Heavy Pour (Bottle Service Boys #2)

Chapter One

ALEX

I despised wearing a suit. I only owned one, a Men’s Warehouse clearance purchase I’d acquired for college interviews once upon a time.

It made my neck itch, my shoulders couldn’t stretch, and the damn tie might as well have been strangling me, and not in a sexy way.

I’d never understood how Ryder wore one of these monstrosities to work all day, every day.

I’d even take my Top Shelf uniform over this monkey suit, and that consisted of nothing more than booty shorts and a loose-fitting bowtie.

But I’d worn the suit and sat my ass in the snooty Michelin Star restaurant with a smile on my face because it turned out I’d do damn near anything for my boyfriend.

We were celebrating tonight, celebrating the completion of another trimester of my master’s program in robotics engineering.

Dining at an upscale restaurant with a three-month waiting list for anyone who wasn’t my boyfriend was Ryder’s idea.

Pizza, wings, and beer in his penthouse would have been fine by me, but he’d insisted we needed to do something special to celebrate.

Two trimesters down, four to go. Now that the summer session ended, I had a few weeks to decompress before fall classes began.

As I’d slogged through project after project, the promise of these three weeks saw me through the tedium and stress.

The only thing I wanted during my time off was Ryder.

I wanted him on his hands and knees, on his back, in the shower, and on his kitchen counter, where we liked to sit and eat ice cream late at night, in nothing but our boxers, with sated smiles.

Well, we had done that in the beginning when I actually saw my boyfriend.

My dream staycation wasn’t kicking off on a good note, considering I’d been sitting in the restaurant nursing a glass of Ryder’s favorite cabernet for the past forty-five minutes.

I couldn’t stand wine, but Ryder loved it, and I loved the pleased smile he got when he took the first sip of an expensive wine that tasted exactly like the cheap bottles to me.

So I’d ordered what he loved, and I happily drank it while I waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

As forty-five minutes became an hour and the sly side-eye from the nosy waitstaff turned into blatant stares and whispered speculation, I tried not to get angry.

I shouldn’t get angry. Ryder didn’t want this any more than I did.

He didn’t want to be working fourteen-hour days running his father’s multi-billion-dollar empire, the empire he’d worked to distance himself from.

He didn’t want the urgent middle-of-the-night overseas phone calls and constant crisis management.

He didn’t want to spend his days pandering to the inflated egos of the world’s unimaginably wealthy businessmen.

It was the role he’d been groomed for his entire life, but never wanted.

When he’d stepped in to take over for his father after a stroke left the man unable to speak, walk, or care for himself in any functional capacity, we’d expected Ryder’s life plan to be diverted for a few weeks.

When those weeks turned into a month, and he formally withdrew from the first trimester of the Master of Education program he’d been so excited about, my heart took a nosedive.

As that month became three and now almost four, I started to fear that this was our new reality.

And I didn’t know what to do about it.

Ryder wasn’t happy. He woke at four every morning and returned home in the late evening, drained, frustrated, and a shell of the snarky, fun-loving man I’d hated for years before falling for.

We weren’t in a good place, though we weren’t in a bad place either.

We didn’t fight, scream, or make each other miserable.

We just weren’t anywhere. With Ryder working over a hundred hours each week, my four shifts a week at Top Shelf, classes during the day, and family obligations, we barely saw each other.

Our relationship existed in a suspended state, hoping for a moment together.

I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d had sex, and I missed it.

I missed him.

I wasn’t too proud to admit I’d been excited as hell for tonight, despite having to wear a suit and eat a meal I’d still be hungry after.

“Excuse me, sir?”

I peered up into the curious face of our—my—server. “Yes?”

“Would you like us to place a call to the other member of your party?” he asked as though my cell phone wasn’t lying face up on the table next to my mostly empty wineglass.

I’d called, I’d texted, and I’d used my nonexistent telepathic powers to contact him across the ether—no reply from any of those communication methods.

“No, thank you.” I couldn’t muster a grin, even a fake one.

“I’ve already heard from my boyfriend, and unfortunately, he’s delayed indefinitely at work.

” The lie had my cheeks heating. I picked up my wineglass and drained the remaining contents.

“I’ll close out my tab, and I apologize for keeping the table occupied for so long. ”

“That is no problem, Mr. Morgan. We hope to see you and Mr. Calloway another time.”

Sure, they did. The second I left, I would become the hot topic of discussion for the rest of the night.

The poor slob stood up by his handsome, wealthy boyfriend, miles above his league.

Some days, it felt like everyone in Boston knew Ryder, and even more so among the elite circles.

He’d eaten here countless times with his family and business contacts while I was the outsider.

I imagined bets were placed on whether my sorry ass would grace their overpriced establishment again.

After paying a ridiculous amount for one glass of wine I didn’t enjoy, I exited the restaurant with my head held high and heart dragging on the floor behind me.

There were two explanations for what happened tonight, and both sucked.

Either Ryder forgot me and our plans, or he remembered and decided standing me up would be fine.

Part of me wanted to go home to my house instead of Ryder’s penthouse, so I wouldn’t have to confront him when he finally dragged himself away from work.

As soon as the thought entered my mind, guilt hit hard.

I was the one who hadn’t cared about celebrating the end of the trimester. I was the one who didn’t give two craps which restaurant we ate at. So why was I feeling so damn butthurt over the demise of our plans?

Because you miss your boyfriend, idiot.

My aunt was in town, visiting my mom, her sister. She’d come for six days and was sleeping in my bed, which meant I needed to go to Ryder’s or sleep on the couch. Luxurious king-size bed versus a lumpy fifteen-year-old couch.

Easy choice.

Plus, I really did want to sleep beside Ryder tonight, even though I was upset and he had arrived home well after midnight, which had happened most of my nights off work recently.

With a heavy sigh, I began the ten-city block trek toward Ryder’s luxury apartment complex.

The July night was warm, too warm to be walking so far in a wool suit, but I’d assumed I’d be riding home with Ryder, so I hadn’t bothered to bring my car.

My aunt dropped me off as she and Mom were on the way to see a movie.

My mom loved being social. She attended a daytime program that kept her occupied and had plenty of doctor’s appointments, but outings could be difficult.

Her group of friends kept her occupied with activities at their homes, but she longed to get out on the town more often.

Being in a wheelchair made it difficult, and she sometimes shied away from busy public spaces.

I’d offered to take her to dinner or a movie plenty of times, but she always had the same answer.

I did enough for her. I shouldn’t have to spend my minuscule free time entertaining her.

No matter how hard I insisted, she turned me down the majority of the time.

Well, her sister wasn’t as accommodating as I was and practically dragged my mom out of the house multiple times this week.

It was good for her. She’d smiled a lot since my aunt came to visit.

We might need to make some changes soon.

Find some ways for my mom to have a social life and enjoy herself more.

Of course, those excursions required time and money, two things I was chronically low on—another thing to add to my ever-growing list of problems waiting to be solved by me.

Top of the list is what to do about my AWOL boyfriend.

By the time I made it to the apartment building, I’d soaked through my shirt and had an uncomfortable swamp ass situation going on. My hair, which I’d spent more time styling than usual, stuck to my sweaty forehead like limp seaweed washed ashore after a violent storm.

I looked as crappy as I felt if the doorman’s widening eyes were any indication. “Good evening, Mr. Morgan,” he said with a wary smile. “Welcome back.”

“John, what have I told you about calling me Mr. Morgan. It’s Alex. Please call me Alex.” Mr. Morgan was my father, and I hated that family-abandoning prick.

The older gentleman’s smile turned playful. “Sorry, sir, it’s policy. You don’t want me to get in trouble, now do you?” He winked.

I rolled my eyes. “Ugh, sir is even worse. I’m in my twenties.”

Chuckling, John opened the door for me. “Enjoy your evening, sir. Say hello to that man of yours for me.”

And there went my mood, plummeting back down the dark tunnel of frustration and loneliness. “You’ll probably see him before I do,” I said with a small smile that hopefully didn’t look as pitiful as I felt. “Have a good night, John.”

“Same to you, Mr. Morgan.”