“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 façade 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.
