Page 10 of Milked

We stepped up to three men, chatting and drinking, looking like they belonged.

“Ryder, this is Casey, Edwin, and Sean. Everyone, this is Ryder. He works at Legends, but I hope we’ll become good friends.”

They looked a lot like Finn, wearing linen and standing out like perfectly gorgeous gods.

I put on my Legends persona and reached for each of their hands, but none reached for my hand, probably because they were holding their wineglasses. Still, it was off-putting. I dropped my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

All three raised their glasses to me but said nothing. Well, that was awkward, if not a bit rude. It just showed that even if someone was good-looking, it didn’t mean they were friendly or kind. I’d quickly learned people from Washington, DC, were often like that. I rarely came across someone genuinely kind. My roommates were pretty cool. Most people were assholes, making me miss back home. But there was no going back home. I couldn’t.

I chose Washington for a reason. It was everything my hometown of Blair was not. That was the point.

When a server stopped by with a tray full of assorted beverages, Finn plucked a wineglass of white wine and handed it to me. “Try this. You’ll love it. It’s my father’s favorite, calledPouilly-Fumé Clos du Calvaire Dagueneau,2008 vintage.”

I inhaled the aroma and took a small sip, pretending I was familiar with wine. While I was a bartender, patrons usually drank cocktails—drinks that would add to their inebriation faster. It was smooth and tasted good, but anything else about it, I was clueless.

“Delicious,” I said.

Finn snorted a laugh and picked up a lollipop from the tray, unwrapped it, and put it into his mouth, rolling it as he grinned at me. “You have no idea, do you?”

The heat spread across my face again and straight to my ears as I shrugged. “You caught me.”

His model friends scoffed at me. Whatever… pretentious assholes. At least Finn was nice and didn’t leave me hanging out alone and out of place.

“I can make complicated cocktail recipes, but patrons at Legends generally don’t drink wine. If they do, they already know exactly what they want,” I finished.

“You have a wonderful flair for drink-making,” Finn said before looking at his friends. “He makes a perfect Ramos Gin Fizz, which is incredibly difficult to make. It requires vigorous shaking during the process, creating the perfect foam and consistency. Ryder is flawless at it.” He clinked his lollipop on my glass in cheers. “Father and I hadn’t expected that when he hired you.”

“I took a strenuous course on mixology to expand my knowledge and try to work at a club. I wanted to be more of a mixologist than a bartender, and I found I’m kind of good at it,” I said.

Finn grinned crookedly at me. “That you are.”

As the day wore on, I liked Finn’s model friends less and less, so I stopped caring and eventually just ignored them.

Finn never left my side as we watched the band, ate, and drank more—well, I did. As evening approached, he opened birthday gifts and money he probably didn’t need, and then we had some cake.

As the crowd dwindled, I felt warm and light, like I could float off into space. All the wine I’d had left me buzzed and comfortable. Any residual awkwardness was long gone.

My new friend took my empty wineglass and handed it off to one of the many servers, and then he handed me a water bottle. I was too disoriented to know where he even got it.

“Drink,” he ordered when I just stood there.

“Oh…”

I twisted the cap and took a sip.

“All of it.”

Okay then…

I chugged it all back, and when I finished, he took it from me and gave the plastic bottle to someone before he took my hand in his and tugged me to walk with him.

“You didn’t bring a swimsuit, did you?” he asked.

“Ah… no.”

“Tsk. You can borrow one of mine. We’re nearly the same size. A couple of inches in height shouldn’t matter.”

Finn’s hand felt right in mine, and I wished our fingers were entwined instead.

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