohol while shaking my ass, waving sparklers, and providing the luxury experience these rich assholes thought they deserved. It wasn’t uncommon for a VIP’s tab to hit over ten thousand dollars on a given night.
The thought of spending that much money on a single night out boggled my mind, yet I witnessed men drop that much cash every week. And then there was me, the guy who felt guilty for spending three dollars on a coffee at the campus café a few times each week.
“Alex, you good?” Trevor called out as he walked by with an armload of bottled water. “You’re standing there with lost puppy eyes.”
Shit. I gave myself a mental slap across the face. This was not the time to bemoan my station in life, not if I wanted to earn enough tips to pay for this semester’s books. “All good. Just went offline for a second.”
Trevor’s grin turned sympathetic. “You work too hard, Ally. Maybe you should take a week off.”
I snorted. “School’s not gonna pay for itself, Trev.” Like me, he’d graduated last year but with a degree in political science. Heis assisting at his mother’s fabric shop a few days a week. Must be nice to have the luxury to dick around for a while. I started at twelve, out of necessity, not desire. Back when my mother could still work, I was able to take the occasional day off. Now, not so much. Every day I missed work hurt my family’s ability to get by.
Ugh, why was I so maudlin tonight?
I cracked my neck and shook off the mopey feelings, then headed to grab water for my tables.
The first few hours of the night flew by in the familiar dance of fetching, presenting, and pouring copious amounts of alcohol for my two full tables. Table seven was a group of coworkers from a prestigious local law firm. They were in their late thirties and forties, polite, refined, and a joy to have at my table. Table eight wasn’t rough either. A bachelor party with both grooms present and a whole lot of Patrón leaving the bottles.
I smiled, flirted, and did whatever the hell I had to for my tips when working, but damn, I’d rather be home reading or working on my school assignments. At least it would be quiet, and I wouldn’t have to act like I gave a shit about customers.
By midnight, my calves ached, and my head throbbed. The loud music might keep me awake, but it got old after a while. I only had five minutes to turn over table eight, so I wiped it down as quickly as I could, then ran from the staff room to the bar to chug a bottle of water. By the time I downed all sixteen ounces, Luke had guided a group of six guys to my table. This group looked like they came straight from the frat house to the club, slapping each other on the back and pointing out guys that caught their eye. They looked about my age, give or take a few years, with slick hair and slicker grins. Diamonds glittered from a few Rolexes, and an earring or two winked at me beneath the club lights.
If I dragged my feet a little, no one had to know. Luke seemed fine, entertaining them for a moment while I slow-walked myway there. These were my least favorite tables. I didn’t mind bachelor parties, couple groups, or men in their thirties and up, but single rich guys my age sucked. They were loud, rude, and entitled, and many acted like they’d never heard the word ‘no.’ Probably because they hadn’t.
“Ah, and here is your bottle service boy, Alex. I leave you gentlemen in his capable hands,” Luke said with a smile so fake I almost laughed. “Good luck,” he whispered as he walked by. “If they get out of hand, I’ll send Raphael your way.”
“Thanks, Luke.”
As he left, I turned to the table and smiled. “Hey, boys,” I said with the same flirty tone I used with all my tables. “As Luke said, I’m Alex, and I will be at your beck and call for the next few hours. So, are we celebrating anything special tonight?”
I scanned the faces around the table, looking for the ringleader. Typically, one guy ran the show in a group like this. I played a little game with myself I called Guess the Alpha Douche. I had a ninety-five percent success rate.
Not the first two guys—they seemed laid back. It could be the third, maybe. He had a bit of self-important energy, but—oh, shit. The only thing that kept my jaw from hitting the floor was two years of practice schooling my expression in front of customers.
There’s no way he was here. No way. I’d survived a summer program with him, made it through the same undergrad school, and finally found my freedom. What the fuck was he doing here now? He’d left the damn state for graduate school.
I blinked. Maybe I was seeing things.
Nope. The smug grin aimed my way belonged to the one person I truly hated.
My stomach sank.
Ryder smirked. “We’re celebrating all kinds of things tonight, Alex.”
CHAPTER TWO
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.
