Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Had I ever seen him laugh like that? Hell, had I ever seen him laugh at all?
No. Definitely not. I’d never thought it possible for him to loosen up enough to laugh. The only time he lost the starch in his spine was when he pulled a prank on me, and even those didn’t make him bust a gut like that. No, that laugh meant happiness. It was only for those he liked and trusted.
Well, fuck him. He’d judged and found me lacking from day one, so fuck him.
And yet I still watched the way his biceps flexed as he opened the expensive bottle and poured out a round of shots.
“Yo, yo, Ry, tell Spencer about how you accidentally became an OnlyFans star.” Turk smacked my chest with the back of his hand.
I blinked and tore my gaze from Alex to face Turk. “What’s that?”
“Your OnlyFans story.”
I groaned. Of fucking course, he had to pick that story for me to entertain the table. No one knew the real story behind that epic prank, only the tale I’d told, where I’d spun it so a rival frat took the blame. “Oh, shit. Haven’t thought about that in a while. Uh, I had a little too much fun at a party the night after finals week.”
“Easy to do,” Spencer said, with his green eyes shining. They complemented his mop of red hair perfectly.
“Right? Anyway, I passed out in my bed in nothing but my briefs and woke up to thousands of DMs from an OnlyFans account I did not have.”
“Oh shit.” Manny laughed. “I remember this. God, it was so damn good.”
Fucking Alex. The little shit. I could never prove he’d done it, but he had. I knew it in my damn bones. “I rolled over to get out of bed and got a cold, nasty surprise.” I cringed at the soggy, frigid memory. “Turns out someone had broken into the room, gave me a whipped cream bikini, then posted it to OF on my behalf.”
The guys bust out laughing. “Oh, shit, who—”
Turk smacked my chest again. “Here come our drinks.”
Our heads swiveled to find Alex pushing a golden cart our way. The drinks we’d ordered were lined up in neat rows along with the shots. He also had a tray of food to soak up some of the alcohol we planned to ingest. A gold vase held a bouquet of sparklers that sizzled and popped.
“Hell yeah!” Turk yelled. “Bring it on.”
“Who’s ready to party?” Alex shouted as he parked the cart near our table.
“Fuck yeah!” Spencer jumped up, pumping his fist in the air.
“Here we go, boys.” Alex held out a metallic tray with our shots.
“You better be doing one with us,” Turk said as he cast a leering glance Alex’s way.
“I had a feeling you’d say that, so I took the liberty of adding one for myself.” Once everyone had a shot glass in hand, Alex stared directly at me.
His gaze burned my skin and made me shiver at the same time.
He lifted his shot glass. “Let the games begin.”
CHAPTER THREE
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.