2. Ryder
Chapter 2
Ryder
I was unable to take my eyes off Finn, the owner’s stepson, headed my way, threading through the crowd with grace and ease, the result of being a model since back when he was in college. It was like the crowd parted just for him.
Finn was the epitome of beauty with his rich, wheat-colored hair, cropped short except for the longer waves on top. His lips were full, and his nose was perfectly straight, almost aristocratic, nestled between cheekbones that weren’t as high as mine, but his were perfect. If I hadn’t known he grew up here in Washington, I would’ve assumed he was British.
One hand was shoved into his dark khaki-colored slacks, and his other hand carried a tumbler with a splash of Pappy Van Winkle Reserve . I only knew that because I’d poured it for him and my boss, Mr. Porter.
Finn’s beauty always held me captive when he was near, but when he was close like he was now, leaning against the bar, keeping his green eyes pinned on mine, I struggled to breathe. If I could choose a man to be with, it would be Finn Larson, but he was way too out of my league.
I didn’t know Finn well enough to figure out his personality or what kind of person he was. He could’ve been a colossal prick, but damn, he sure was nice to look at.
I’d learned way back in high school that I was bisexual, but I’d never acted upon it, growing up in a small town out in the country. I discovered that when I started crushing on my best friend, Waylon. That would never have happened, so I’d just dated girls. When I came to Washington, DC, I’d planned to remedy that, but I didn’t quite know how to find a guy for me. Sure, there were gay bars and such, but that wasn’t really my thing. Regardless, something had to give because I was very much interested in discovering what it felt like to be with a man. Maybe I could use a dating app.
I wiped the bar, unable to take my eyes off Finn.
“Hel- lo ! Are you going to get my order or not?” said an older woman of about sixty, trying to look thirty, with way too much work done on her face and wearing a dress she spilled out of.
I yanked my eyes away from Finn, ignoring his grin as I smiled brightly at the woman. “Apologies. What can I get you?”
She held up two manicured fingers, painted in fire engine red. “Two Negronis.”
“Coming right up.”
I quickly mixed equal parts gin, Campari, and sweet vermouth with ice before pouring it into two crystal tumblers. Next, I peeled two strips of orange peel, ran them along the rim of the glasses, twisted them, and put them into the drinks. I slid the glasses to the woman, who took them.
“It’s under Martha Carhart’s tab.”
I smiled and nodded. “Enjoy.”
Once she left, I rang up her credit card, feeling Finn’s stare at my back.
When I finished, I turned to find him smiling at me, slowly spinning his glass on the illuminated acrylic bar as the latest dance hit switched to something else. The DJ was decent, but I didn’t know half the songs he spun. Growing up in Nebraska, we had way too many country and classic rock stations.
“Hello, Finn. Are you doing okay? Can I get you something else?” I asked politely, trying to stay professional.
His grin turned crooked as he leaned forward. “I’m doing exceptionally well. Thank you for asking. I’d be even better if you tell me you’ll come to my birthday party next Saturday.”
I froze, and my heart stopped beating for a moment. Did I hear him right? Was he serious? That was the last thing I expected him to say. I’d only been working at Legends for three months, and while I got to know a lot of the staff, I barely knew the owner and Finn. The most I knew was they were both gorgeous in different ways. Knox seemed like a fair but firm employer.
I wiped down the counter again, relieved I got a little break from serving drinks. “Uhm, why me?”
He threw back his head and laughed, but the joke was over my head. “Most of the staff are invited.”
“I really appreciate the sentiment, but wouldn’t you rather have a party with your friends? I couldn’t imagine my birthday party filled with my parents’ co-workers.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough, but this is Father’s and my way of giving something back to the staff. My friends will be there, too, no doubt. It’ll be a massive party.”
I really wasn’t a party person, and I struggled to see myself going over there and not knowing anyone except a couple of employees there, but even then, we weren’t exactly friends. I used to love parties and hanging out with friends back in Briar, just outside of Omaha, but after what had happened… I isolated myself. It’d been better making friends with my roommates, but even then, I’d become a bit of an introvert.
When I didn’t respond, Finn pressed his hand to my forearm, sending tingles up my body that I didn’t understand. “You need to come, Ryder. The party will be epic. We’ll have great music, drinks, food… we have a pool.”
“I… really appreciate you thinking of me. It’s really kind, but I’m not so good at parties. I’m usually one of those awkward guys who tucks himself into a corner, and people watch as he nurses a beer. You’ll just be bored with me around, anyway.”
His grin never left his face. “Oh, I highly doubt that. I bet you can be quite interesting when you want to be.” Then he put his hands together in a praying motion, batting his thick, dark lashes. “Please say you’ll come. I’d like to get to know you more.”
More? We didn’t know each other at all.
I smiled politely and nodded, figuring it was best to please the boss’s stepson. “I guess I’ll be there then. Thank you.”
“Excellent!” He patted the bar twice and finished off his bourbon. “Bring your swimsuit.”
With that, he walked off to wherever, getting lost in the crowd. I may or may not have stared at his pert ass.
While attractive, I didn’t understand why he wanted me, of all people, to be at his birthday party, but I told him I would be there, so I would. At least I’d have something attractive to look at as I people-watched in my corner.
I came out into the living room, shirtless, to find all my roommates gathered there. Living in a communal apartment allowed me to find a nice place in the center of town, one that I could actually afford. I made decent tips, and while I could pay rent, everything was expensive here, so it took a large bite out of my income.
These new communal apartments were based on dorms at universities, but much nicer, and our private bedrooms were a decent size. The rest of the place was a shared space.
The complex had cleaning services and events. Ours also offered a parking garage, a courtyard garden, a fitness center, and a laundry room. Even better, the place was furnished, which was perfect since I had shit when I moved here.
It just took some adjusting to learn how to live with three other strangers in one shared space, but I grew to adore them all.
“Which shirt?” I asked, holding up a plain white long-sleeve option, which was the safer choice, and a charcoal-gray, short-sleeve button-up that fit my form better. Growing up on a farm, I wasn’t used to fitted clothing, but I wasn’t on a farm anymore.
“The gray one,” said Emma, our oldest resident at forty-one-years old and divorced. She had been a stay-at-home wife until her husband found a younger model, leaving Emma with nothing. She ended up finding a job as a server at a half-decent restaurant in Georgetown and made good tips.
She was very pretty, with a splash of freckles over her pale skin and curly blonde hair, so I didn’t understand what her ex-husband’s deal was.
Luna nodded. “Yup, gray one.” She was a student at George Washington University, majoring in women and gender studies. She was queer like me, which was nice.
Luna was gorgeous and curvy. Her tight, bleached curls contrasted with her tawny skin, and she wore dimples whenever she smiled. I would’ve been interested in her had she not been a lesbian.
“I agree with the ladies,” Atlas said, nodding, making his nearly black curls bounce. He was our part-time artist and full-time barista in the mornings and a server at a restaurant in the evenings, but he was looking for better full-time work to make more money and not have to work evenings.
“It’s kind of tight, though.” I was still unsure, feeling more comfortable in the looser white button-up.
Luna held up three fingers, dropping one. “First, you want to show off those muscles of yours. Second, you’re going to a party at a mansion. Don’t look like the country boy you are. Third, it looks hot on you.”
“If you say so.”
I set the white shirt over a chair and shrugged on the gray one, buttoning it up. Emma stood and walked over to me, standing nearly a foot shorter than my six-one height. She rolled up my sleeves a bit to expose my biceps. “There,” she said, patting my chest. “Now you look handsome. Surely, you’ll find someone to date tonight.”
“God, I hope so. It’s been lonely.”
As soon as I tucked in my shirt, she untucked it. “Leave it as is.”
I smiled shyly. “Thanks.”
“You’re going to get eaten alive,” Atlas chuckled.
Luna reached out to Atlas, sitting next to her on the couch, and smacked his arm. “Now, why did you go and say a thing like that? He’s already nervous as it is.”
Atlas raised his hands in defense. “I’m just saying… rich people and country boys don’t mix. No offense, Rye. You’re awesome and delectably adorable, but these people? They eat those they see as less than them for breakfast.”
“Enough, Atlas,” Emma admonished. “Our Rye here works in a fancy nightclub, serving the wealthy and powerful. He’ll be just fine.”
I shook out my clammy hands. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Sure,” I said, though it wasn’t very convincing. Before anyone could reassure or agree with me, I rushed to my bedroom and spritzed on some cologne. I wasn’t very good with fashion or fancy colognes, so I had to get help at the department store, not wanting to look like I walked out of a cornfield whenever I worked. It cost money, but I didn’t do too badly on tips. Some patrons tipped well. Some didn’t tip at all, greedy bastards.
After giving my hair a quick tousle, I stepped out of my room and raised my arms at my sides. “Well, how do I look?”
“Gorgeous!” Emma and Luna said while Atlas fanned himself.
My phone buzzed in my ass, and I fumbled to pull it out.
Mr. Porter: The car is waiting.
Me: Car?
Mr. Porter: Did Finn not inform you we were sending a car
for you to take to the party?
Why me? Surely they didn’t do that for everyone at the party, right? Dumbass. Everyone at the party already had nice cars, whereas my beat-up pickup barely made it to the East Coast.
Me: Okay, I’ll be there soon.
Mr. Porter: Do not keep me waiting.
Waiting? Shit, was he in the car? God, could this day get any more awkward?
Me: Yes, sir.
“Gotta go. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck!” they all said in unison.
I rushed outside to the awaiting black BMW, shining without a spot on it as a man stood, holding the door open. “Thank you,” I said.
Before I crawled in the back, I paused to take in my boss, Mr. Knox Porter. He was either in his late forties or early fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair, cropped short. He had at least three inches on me, and he was lean. Like Finn, he oozed poise and refinement, and exactly what a lot of money could buy. The only thing that set him apart were the tattoos on his arms.
I felt instantly out of place. I grew up on a farm, and our home was full of laughter and very little poise.
Here goes nothing .